Prompt: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=272828#cmt272828 (Please use the prompt as a warning; the fill depicts extreme situations included in the prompt as well as additional TW for attempted suicide.)
* * *
He makes eye contact with a man at the market.
Booker has been letting him out more often than he used to, not by himself of course, but he doesn't keep him locked up for weeks at a time anymore. He's standing next to a stall, not quite looking at the wares, just enjoying the cold bite of wind on his skin and absorbing the sounds of bustling life around him, when across the crowded plaza he glimpse a pair of ice blue eyes. Something stirs within him—confusion, maybe.
Before he can think any more on that feeling, Booker hurriedly puts an arm around him and bundles him away. Joe can't help looking back once, but the man is already gone.
That night, Booker hits him when they fuck, which he hasn't done in a while. Joe doesn't love it but he takes it, looking at the bedspread and counting the tiny flowers picked out in thread. Booker slides a needle into his arm after, which he doesn't love either, and when he wakes up again he doesn't know where they are or how much time has passed.
Sometimes, Joe forgets and tries to end it.
He'll think, I can't do this anymore, and slit his wrists, hang himself, drown himself in the bath. He must do it wrong because he always wakes up.
Sometimes, he remembers he can't end it, and that's worse. He remembers who he is and it makes him scream, rage against Booker, fight to get free, kick his kidneys when he climbs naked on top of him to hold down his wrists. When that happens, Booker just increases whatever elephant tranquilizers he uses on him until he forgets again.
Joe hates remembering, but he hates forgetting so he pretends he doesn't remember more and more. Instead of screaming out loud, he screams inside his head, biting through his cheeks to keep from waking Booker lying next to him, remembering that it will heal anyway.
*
After almost a year of dead leads, it all comes very fast and easy once Nicky gets visual confirmation.
Booker thinks he can run after that, like he doesn't know it's game over already. Sure, moving Joe across several borders slows the inevitable, but Nicky has the scent now and he doesn't let go until he breaks into the house Booker's rented in the outskirts of the country.
Booker has never been as good of a fighter as Nicky. Seven hundred more years of experience and not being drunk will do that for a warrior. He concentrates his fury on painting the walls with Booker's face for a while, but he tosses him aside for Andy to deal with because he sees the locked door.
Joe.
"My love," he whispers to Joe, whose eyes are glassy and dart quick and worried between Nicky's face and Booker's prone body.
Nicky has very carefully braced himself to not be hurt no matter how Joe reacts. He knows that once they detox the drugs out of his system, Joe will slowly remember him again. He has to believe it.
Joe cautiously steps backward so that his back is guarded by the wall, and swallows.
"I'm going to give you some clothes, you can put them on and come with me, okay?"
"I'm not allowed to," Joe says, wary. He looks at Booker again, and at Andy behind Nicky. Nicky doesn't bother to check to see if he's getting up. He's her problem now.
"It's okay, you can if you want to. Do you want to?" Nicky struggles to keep his tone neutral. He must succeed, because Joe doesn't jump to agree.
But he doesn't disagree either, and Nicky reaches out a hand slowly, palm up.
Joe has no reason to trust Nicky right now, when he doesn't remember. But he takes his hand.
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timeasmymeasure
FILL: Joe/Booker, hardcore noncon (Nicky/Joe at the end)
Date: 2020-08-14 03:44 pm (UTC)(Please use the prompt as a warning; the fill depicts extreme situations included in the prompt as well as additional TW for attempted suicide.)
* * *
He makes eye contact with a man at the market.
Booker has been letting him out more often than he used to, not by himself of course, but he doesn't keep him locked up for weeks at a time anymore. He's standing next to a stall, not quite looking at the wares, just enjoying the cold bite of wind on his skin and absorbing the sounds of bustling life around him, when across the crowded plaza he glimpse a pair of ice blue eyes. Something stirs within him—confusion, maybe.
Before he can think any more on that feeling, Booker hurriedly puts an arm around him and bundles him away. Joe can't help looking back once, but the man is already gone.
That night, Booker hits him when they fuck, which he hasn't done in a while. Joe doesn't love it but he takes it, looking at the bedspread and counting the tiny flowers picked out in thread. Booker slides a needle into his arm after, which he doesn't love either, and when he wakes up again he doesn't know where they are or how much time has passed.
Sometimes, Joe forgets and tries to end it.
He'll think, I can't do this anymore, and slit his wrists, hang himself, drown himself in the bath. He must do it wrong because he always wakes up.
Sometimes, he remembers he can't end it, and that's worse. He remembers who he is and it makes him scream, rage against Booker, fight to get free, kick his kidneys when he climbs naked on top of him to hold down his wrists. When that happens, Booker just increases whatever elephant tranquilizers he uses on him until he forgets again.
Joe hates remembering, but he hates forgetting so he pretends he doesn't remember more and more. Instead of screaming out loud, he screams inside his head, biting through his cheeks to keep from waking Booker lying next to him, remembering that it will heal anyway.
*
After almost a year of dead leads, it all comes very fast and easy once Nicky gets visual confirmation.
Booker thinks he can run after that, like he doesn't know it's game over already. Sure, moving Joe across several borders slows the inevitable, but Nicky has the scent now and he doesn't let go until he breaks into the house Booker's rented in the outskirts of the country.
Booker has never been as good of a fighter as Nicky. Seven hundred more years of experience and not being drunk will do that for a warrior. He concentrates his fury on painting the walls with Booker's face for a while, but he tosses him aside for Andy to deal with because he sees the locked door.
Joe.
"My love," he whispers to Joe, whose eyes are glassy and dart quick and worried between Nicky's face and Booker's prone body.
Nicky has very carefully braced himself to not be hurt no matter how Joe reacts. He knows that once they detox the drugs out of his system, Joe will slowly remember him again. He has to believe it.
Joe cautiously steps backward so that his back is guarded by the wall, and swallows.
"I'm going to give you some clothes, you can put them on and come with me, okay?"
"I'm not allowed to," Joe says, wary. He looks at Booker again, and at Andy behind Nicky. Nicky doesn't bother to check to see if he's getting up. He's her problem now.
"It's okay, you can if you want to. Do you want to?" Nicky struggles to keep his tone neutral. He must succeed, because Joe doesn't jump to agree.
But he doesn't disagree either, and Nicky reaches out a hand slowly, palm up.
Joe has no reason to trust Nicky right now, when he doesn't remember. But he takes his hand.