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John has a bloody nose that he would probably give a kidney, and possibly his soul to be able to wipe.
He can't close his mouth for the fear of suffocating or possibly breaking teeth from biting down to hard.
It’s actually preferable to half drown in the blood that’s steadily dripping into his mouth.
He has lost most of the feeling in his lower legs already; only his knees and the places where he has turned out to be kneeling on small sharp bits of concrete, and possibly a screw, and some pebbles are bright spots of pain in the numbness reminding him that his legs haven’t been amputated.
Possibly it hadn't been such a bright idea to attack the guards...again.
The guards had been scaring the kids who had forgotten themselves and gotten rowdy.
John had figured drawing the guard’s attention away from them would earn him some punishment, but the other times he had gotten away with just a kicking and he could definitely live with that.
Neither he nor the guards meeting out his punishment had expected Bane to appear in the middle of their confrontation.
John had been pulled off the men, or possibly if he's completely honest, from under the men's fists to collapse in a heap at Bane's feet. He noticed the guards had been just as surprised as he; Bane had only appeared to choose which hostages would disappear at the end of another leg of the journey they are making not showing up even when the hostages were being moved.
This change in the routine was unexpected and disconcerting for all, from the corner of his eyes John had seen the other adults huddling on the other side of the pen as far away from Bane and the guards as they could get.
Every two weeks someone disappears, and John can only pray that they too are left on the steps of some police station where ever they may currently be.
A few weeks earlier he had overheard a radio broadcast one of the guards had forgotten to turn off; it had been the news talking about recovering yet another hostage.
Part of John still thinks that it might be part of a trick being playing on them but he still hopes that it's the truth because at this point it's all he has to keep himself going.
As long as he can believe that all that he is doing to protect the kids is paying off in the end John can stay more or less sane and not give up. If there is hope for the kids the adults might have a chance as well after all.
He really regrets being caught by Bane this time around because he isn't sure that he will be able to keep from giving in and begging to be released from his punishment because he's really fucking sorry for challenging the guards.
He isn't even sure if the broken arms the guards have suffered for touching him and touching the kids aren’t milder punishment than he’s getting.
A low key pain has started in his spine slowly spreading up to his neck and all the way down to his ass reminding him that he always hated standing on parade; he can feel his spine settling in, all the weight of the rest of his body on it as he keeps it ramrod straight with his shoulders back and his arms stretched out horizontally holding an empty trash-can in the air.
He hasn’t moved from this position since Bane had ordered him to take it.
Occasionally as Bane works a balled up piece of paper is tossed in to the can upsetting John's concentration and almost making him move every time.
The can isn't even heavy but his arms are tiring already, starting to shake simply from being held up.
John expected to be in better shape even with the effects the siege has had on his body; he expected to be able to handle more, to handle anything thrown at him.
It isn't even as if he's being hurt: he just has to sit there and not move for one hour.
At least it was one hour at first, now he isn't even sure how long he has been sitting there so far and how much he still has to go.
Every time he makes the slightest of movements or tries to redistribute his weight just a little Bane notices, and another five minutes are added to his original sentence for not obeying.
More and more he has to use all of his concentration on keeping still, keeping his breathing regular and not making a sound because if he starts making sounds he might start talking and then it’s a small step to asking to be allowed to move, shift, just do something to make some of the pain go away just for a few minutes.
Another ball of paper lands in the can the vibrations of the landing seem to travel up his tired arms into his shoulders and merge into the ache in his spine.
Despite the chill in the air he's started to sweat the annoyance of the blood dripping into his mouth escalated by salty drops rolling down his neck and back stopping at random points to sit there and itch.
All in all John figures that he really rather have had yet another beating, even if Bane was the one to meet it out.
At least that would have been over by now.
That aside it isn't exactly a punishment he expects from Bane whom, if he remembers the information Gordon gave him once upon a time correctly, doesn't bother correcting mistakes and simply kills the people who make them.
He’s just as surprised by the guards getting away with broken arms despite causing Bane’s displeasure. He wishes that looking up would not stretch out his punishment further; he’d love to study the terrorist in his natural habitat try to read him better now that he’s up close and seemingly relaxed. Bane has been shuffling papers around since positioning John working on something or other John should care more about than he does at the moment.
The lack of papers being shuffled is deafening in John’s hyperaware state alerting him to the fact that he is probably being watched while he can do nothing but twitch under the heavy stare.
He's tried closing his eyes already but that only makes things worse makes him sway and lose track of time completely.
Maybe it would have been more bearable if he could see how long he still had to go but that's not an option he's been given; there is no way to tell what so ever. He might be sitting there for several hours already or it might have been just twenty minutes or so.
John tries distracting himself by going through all the lyrics he knows but he gets distracted by the sensation of being watched after just one song.
He thinks that it would actually be preferable to be mocked for not being able to keep still and just block out the pain because then he could focus on Bane’s voice.
"You may put the can down if you chose and put your hands on top of your head."
John amazes himself by not jumping on the offer, but considering the implications of it instead.
The change in position would be practically a godsend at the moment but he isn't sure it will be much of an improvement.
He licks his lips hoping it won't count as moving almost spitting because it makes him swallow more blood.
"I'll deal."
His bitten out response is met with a chuckle.
"Very well, you are doing better than I expected detective."
He really isn't, but the orphanage has taught him to be stubborn and not give in.
Still a part of him is pleased to actually be complimented even if it’s for taking punishment well.
John bites his tongue to keep from any smart mouth comments which might get him extra time on the clock.
He feels himself swaying again and tightens his muscles to keep still, blocks out everything but keeping a count.
Counting works better than trying to remember lyrics; he gets pretty close to a thousand before a particularly painful tightening of a muscle in his leg. His vision goes red and he barely manages not to move outside of the twitching muscle in his right leg he can't control.
Something tells him that more than one muscle will be twitching and spasming when he's allowed to drop the position, it might even be that he won't be moving any time soon after being dumped back into the pen with the rest of the hostages.
That might scare the kids even more than being harassed by the guards but he can keep the kids busy getting him water and telling stories or something.
He's actually kind of looking forward to the rambling retelling of some fairytale or another...
A muscle in the other leg starts to jump as well and he can barely keep his arms from trembling, John wonders how long he has to go; he's almost ready to ask even if it makes him weak.
His count is up to a hundred-fifty-nine before he loses it again due to another muscle spasm.
His spine is killing him; every vertebra feels like it is burning and John would love to rip out his own spine just to get rid of the pain.
He can't keep himself from starting an inventarisation of all the aches and pains shooting through his body; braiding themselves into one agonizing ball of pain far beyond anything John remembers experiencing. Even the broken arm he suffered as a child doesn't come close.
Without realizing it he falls into the trap of focusing on the pain, drowning in it, losing grip on his surroundings; even the feeling of Bane's staring falls away.
John barely notices the red behind his eyelids turning in to black.
After he wakes up he doesn't remember the humiliation of falling unconscious after his body decides that enough is enough.
He is lying on a cot, something they didn't have before, and is covered with something far warmer than the sleeping bags they had been given to sleep in.
He nuzzles the warmth since it's the only thing he can do; his muscles protesting even the minimal movement. When he gives a sign of life the kids all start speaking creating a din he can't really deal with in his condition.
He's thankful the oldest has the sense to give him something to drink before expecting any answers.
He doesn't really have any; unwilling to admit to weakness and not sure if his punishment isn't going to continue now that he's conscious again.
Strangely the kids are actually impressed, John figures he made quite a sight; being carried back in Bane's arms and tucked into a newly brought cot.
He's been cleaned as well and not by the kids or any of the adult hostages, he decides not to think about Bane playing the caretaker: the idea disturbs him too much. But the evidence supports the kid's story; the thing he's covered with is Bane's coat.
He's fed and helped to the toilet by two of the older kids and a guard who keeps several feet between them. Back at the cot the coat is still there and John has learned young never to waste a resource; he wraps himself in the heavy leather and wool and falls asleep.
The next time he wakes up because there is a lot of noise; usually the kids are quieter.
Noise always means that something unusual is going on in their pen so John forces himself to get up and investigate.
Bane is crouching on the floor with the three remaining children under the age of ten around him listening to something the man is telling them in a quite rumble and munching on apples.
When John comes to stand next to them the coat in hands Bane looks up with curiosity.
"So when will I be making up the rest of my sentence?"
The kids look between them with big eyes and John keeps his voice neutral because the kids don't need more drama.
"The rest of it?"
Bane has the advantage when playing confused; John feels the usual annoyance that makes him to stupid thing start to smolder again. He pushes it down kneeling next to the group.
"I'm not sure how long I was supposed to hold still..."
He isn't sure how to say it without freaking out the kids, glaring at Bane he tries to make the message come across without words.
"Just tell me how long I still have to go, promise not to pass out."
Bane rises from the crouching position stepping around the kids to circle John who bites his lip, and regrets it instantly because he has momentarily forgotten that it's only scabbed over not healed, and holds his ground.
"You have served your sentence to my satisfaction detective. The guards, as you have seen, have been reminded of their purpose as well."
"So? That's it?"
Somehow John feels there is bound to be a catch, as much as he would hate to be back kneeling next to Bane's desk just being released because he has passed out seems a bit too easy.
"That is it in regards to attacking the guards scaring the children. The matter of you provoking the guards is still open."
It's sort of comforting to be proven right, John tenses wondering what the rest of his punishment will entail.
"I..."
"I realize why you do it, but I cannot tolerate mutiny under the hostages. Without you they are docile so you will be segregated."
John congratulates himself for not shaking in his boots. His imagination spins out of control with ideas of what might happen to the children without him around. While he's not the only adult around he's the only one whom all of the kids trust and whom they listen to. And after all the good reasons regarding the other people being held by the terrorists there are also the bad reasons of John not doing so well with isolation. As much as he loved finally having his own apartment he was always thankful to go to work and 'be' with people during the day.
Getting locked somewhere alone will be difficult even for a couple of weeks.
"Detective! The children will not be harmed I give you my word."
John is shocked out of his panicked haze by Bane's hand coming to rest on his shoulder. The hand is hot on his chilled skin and John vibrates with the urge to shrug it off.
"You also said the city would survive while knowing the bomb would go off."
The hand on his shoulder tightens to the point of pain, but to John's surprise it's not a premeditated gesture but rather Bane simply reacting to John's words. Bane removes his hand before John even stops wincing.
"That was a different situation. The children will not be here long in any case; in three weeks the last of them will be in the hands of your government."
"And where will I be? And the rest of the adults?"
John hugs the coat to his chest just to do something with his hands instead of going for Bane's throat. At least he has a date now, as fuzzy as it is, on which the kids will be safe.
"The adults will be released when we leave this continent."
That isn't a decent answer but it's better than nothing and really how long can they move around North America? He figures that they are somewhere in Mexico by the time they have been travelling.
In three weeks or so he might not go crazy all alone, he might even be allowed to go back with the rest after the kids are gone and he has less to fight for.
"So where am I getting locked up? A broom closet or something?"
It seems the most likely option since the warehouse doesn't have any other enclosed spaces and putting up more fences just for one person seems excessive.
"Hardly. You will be staying with me."
John doesn't really get the joke, but he has always had had a crappy sense of humor. Bane does look serious, but John can't, doesn't understand what good it might do for Bane to waste his time minding him.
"Thanks but..."
"I'm not giving you a choice this time detective."
Bane doesn't bother taking his coat from John, instead he wraps one hand around John's arm and pulls him along while nodding at the children then through the fence and back to the area where John spend the previous evening kneeling.
The only thing changed is a heavy chain attached to the rickety bed-frame John is guided towards.
Bane picks up the chain and carefully wraps it around John's throat pulling a padlock out of his pocket and snaps it shut, leaving John chained to the bed.
"Do make yourself comfortable and try not to provoke me for at least three days, your body will not be able to handle the stress."
John drops on the bed wondering what the hell makes him so special that he qualifies for personal attention from Bane.
Because with all that has happened in the last six months of his life he really doesn't need the extra weirdness.
He closes his eyes wraps himself in the coat and mentally starts the count: just three maybe four weeks and he’ll be going home.
Just another thirty days or so; he can handle thirty days.