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Dakota can’t move.
His body flops like a rag doll, utterly limp. He can’t even twitch a finger, or close his eyes.
“Dakota!” Cavendish sounds utterly distraught. Dakota’s heart twinges, and he desperately wants to reassure his partner, but he can’t speak. He can’t do anything.
“He’s fine. Watch!” Sally’s cheerful voice grates on his nerves, like nail file rubbed directly against his brain. He has never hated anyone as much as he hates that woman.
She undoes the restraints, and every instinct in his body screams at him to run. But his body won’t cooperate. Suddenly, he stands, but not to run. He just stands there, staring at the wall. Stiff and straight like a pole, like a soldier.
“See, he’s fine! He’ll probably behave a lot better now, honestly you might prefer him this way!” Sally walks closer, putting her hand on his shoulder. He wants to punch her. She is right there. But he can’t, he can’t do anything. He hates this, he hates this so much.
“That is ridiculous!” Cavendish snaps. He sounds so scared. And Dakota can’t do anything, all he can do is watch.
“Suit yourself!” Her voice worms it’s way into his brain and stays there, rubbing and rubbing until he could scream or hit her. But his screaming is kept internal, his violence confined to his imagination. Where it has been replaying often ever since Milo was first kidnapped. Every time Sally hurt his partner, or the kids.
Cavendish is looking at him. His expression hurts Dakota, hurts him right in his most sensitive core. He wants to assures Cavendish that he is alright. But he can’t. And even if he could, he would be lying. He doesn’t feel alright. He is, admittedly, frightened. But he trusts Cavendish to save him.
“Well, I’m never one to go back on a deal!” Sally walks behind Cavendish. If Dakota was able to control his own breathing, he would sigh with relief. Cavendish will be let go. Cavendish will be able to save him. But at the same time, watching the panic in Cavendish’s eyes as he is sedated is horrible. He hates it.
Cavendish is taken away, hopefully home. Dakota doesn’t trust Penelope and Sally, not for anything, but he has no choice but to hope and pray that they won’t break their word. Because he can’t do anything else.
Once Penelope leaves with Cavendish, Sally keeps testing, making him walk around and pick things up and other simple tasks. She spends the whole time giggling, practically clapping her hands in excitement. Dakota feels sick, but he can’t do anything. If he did throw up, what would happen? Would they be able to simply force him to not throw up?
And then she walks him down the corridor and into what looks like a cell. It has a bed, and a toilet, and that’s about it. She walks him into the centre of the cell, and then shuts the door. Leaving him standing alone. Unable to move.
How long is he left in there? Hours? It must be hours. His stomach growls, and his legs ache, but something keeps him standing. He can’t sit. He can’t even fall. It’s like strings are tied to him, holding him up. A puppet. He is Sally and Penelope’s puppet. Now he really wants to be sick.
Finally, the door opens. His body eats, and then lies down in the bed. And it’s like someone pressed a button to turn his body off. He just passes out.
Time passes slowly. How long is it, hours or days? Probably days. If he is right, then the same thing happens every day. He is woken up. He drinks water. He stands, stock still, in the middle of the room. They come back, and he eats. More being still. Go to sleep. Repeat, over and over, like a torturous rollercoaster.
He feels tired, his body not getting enough rest. But Penelope and Sally can control his body to do whatever they want it to, no matter how tired he is. His own physical state no impediment, because he is just a puppet. He supposes that he should be thankful that they ever feed him, or let him sleep. That’s more than they did for Milo.
Anger boils in him. He hates them. He hates them so much. He wants to make them pay for every cruel thing they have done. But he can’t. He can’t do anything but wait.
———
Dakota’s body stops the time vehicle and he gets out. He is in the past, and walking briskly towards… is that the middle school?
He prays that this is just a coincidence. That he isn’t here for anything to do with the kids. But he is walking closer, and closer, and crouching behind a bush. He waits, and waits. And Milo runs past, sticks his head in another bush to fetch something.
Dakota’s body stands. He fights, and fights. No! No, no, leave him alone! For fucks sake, Sally, he’s just a kid! Still moving. Still moving. Right behind Milo, now, and reaching for the handle of his backpack.
Milo looks at him for a long moment, nervous and yet hopeful. “Dakota?” He tries. And then something must click, because he tries to run. Dakota desperately wills him to get away. But the kid can’t seem to get away from him, so instead he tries to wriggle out of the backpack. And Dakota’s arms shoot out, to shove him to the ground.
An unheard cry echoes in Dakota’s head as the kid crashes to the ground. Milo gets hurt all the time, yes, but Dakota should never be the one to hurt him! But now he is reaching down to haul him up, hands gripping tightly. He knows that it just hurt.
Milo yells for help, and Dakota’s heart shatters. But his body clamps a hand over his mouth, squeezes tightly. The pieces of Dakota’s heart keep shattering as the kid fights, as he tries to remove the plate from the back of his neck. As he tries to save Dakota. Dakota knows that he will see this scene tonight in his nightmares. All he can do is watch as he hurts this kid who he loves so much.
Penelope must finally get bored of watching Milo’s distress (he hates her, god, he hates her so goddamn much) because Dakota’s hand grabs Milo’s wrist and twists it. The wince, the noise muffled by his own hand, it makes Dakota’s stomach drop. He shoves Milo to the ground (he hates this), he plants his knee in his stomach (he hates them), he binds Milo’s hands (he hates himself).
He hauls Milo to his feet and drags him to the car. Shoves him to the ground. Milo tries to call for help, of course he does, but Dakota just drives through the timestream. Takes Milo right back to the women who tortured him.
———
Dakota has been forced to stand guard for a while now. But suddenly Cavendish, Melissa and Zack run around the corner. His heart leaps. They’ll rescue them!
Cavendish gets Melissa and Zack to run, in opposite directions. And then he lunges at Dakota, knocks him down. Knocks the gun out of his hand. Silently, Dakota cheers him on.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to get you out of here.” Cavendish vows. Dakota just has to trust him.
They fight. Dakota is puppeted to hurt his partner. The person who he loves more than anything, the person he would do anything to protect. He hurts him. Over and over. Badly.
He hears a crack from Cavendish’s ribs and internally retches, although externally he is cold and unbothered. And he can’t stop. He can’t stop, he has to keep watching and watching as he hurts Cavendish.
“Dakota, it’s alright. I will fix this.” A vow, a vow made in a voice strained by pain. Dakota wants to cry. He can’t cry. Despite his horrifically overwhelming emotions, he hasn’t been able to cry, so those tears have bottled up and up and up.
He swings at Cavendish’s face, a punch which sends him sprawling. He spots the blood and he is certain that his heart stops. He half wishes that Penelope would just pull the plug and stop his heart (she must be able to do that, she can control everything else) so he could stop hurting his partner.
He is walking towards the gun. Horror hits him. He can’t kill Cavendish. He can’t. He can’t. But he is walking to the gun, closer and closer. And he can’t fight it. God, why can’t he fight it?! Is it some internal weakness, is it his fault? Guilt seizes his heart and squeezes. No, Milo couldn’t fight it either, but that’s different! Milo can’t be blamed. He would never blame Milo, and would never let the kid blame himself. But can’t help but place all of the blame for the pain he had caused the people he loves squarely on his own shoulders.
He is knocked over, Cavendish on top of him. He cheers internally. But Cavendish just scrabbles at the plate, can’t get it off. Dakota doesn’t care about the pain in his body from being knocked over, or from his neck being scratched in Cavendish’s sheer desperation. He just cares about Cavendish.
A sound rocks the area. An explosion?
Cavendish is distracted. Dakota throws him off and picks up the gun to point it at him. Internally, he screams. Run, Cav! Run, don’t let me do this!
“I’m sorry.” Cavendish’s voice shakes. “I’ll be back, I’ll save you. I swear, I swear I will.” Cavendish sounds so guilty. As he runs away, Dakota wills him to somehow hear the words that are screamed inside his head. The reassurances. The love.
It’s not Cavendish’s fault. Of course it isn’t Cavendish’s fault, he has nothing to apologise for. Dakota just wishes that he could apologise out loud. But he can’t, so all he can do is chant apologies in his head like a mantra.