Chapter Text
He’d failed.
After he’d secured Bheem’s and Malli’s escape there was no way to hide what he’d done. Chained to the ceiling in this cell, Ram knew no one was coming for him. He’d burned every single bridge he had. The chains pulled on his shoulders, just a constant soreness now. They’d stiffened with disuse.
But nothing felt as terrible as what he’d done to Bheem. He was too blind to realize it at the time, but Bheem was the only friend he’d had. His uncle loved him true, and he could trust his uncle, but there was no way he could help Ram here.
He’d been here long enough already he had no tears left. No matter. Whatever way he could, he’d continue moving towards his goal. Bheem…
He clenched his fists. Bheem wasn’t coming. There was nothing Ram could have said, even if he was free, that would make him forgive him. Even if he knew the whole story, how could he forgive Ram? Ram had not only hidden him from the truth, but beat him in front of the city and kept him from saving Malli. Bheem had never hurt anyone innocent. He was trying to reunite families.
Ram had only torn them apart.
The door rattled, and Ram glared up without moving his head. Edward was standing there, watching him, along with two white guards. Seems he couldn’t be trusted with other Indian men. They probably didn’t want them corrupted.
Good.
“Bring him,” Edward said in English.
Ram lunged at one of the men, who flinched hard. Ram’s satisfaction was short-lived however, when pain lanced down the back of his thigh, making him grunt. The other man had hit him with a bamboo baton, making him reel back. Before he could lunge again, the first man had recovered from his surprise, and hit him in the stomach with his own weapon. Pain bloomed, the blows making him swing as he tried to bring his knees up and curl in on himself. The men just shifted to his sides, beating him in the ribs. He gasped when he felt and heard something shift and snap, and he choked off anything louder.
He was shaking now, struggling to hold himself upright. His skin felt raw, and inflamed. Something in his side hitched when he took a breath. He barely noticed someone unlocking his chains, and didn’t catch himself as he fell. He bit back a shout as his chest hit the floor, whatever rib that had broke moving painfully inside of him. The men snatched his arms, pulling him up and forward.
Edward was waving something in front of his face. He blinked sluggishly, his brain trying to catch up with his hurting body.
Edward gripped his jaw, forcing him to look up into his eyes. Ram snarled, trying to pull back but Edward was stronger than he looked. Or else Ram was just exhausted.
His eyes fell to the paper Edward still had up. Ram blinked, focusing on it. A blurry photograph, but one he recognized all the same. It was Bheem.
“Even if I did know where he was,” Ram said slowly in English, “I wouldn’t tell you.”
“I suspected as much,” Edward said, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Which is why I was looking forward to this. The site of your broken, bleeding body should drag him out. Just like his made you show your true colors.”
Ram felt a sharp hint of hope, before he smothered it and his heart began to sink. Shame engulfed him when he remembered Bheem’s cries, the other man choking on his own blood. His best friend who’d only ever shown good intentions despite his hiding his identity, back whipped to shreds by Ram, whom he had trusted at first site. Ram ground his teeth together. He thought he had had no tears left to shed, but apparently that was not true. He would not shed them in front of this man.
“You can parade me around all you want. It doesn’t matter. He won’t come.”
He won’t come because I am less than nothing to him. A friend who betrayed him so deeply it can never be undone.
Edward had a different interpretation of his sudden listlessness and humilty. “We’ll see,” he said slowly. “We’ve already announced you’re to be moved for execution. If he doesn’t come, well then I suppose both the Indians and the British will have one less traitor.”
Ram bit down, hard, on the inside of his cheek to keep from showing any sort of reaction to that. The white man was right. He was right, and it was all Ram’s own doing.
Ram was pulled forward, his chains attached to the back of the prison truck. The truck lurched forward, and Ram stumbled after it, forced to walk behind it or else be dragged. The truck was slow, but Ram’s beaten legs still ached, his wrists rubbed raw from the chains. He could taste blood on his lips.
Time passed in a blur.
He continued to move forward before the quiet of the countryside gave way to more car and cart sounds, people shouting as they moved out of the way of the police force.
A crowd had started to gather now, still keeping their distance, but curious about the prisoner being forced to walk behind the vehicle rather than be trapped. Shame threatened to consume him again, as he heard people’s quiet voices. These are the people he let down. First, when he’d hurt Bheem in front of them. Again, when he’d failed in his mission to get them weapons.
“Hey! Isn’t that the officer that beat Komuram Bheem?”
Ram inhaled a sharp breath, trying not to react. He wasn’t sure why he was so afraid of their opinions. It had never mattered before. It had never mattered who he’d struck down in his path before. But knowing what he did to Bheem, it was somehow far more shameful than any of the other things he’d had to do to move towards his goal.
He heard snippets of conversations, some whispers of “Komuram Bheem” and “Governor Scott” and “police”. The secret was out. The crowd knew who he was.
Pain exploded across the back of his head, and he fell forward, gasping. He tried to lift his hand to feel the back of his head but couldn’t pull the chains far enough. His head felt hot and wet, and the ground swam in front of him.
“Alright, that’s enough,” one of his guards shouted at the crowd, but he didn’t seem too intent on following through. They’d let the crowds have him.
Ram turned his head, squinting. A large, bloody rock was on the ground in front of him. He reached out in a daze to touch it, but a shadow blocked out the sun and the same guard was yanking him to his feet.
“Let’s go,” he growled.
Ram’s head was throbbing and he took two steps forward before his vision tilted, and he crashed into the ground. The dirt ground into his wounds, the sun beating down on him. His rib jostled painfully.
“Jesus, just keep going!” the guard shouted, and Ram had to keep himself from screaming as he was dragged forward through the dirt. He tried to pull his feet forward, tried to get them under him, but the horizon kept spinning, and he couldn’t stand. The guards chuckled heartedly watching his struggles. One moved forward and wacked his feet. He tried to pull them forward again, but the guard seemed to be enjoying the meager entertainment now, and when Ram’s feet were out of reach he just struck him as hard as he could across the back. Ram felt the bruise blossoming across his stiff shoulders.
The guard seemed to take a perverse pleasure in making sure his travel to his execution would be as painful as possible. Ram couldn’t gauge the crowd’s reaction as much given their distance and how his head was still spinning, but they knew who he was now, and he doubted he’d garner any sympathy from them.
The baton landed across his shoulders again, right when he was dragged over another rock in the street. He grunted, turning over, facing the sky. The harsh sunlight made his head flare again in pain. The guard filled his vision again, raising his arm with his baton towards the sky.
Ram sighed in resignation, closing his eyes.
The blow never fell.
Ram slowly opened his eyes. A dark figure stood between him and the guard, blocking the sun from his face. Someone was shouting. The guard. Ram’s eyes widened in sudden realization.
No!
Bheem stood before him, glorious, strong, kind, Bheem. Bheem, gripping the police baton in his bare hands. Bheem, whom he’d hurt. Bheem, who shouldn’t have come to save Ram. Bheem, who’d the British has laid a trap for, as crazy as it seemed to Ram at the time.
Bheem, who was now in danger. Because of him.
“Bheem,” he whispered. Ram coughed as dust clogged his throat. “Bheem, RUN!”
Bheem didn’t listen to him. Instead he brought his arm around in a wide arc, ripping the baton out of the policeman’s hands, smacking him in the side of the head, then throwing the dazed man into the crowd where he abruptly disappeared from view. Another officer charged Bheem, shouting, but Bheem was prepared and swung the baton down at his ankles. The officer fell and Bheem kicked him in the head, sparing a moment to make sure he didn’t get up before he turned to Ram.
In hindsight, Ram realized he had been expecting anger. Anger at Ram’s betrayal, at having to step in. Frustration, maybe. Cold stoicism.
Anything but the teary-eyed, pained look on the other man’s face. Bheem dashed behind him, and Ram heard a loud crack, before he landed hard on the ground, but was no longer being dragged. Dazed, he realized warm hands were cupping his face.
“Anna, Anna, speak to me! Please!”
Ram rasped out “It’s…a trap…”
Bheem grit his teeth, and his tears flowed more freely. Ram tried to lift a hand to wipe them away, but his arms were so heavy. “I know, Anna, I know. But I couldn’t-” he sucked in a shuttering breath. “I couldn't leave you here!”
Ram wrinkled his brow in confusion. Bheem had left him before. He deserved it. Why was now any different?
The crowd was closing in now, and he saw Bheem look up. Heard more shouting from the policemen. Their time was limited, and Ram wasn’t going anywhere.
“Bheem, you…you have to go. Get away!” Ram tried to lift his hands again, but only got so far as to bumping a chain against Bheem’s thigh.
Bheem shook his head vigorously. “No! I left you once before I’m not doing it again!” Bheem readjusted his hands, gripping Ram so tight it was almost painful, but Ram felt reassured by his strong presence. “I realized…I realized when none of the British guns went off, somehow it was your doing. You saved me! You saved Malli! And I was too blind to see it. To see you. I’m sorry!” Bheem sobbed.
Ram felt his heart wrench, but now was not the time for explanations. He gave the other man a soft smile instead. “Go, Bheemu. Leave me.”
Bheem hastily wiped away his tears, and that cold rage took over his face once more. “No! I told you I’m not leaving you again!” Bheem stood over him, gripped his wrists and pulled him over his shoulder. By this point, Ram was at his end, and he couldn’t help the cry that escaped him when his rib landed on Bheem’s shoulder. There was around of mumbled apologies, before Bheem was moving. Ram felt more than saw Bheem pull someone down out from the truck cab, then gentle strong hands were lifting him up and repositioning him on the seat. He curled in on himself, leaning heavily against Bheem’s side, as the other man grabbed the steering wheel. Ram felt the truck lurch forwards, the seat shaking underneath him.
Glass exploded in front of him, making Bheem swerve. Frenzied panic overtook Ram, and he pushed himself to a sitting position, despite the pain. The windshield shattered, Bheem already swinging his leg up to kick the rest of it out so he could see. Terrified, Ram scanned Bheem. He didn’t see any injuries but then the other man was pushing his head down, back against the bench. “Anna! Do you have a death wish?”
Ram wouldn’t dignify that with an answer, but Bheem was too distracted anyway as he tore the truck down a side street.
Something nagged at the back of Ram’s mind, something about the open sidestreet, a dangerous distraction…
“Wait!” he shot his hand out, Bheem’s glancing away from the street to look at his, a worried expression on the other man’s face.
Ram gripped his door, pulling himself to the window to look behind the truck. Police were throwing nails into the street, along with sandbags behind the truck, and neither of them had noticed.
“Can’t go back,” he mumbled, heart sinking. He recognized this from the police playbook now. He just never thought he’d be in it.
The sidestreet turned, and sure enough, there was a blockade ahead. Two other vehicles blocked the street, police pointing guns to towards the truck.
“Hold on,” Bheem growled, determined.
Ram ducked down against the seat again, gripping the bench and found himself also tucking his head into Bheem’s side. But before he could move or apologize, Bheem’s other hand was coming down to cradle his head protectively around where he had been hit by the rock earlier. A warm feeling surged through Ram then, but he didn’t have time to contemplate it as the truck slammed forward, the impact making both him and Bheem lurch forward and struggle to hold their positions.
The truck’s momentum stuttered, Bheem shifting gears to try and pull it forward. As he did, there was a metal crunch, and Ram saw the driver side door wrenched open.
Hands reached into, grabbing onto Bheem who shouted in surprise. Ram gripped his clothes tightly, trying to keep him in the vehicle as Bheem reached up to his leathers and ripped out the tiger claws that Ram knew could be deadly weapons. Bheem stabbed them downwards, and one of the hands let go, screaming in pain. Bheem kept stabbing while also trying to force the truck slowly forwards.
The chains were still attached to Ram’s wrists, and he swung arm back under the dash before snapping it forward. He also was rewarded with a grunt of pain as one of the hands let go of Bheem, but then there was another metal wrenching sound and the passenger door opened. Ram felt his feet grabbed and instinctually reached towards Bheem.
Bheem looked scared as he reached back out, but he was forced to let go with one hand to stab at another set of hands that were trying to grab his wrists. With a savage pull, Ram was yanked out of the vehicle at this momentary distraction, flying through the air and landing hard on the ground on his chest. Hands pulled at him roughly, and he tried to struggle with the last of his face before a baton was whipped into his head, right on the spot where the rock hit it.
His sound and vision faded to just light and dark, and muffled shouting that sounded so far away it couldn’t possibly be about him. He drifted for a moment, content in this void. Pain didn’t exist here.
Why is there pain? He found himself asking.
There is always pain. It’s no more than what you deserve.
With that thought, the pain exploded through him.
His whole body felt raw and like it was burning. There was a pressure in his lower back. His head felt like someone was crushing it with a vice. He moaned, forcing his eyes open.
He realized there were police standing in front of him, their backs to him. The pressure on his back was from the knee of a third man holding him down. The ones in front of him had rifles raised. He realized they were aiming at Bheem. Only a few minutes must have passed because Bheem was out of the truck now, and Ram could see the pile of unconscious and dead police on the ground in front of him. The man looked like a wrathful god, and his eyes locked on the men aiming weapons at him.
Ram lunged forwards, I a surge of strength pulling one of the police off balance, forcing his shot to go wide. Ahead of him, Bheem rolled under the shot of the other man before coming up to grab the rifle from his arms and then tear it out of his grasp. The man Ram had a hold of spun to kick at his face and arms frantically, but Ram held on, even as the man on his back tried to hit him across the bac and shoulders. Ram felt his grip weakening, but by then Bheem had grabbed the first man’s gun, and swung it around into the second man’s nose with a sickening crack. He crumpled to the ground,
Bheem launched himself into the man on Ram’s back then, and Ram felt them both tumble to the side. He struggled to his knees, coughing as air inflated his lungs and sending another stab of pain through his ribs. He clamped his hands together, swinging the chains around his wrists, then slammed them into the other man’s head who collapsed in a bloody mess next to Bheem.
At that point, Ram was truly spent and couldn’t keep himself upright anymore, but before he hit the ground, strong gentle hands caught him. He tried to protest as he was lifted, Bheem cradling him to his chest as he started running. Ram felt himself drifting again.
Light changed to dark, and Ram realized he’d been brought inside of a house. Bheem set him gently down on a table, and then cupped his face.
“S-sorry,” Ram studdered out, frustrated because even getting out this one word was so hard, but he had so many things he was sorry for. He reached up and grabbed Bheem’s wrist next to his face, his chains rattling. The look of frustration must have shown on his face Bheem was frantically shaking his head.
“No, no Anna, I am the sorry one. I didn’t know the extent of your fight, I didn’t know how much you’d sacrificed…” tears were streaming down Bheem’s face now. “I didn’t know how alone you were and…and I left you! I left you to die!” The last sentence was said with a shuddery, angry whisper.
God, Bheem…how good of a man was Bheem that Ram had betrayed him, hurt him, and he was the one broken up about it? Ram tried to say something, to reassure this man he loved, but couldn’t seem to find the breath to do so. Bheem’s hand moved to gently touch the wound in his head. Bheem called something to someone else in the room, and a woman stepped forward with a bowl. Bheem thanked her and took it from his hands, and spread it on Ram’s head. Instantly, the fired died down, and while it was still painful, Ram didn’t feel like his skull was covered in flames.
He sighed, closing his eyes. Bheem’s hands cradled his head again. “Rest now, Anna, you are safe. You are always safe with me.”
Someone was picking the locks on the chains around his wrists, and Ram instantly felt lighter as they fell away. A reminder of why he had been in captivity for weeks.
He started crying, and Bheem, not realizing why, began to examine his feet and clean his wounds. “I’m sorry Anna, you must be in so much pain, we’ll fix you up right away!”
“Bheem,” Ram said quietly shaking his head. “It’s not that.” Ram raised his hand, grabbing Bheem’s wrist as he dashed around him in a hurried motion, trying to get to his wounds.
Bheem’s other hand came to cover his own, and he smiled gently down at Ram. “I know. I met Sita. She told me everything.”
“Sita…Sita is here? Is she-” Ram felt himself beginning to panic, but Bheem gripped his hand tighter.
“She’s safe, I promise. But forgive me, I hadn’t known of your mission.”
“There’s no way you could,” Ram said softly. “You wouldn’t have known…from my actions.”
Bheem shook his head. “No. I always knew in my heart deep down, from the first moment I met you, what kind of man you are. No man who was trying to do just a con would do what you did on the bridge.” Ram huffed out a small laugh at that. “I have forgiven you, Anna,” Bheem continued. “And I was not going to leave you again to die. I won’t. And I will help you. You won’t be alone again.”
Bheem brought Ram’s hands up to his forehead.
And Ram felt a little lighter.