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2015-08-24
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2015-09-24
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Returning

Summary:

riseelectric wrote a thing where Cain was captured by the Colterons and tortured into insanity. Then I wrote a thing about how he's rescued and starts to come back. This is that thing.

Notes:

  • For northly.
  • Inspired by [Restricted Work] by (Log in to access.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Deimos screams.

He hasn't stretched his withered vocal cords beyond a low rasp in years. But now, in this reeking hole, brimming with agony and death, he's found a warm, living body.

One of only two warm, living bodies he's loved since a too-brief childhood mostly forgotten long ago.

Abel is there in an instant. "What?! What did you find! Is it..."

It is.

They both ignore the increasingly concerned shouts from the radio, too absorbed in what they're seeing, until Praxis charges into the miserable little cell.

"DEIMOS! Are you OK?! Abel, what happened?"

The big Fighter grabs the tiny one and starts to examine him for injuries, knowing better than to expect a verbal response. Deimos gives one anyway: a harsh, painful cry as he clutches at Praxis with one trembling hand and reaches the other toward what lies between him and Abel.

Praxis takes one look, lurches to the other side of the cell, and throws up.

The crumpled mess is alive, technically, though they can't see how. Every limb is crooked in at least two places. Most of the skin is puckered and criss-crossed with scars and still-oozing wounds. Half of the face is practically gone. Even Abel wouldn't have known him but for a few faded aqua streaks in the filthy, matted hair.

Praxis picks up the limp, emaciated form as gently as he can. A few patches of damaged skin stick to the floor and tear off. Together, the three of them convey their burden back to where Ethos is guarding the Tiberius and the Equinox.

Through the whole walk, and the whole flight back to the Sleipnir, and the whole aftermath, and for as long as he can afterward, Abel refuses to be separated from what everyone else considers a corpse too stubborn to finish dying. He holds the twisted hands, strokes and kisses the ruined face, and whispers, "Cain. Come back. Please come back, Cain. I love you. Please come back to me."

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

It's Praxis's turn.

On his list of things to do, watching over the broken shell of the man he once hated ranks somewhere between latrine duty and pulling his own teeth out. Especially since the time a few weeks in, when, in desperation, Deimos asked Praxis to taunt Cain. Yell at him. Say the most horrible things he could think of. Anything to provoke a response.

That lasted about ten minutes before Praxis stormed out and hid for an hour so no one would see how upset he was over Cain of all miserable people.

Privately, Praxis thinks it would be best for everyone, Cain included, if Cain just died already. After almost two months, it's pretty clear to everyone except Abel and maybe Deimos that he's not going to wake up. And on the rare occasions when Cain does anything except breathe--a groan here, a few twitches there--he always seems to be in pain.

Praxis wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. Not before, and not now when it's not just a hypothetical question. If it was up to him, he'd pull Cain's IV out and let him go. It's what Praxis would want in his place.

But Deimos refuses to let Cain go, and Praxis would do just about anything for his tiny, fierce, precious lover. Even watch over what's left of this piece of shit who was Deimos's first love and used that fact to bully and manipulate Deimos into practically being his slave.

And it was Abel who came up with the schedule in the first place, to minimize the chances that Cain would wake up alone. Abel, who saved Praxis's life before they even knew each other, so he can't very well say no to him either.

Which is why Praxis is the first to know when Cain opens his one remaining eye and starts talking.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

FROM: Fighter Praxis
TO: Fighter Deimos, Navigator Abel, Medical Officer Hastings, Commander Bering, Commander Cook, Lead Fighter Encke, Lead Navigator Keeler

HE'S AWAKE

 

Deimos leaps out of the shower, pulls his pants on as fast as he can, and is only vaguely aware of knocking Phobos down on his way out the door. He sprints across the Sleipnir, dodging and shoving others aside, jumping over a mop bucket and ducking through a forest of legs where a group of chatting Fighters are blocking the hall, lungs burning when he finally bursts through the door of the med bay...

...and Praxis catches him before he's halfway across the lobby, absorbing Deimos's momentum by swinging him around as he lifts him off his feet.

If Deimos didn't love Praxis, he would claw his other eye out right now. Instead, the little Fighter clamps his legs around the tall one's waist, grabs his stupid floppy side-bangs with both hands, and snarls in his face.

EXPLAIN.

"WHOA! Deimos! Calm down! Abel and the MO are in there now. They're not letting anyone else in yet and if you start attacking people they won't let you in at all!"

Deimos relaxes just slightly and gives Praxis's head a little shake.

KEEP EXPLAINING.

"He didn't...I don't think...guh. Can we sit down?"

Deimos huffs and lets go of his hair, which Praxis takes as a yes. Deimos lets himself be carried to a bench, taking deep breaths and trying to will himself calm.

Praxis takes off his jacket and gently dries Deimos's hair with it as he speaks.

"He's awake, but he's not...all there. I don't think he recognized me. Just as well, huh?" he adds with a wry smile.

Deimos manages a small smile back.

"I don't think he saw me at all, actually," Praxis continues, face serious again. "Maybe he's more aware now. I don't know. Hastings kicked me out of his room before he'd been awake two minutes. Abel got here right before you did and no one's told me anything. So he could be better now, or he could still get better--"

Deimos elbows Praxis in the ribs.

"Sorry. I'll stop rambling. Just...don't expect too much, OK?"

Deimos nods, then leans his head against his boyfriend's shoulder.

And they wait.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Floating.

He's floating. Drifting. Motionless but moving.

Spinning slowly, gently. Swimming between the stars.

He doesn't know how to swim. He doesn't know how to breathe in space either. But it doesn't matter. It's over. Nothing can hurt him now.

Peace.

He never really knew what that word meant before. Never understood.

He came into the universe fighting. Screaming, writhing, thrashing. Clinging to life with his tiny bastard fists as his whore mother heaved him out with her dying breath.

He scratched, clawed, bit, punched, and kicked his way through almost 23 years until the Colterons took him.

And then he fought all the harder.

His body was already broken, but he made them work hard to break his mind. Inch by excruciating inch, he fought. And when he realized they were getting close, corroding his brain from the inside so he would forget he shouldn't talk, he did them one better and forgot everything. Not just what he shouldn't say, but who he was, why he was here, his whole life in the increasingly foggy and distant before. How to say anything, think anything but the three words he'd been repeating at them from the start.

They almost got him then. Showing him the poor little Navigator, spread open and locked in agony, just for him to see. He fucking lost it, but not the way they wanted him to. He killed two of them before finally fleeing into delusion.

But not for long. Stupid escape fantasy. Should've known better. DID know better. Knew long ago he'd never get out of this alive.

When he woke up back in his cell, he did what he should have done long before. Dragged a wrist to his mouth and BIT until he tasted a flood of copper.

As he prepared to leave the universe the same way he'd entered it, he smiled to himself because he'd won. He never gave the enemy a goddamn thing.

And now he's floating in peace. There's no more fight now. Hasn't been any reason to fight in months. Years. Centuries.

And it's fucking WONDERFUL.

Except once in a while, when someone tries to call him back. He doesn't understand most of the words anymore. Just "Cain, Cain, Cain..."

Fuck off. He's done.

But the voices keep getting louder. Closer. Then one of them says one of the other two words he still knows.

"Reliant."

He can't shut them out after that. They keep pricking him like needles, knives, pulling at him, grating against where he's still torn open and raw, stabbing blazing light into his eyes when all he wants to do is sleep.

They speak his language, so he talks at them. Maybe that's what they want. Maybe it will make them go away.

No, they just get louder still. Then some asshole says his one remaining word.

"FIGHTER!"

And he doesn't understand why or how, but god fucking damn it, he's going to have to fight again.

Chapter 5

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Cain. Fighter. Reliant."

Abel gazes down at his partner. His first, his one and only. His anchor in this whole crazy war. The man who hurt him at first, then healed him in ways he didn't know he needed, and who he had just started to heal in return.

Abel has no idea how to heal this.

"Cain. Fighter. Reliant."

Cain gazes at nothing at all, whispering the same three words over and over.

They're all here. Abel, Deimos, Praxis, and Ethos. Watching. Listening. Waiting.

Hoping.

This has been going on for seventeen hours.

"Cain. Fighter. Reliant."

Cain had friends once. Fellow Fighters, pals who admired his skill, or thought he was funny, or just did what he said because they were afraid of him.

In two months, not one of them has come to see him.

"Cain. Fighter. Reliant."

Abel hears a sniffle and a stifled whimper behind him. Ethos. Why is Ethos even here? This isn't his problem. This vigil isn't his responsibility.

"Cain. Fighter. Reliant."

That's true of Praxis too. Abel knows why Praxis is here, though. Anyone with half a brain can see the man is a protector at heart, and he's head-over-heels for Deimos. He won't leave until Deimos does, and Deimos shows every sign of being willing to spend the rest of his life in Cain's room if he has to. He's barely moved the entire time, completely silent, clinging to Cain's hand, eyes never leaving his face.

"Cain. Fighter. Reliant."

Abel wishes the other two were as quiet. After hours of listening to Ethos try not to cry and Praxis shift around and grumble under his breath, Abel is about ready to throttle both of them. He knows his irritation is mostly just exhaustion and worry. He knows he should take a break, get some coffee or something.

"Cain. Fighter. Reliant."

He checks his watch. In twenty minutes, it will have been eighteen hours. He decides he'll take a break then. He thinks he can make it that long without snapping.

Unfortunately, Praxis snaps first.

"Cain. Fighter. Reli--"

"AAAARGH! WE KNOW! WE FUCKING KNOW, OK?! WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE!! PRAXIS! FIGHTER! TIBERIUS! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!"

Everyone is quiet for a moment.

And then several things happen very fast.

Ethos drops the cup of tea he was holding and starts to cry in earnest.

Praxis, clearly ashamed of his outburst, puts a hand over his mouth, then starts to apologize.

Abel stands up, stalks over to Praxis, and slaps him so hard his eye patch goes crooked.

And Deimos is the only one who realizes Cain has stopped talking. Sees his eye go wide, dart around the room, then contract into a slit as he snarls, grabs his IV pole, and swings it at Praxis's head.

Notes:

Progress! Yay?

Chapter 6

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Well, he certainly remembers more words now," the medic sighs as he stitches up the gash in Praxis's forehead.

Half an hour later and six rooms away, they can still hear Cain screaming his head off.

Praxis wants to ask whether they're counting 'FUCK,' 'FUCKING,' and 'FUCKERS' as one word or three.

He also wants to tell Ethos, who is sitting in the corner sniffling and talking about how they all understand how exhausted Praxis was when he blew up at Cain, and he was just trying to protect them all after Cain attacked him, and he's sure Deimos will forgive him, to SHUT UP. Quit being so damn NICE to him. He doesn't believe most of it or deserve any of it.

But he's already let his mouth get him in enough trouble for one day--or is it night now?--so he keeps it shut.

He pokes at the rising welt on his cheek where Abel slapped him, more than half wishing the pretty little blond had gotten in a few more blows before Praxis reflexively shoved all three smaller men behind him and went after his attacker. He had no business hitting someone in Cain's condition, but he was already at his limit when the IV pole connected WAY too close to his eye and he lost himself in terror-fueled rage as he literally saw red.

He's not entirely sure what happened in the few seconds between then and when the medics forced them apart, but he can't have hurt Cain too badly if he can still make that much noise.

He hopes.

For Abel's sake, and his own, and even a little for Cain's sake, but most of all for Deimos. Praxis doesn't really understand the bond between Deimos and Cain, but he knows enough not to make Deimos choose between them. And that's mostly for his own sake right now, because at the moment, he has little doubt who Deimos would choose. And Praxis wouldn't blame him one bit.

Even if Deimos does forgive him, he's not sure he can forgive himself. Especially when, after 36 hours awake, while he's getting his forehead sewn back together and trying to tune out the medic's and Ethos's chatter, the mental walls he's built against thinking too hard about what happened to Cain in the five months he was gone finally crumble into bits and he's faced with the most likely reason WHY someone would repeat their task name, rank, and ship name over and over.

Shame isn't a strong enough word for what he feels.

It's a good thing the medic finishes and sends him on his way then, because Ethos isn't the only one struggling not to cry.

Notes:

Praxis is reasonably bright, but he's a bit slow on the uptake sometimes.

Chapter 7

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"YOU'RE NOT ABEL! I KNOW YOU'RE NOT ABEL! AND YOU'RE NOT DEIMOS! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU ALL!!!"

Cain doesn't seem to be able to stand, but his arms work well enough to be dangerous and his lungs are obviously fine. He's wedged himself between his bed and the wall and made it very clear that very bad things will happen to anyone who tries to get him out.

There never was any reasoning with Cain when he's in a full-blown rage, Deimos reflects. The only thing to do is give him space and wait for him to calm down. Which Abel clearly hasn't figured out yet, since he keeps trying to talk to Cain, and Deimos keeps having to stop the silly Nav from getting too close.

Praxis managed to get the IV pole away from him in the few seconds they fought, but then some idiot put it back in his reach, so now no one can get within five feet of Cain without getting hit with it. And, Deimos notes, he still aims for the face.

"YOU KILLED HIM!! YOU FUCKING KILLED HIM!!! I'LL KILL YOU BUG MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!"

Right after they threw Praxis out, a medic came in with a needle, took one look at Cain, and walked right back out the door. He returned five minutes later with reinforcements. Deimos couldn't help smiling just a little when all three of them hustled out again, one with a bloody nose and another clutching what was sure to become a black eye.

That was almost an hour ago. No one's smiling now.

Cain's voice is giving out and he's visibly tiring, but Deimos knows he's nowhere near giving up and even further from being able to listen to reason. Meanwhile, every frantic movement seems to reopen a wound or rebreak a not-yet-healed bone.

He's still for a few moments, panting, head drooping. Abel--the pretty, soft-hearted fool--thinks this is an opportunity to try talking to him again, try inching closer. Deimos sees Cain tense, knows what's going to happen just in time to grab Abel and yank him aside, move him just enough that the pole hits the side of his blond head instead of his throat.

There's a sickening crack and Deimos looks up to see Cain's left elbow bent the wrong way.

That's it.

Deimos takes advantage of Abel's shock to grab him by the arms and steer him out of the room. Cain's hoarse shouts, wordless now, trail after them.

It's not hard to find the MO. Pull him and Abel into an empty room. Force down the voice inside him that calls him a traitor. Keep the tears behind his eyes. Rasp out his plan.

Less than ten minutes later, a flock of white-clad medics files into Cain's room again. Cain, of course, snarls threats at them as loud as he still can. They talk at him, say all kinds of stupid things, keep his attention while Deimos slides along the wall behind them, unseen. He's almost sure Cain won't fall for it until Abel joins in, approaching the head of Cain's bed, arms outstretched to give silly fluffy comfort.

Cain looks at Abel, a strange expression breaking through for just an instant, and Deimos snatches the opportunity to dart forward and sink the needle into Cain's neck.

Notes:

Abel is very bright but can be sentimental.

Chapter 8

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Deimos hears his lover before he sees him.

It's like deja vu.

Cain got in one good bite to Deimos's arm before the injection took effect and his screams quickly devolved into growls, then whispers, then unconscious whimpers and twitches.

The two most important people in Deimos's life, these two very different Fighters who can't stand each other, make the same sounds when they're having a nightmare. Still fighting even in their sleep.

The big man doesn't look all that big at the moment, curled into a visibly trembling ball on the floor amid a mess of food wrappers and bottles, backlit by the stars through the giant window.

Of course he picked the defunct observation room where they had their first date. Deimos should have thought of that before he searched most of the Fighter base level.

"Praxis," he whispers in his ear, shaking his shoulder gently.

"Uhhh..."

"Praxis!" he hisses louder and shakes harder.

"Mmf! Nooo!"

Oh, come ON!

Deimos grabs an almost-empty bottle of contraband rotgut, takes a swig, then unceremoniously dumps the rest on his boyfriend's face.

"GACK! PFUH! What the FUCK?!"

Deimos springs back out of range of Praxis's long limbs as he flails awake.

"D-Deimos? Ohh shit..."

Yeah.

Deimos positions himself cross-legged on the floor and waits impassively to see what Praxis will do.

Praxis sits up with some difficulty, back against the window, and rubs his hands over his face before balling his fists in his hair.

"Deimos. Baby. I'm SO sorry! I would never--I mean, I...obviously, I did, but--I didn't mean... Aaugh!"

He looks like he's going to cry, and if he does, Deimos will cry too. So he crawls into Praxis's lap, puts his arms around him, and whispers, "I believe you."

"But I--"

"I forgive you."

"But--"

"Shut up."

Praxis crushes Deimos to his chest and buries his face in the little Fighter's neck and shoulder, taking deep, shaky breaths.

When he's got control of himself again, he asks, "How is he?"

Deimos takes one more deep breath of his own, then shrugs.

"Thinks we're Colterons. Attacking everyone. Hurting himself. Had to knock him out."

Praxis strokes Deimos's hair, tries to tuck his bangs behind his ear, but they're too short.

"My gods, baby, I'm so sorry."

He pauses a moment, then adds, "If you want to be there with him...it's OK. I won't...I won't be mad."

Deimos considers it.

He thinks about how Cain was all he had for so long. Probably saved his life. Looked out for him. Gave him his first knife and showed him how to use it.

He thinks about how much time he's spent by Cain's bedside during the past two months compared to how little he's spent with Praxis. How he and Abel insisted Praxis help watch over Cain too, and he did it with hardly a complaint.

He thinks about who treats him like an annoying little brother at best, and who treats him like he's something wonderful. Who loves him completely and unabashedly, and who has someone else to care for him and never leave his side now.

Deimos shakes his head.

"No. Chose you."

"But--"

"Chose you eight months ago. Shut up."

Deimos kisses his boyfriend, then nips at his neck and deftly slides a hand down his pants.

That doesn't exactly shut Praxis up, but Deimos likes the sounds he's making now a whole lot better.

Notes:

For anyone who cares but can't be bothered to do the math, Praxmos were a thing before Cain was captured. Whether Cain knew about them is a whole separate question. (No. No, he did not.)

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

It's dim but not completely dark as consciousness slowly but inevitably returns. He blinks confusedly as the knockout drugs drain from his system. Wonders why he's not in more pain.

He tests his limbs. His left arm hurts, but not enough that he really cares. Just broken again.

It takes another couple seconds to realize he's strapped down. And they only do THAT when they're about to--

It's sheer, blinding, animal panic as he fights for all he's worth to get free. Then he remembers the sweet little blond, the only truly good thing that ever happened to him, turned inside out and bled dry. And they DARE--they fucking DARE--

"Cain? Oh my god! CAIN! Cain, STOP IT!"

They're doing it AGAIN! Like he's fucking STUPID! Like he's going to believe that's Abel when they fucking killed him right in front of him! Like he didn't see the poor Nav's ribs pried apart and his still-beating heart exposed, blue eyes pleading...

Wait.

Blue eyes?

Just as he's got both arms free--only had to dislocate his shoulder again to do it--just as he's gripping the fake Abel's throat, ready to squeeze and crush...he remembers.

An office. A bearded man behind a desk. "Assigning you...Cain and Abel...dismissed."

Elevator. The little Nav shifted nervously.

Room. "Open your mouth."

He tasted as sweet as he looked.

Battle. Pretty bastard almost got them killed.

Tried to tell him that shit wouldn't fly. Tried to put him in his place, and the little kitten fought back. Called him names. Actually took a swing at him. Dark eyes flashing beneath gold-highlighted bangs...

He lets go of the blond's throat and croaks, "Lights."

The dimly back-lit figure staggers back, coughing. Asks, "What?"

"Lights," he growls.

Now that he's actually thinking instead of running on pure fury, he has trouble coming up with the words.

"Lights! Turn...urgh...turn...f-fucking lights on!"

He's momentarily blinded by the brightness. And then there are those eyes again, the gold streaks, the scar...

No fucking way the 'Terons know about that.

He wrenches his shoulder back into place with no more than a momentary wince, then reaches up with his other hand, slowly, gently, and touches the thin, pale line through the delicate lips.

"How...get this?"

The blond frowns.

"You. You BIT me, Cain."

And there's that flash again in the dark eyes, just a hint of the steel core under the fluff.

Dark eyes.

Blue eyes.

Scar.

No scar.

Two different Navigators.

Always was hard to tell them all apart.

Later, he will mourn his cellmate. The clever, brave, blue-eyed boy who held him in his arms while he convulsed after the 'Terons were done with him for the day. Tried to fight their captors with his delicate little bare hands to keep them from taking him away again. Treated him like he was still a human being. Helped him keep being one for just a little longer.

Later, he will learn the blue-eyed Nav's task name. Ship name. Fighter's name.

Later, when he sees a picture, he will be only slightly surprised to recognize the boy's Fighter as one of his own score of cousins. A fellow tsygan bastard. That fool who was always strong physically but far too kind and not too bright.

Later, he will allow his defiantly irreligious, ruthlessly realistic mind to hope, just for a moment, that they're together somewhere nice now.

Later, there will be more terror. More agony. Flashbacks, nightmares. The long, slow crawl up an endless fucking mountain to make his body work right again, not to mention his mind.

Later.

For now, he's content just to be with Abel. HIS Abel after all. To drink in the sight of him, the feel of him, his smell, and let his partner convince him the universe is worth returning to.