Chapter Text
Leon's breath hitches in his chest with every panicked gasp, arms aching from where they've been cuffed behind him; the cloth bag over his head blocking out any trace of light. They'd given him earplugs when they picked him up too, and the sensory deprivation is beginning to grate. He swears he can hear someone whispering. He can feel phantom touches up and down his arms, the sensation of eyes on the back of his neck making him shudder. In reality, he knows he's been stuffed alone in the back of some sort of vehicle, shoulder pressing painfully into the floor—but it doesn't make it any easier to tolerate the symptoms of his nervous system's confusion.
He chokes on another sob, helpless. It doesn't even feel real. One moment, he'd been laughing, walking across campus with one of his friends from class with the intention of going out for lunch, his father's private security guards trailing his steps like always. The sky had been cloudless and blue (well, okay, verging on overcast), not a care in Leon's mind except for an upcoming exam and what sort of coffee he was going to order. Only for the illusion of peace to shatter, sudden gunshots breaking the air a split-second before burly arms had grabbed hold of him, bringing him face-to-face with the largest, most awful man he'd ever seen.
Leon thrashes uselessly at the memory of the scar-faced, muscular brute who'd laughed at his attempts to struggle and subdued him without breaking a sweat, icy eyes filled with amusement as Leon had screamed for help and attempted to punch him in the jaw. The man hadn't even reacted, and Leon's pretty sure his security agents were dead by that point, because nobody stopped him from restraining Leon's arms and tossing him rudely into whatever space he's now found himself in. Leon glares into nothingness, anger building somewhere beneath his overwhelming terror. He knows they probably want him for ransom, or worse—to kill him—and sheer panic makes it impossible to take in a full breath.
The sudden rocking of the vehicle has him jolting in place, hands clenching and eyes wide as he registers the sensation of the car stopping. There's a long moment of stillness, the aching of his body the only thing that Leon's aware of, until sudden movement drags him upright without warning. He gasps, too stunned to fight back as massive hands clamp down on the back of his neck and upper arm. He's forced to stumble unevenly down what seems to be a ramp, sobbing when he trips on the subsequent set of stairs the hands usher him towards.
There's the muffled sound of a snicker, rough hands shoving him intentionally off-balance a second time. Anger flares again, but Leon doesn't dare fight back the way he wants to, forcing his feet to stay stable as the person prods him forward. It's not long before his body is slammed into what seems to be a chair, a whine escaping his lips from the harshness of the hard material against his back.
Something loosens, and the bag is yanked from his head in a blinding movement, harsh light making Leon grimace and squint in a pitiful attempt to protect his sensitive eyes. In the brightness, he can make out the scarred face of the muscular man, one meaty palm cupped in front of him as he eyes Leon with a considering grin. He's holding something, Leon thinks, but he can't make it out. His head hurts too much to try. The man's right arm is planted on the chair back beside Leon's shoulder, massive body intimidatingly close. It would take a single movement for him to seize the wicked combat knife strapped to his shoulder or wrap that rugged palm around Leon's slender throat, and then it'd be lights out for him.
The man looms. Leon still can't hear anything but the vague impression of a voice, but he can see the man's lips moving, icy blue eyes alight with gleeful malice. It's hard to read what he's saying, but Leon thinks he catches something about 'pretty boy' and 'pouting,' fear leaving him breathless as the man mocks him.
"Where are you t-taking me?" Leon demands, face flushing as he stutters. He can only imagine how rough his voice sounds after all that yelling. The man's grin grows wider, head tilting to the side like a curious dog. An ugly, pathetic one, Leon thinks venomously. A tear trickles down his cheek, and the man laughs soundlessly, picking up his big hand and swiping it away. Leon cries out in protest, twisting away, but he can't escape the broad fingers that cup his cheek and turn his face back to centre.
The man says something else and laughs smugly, rattling whatever he's holding in his hand. Two small pills catch the light when Leon looks, a bolt of fear tensing his muscles as he stares up at the man in apprehension.
The hand on Leon's cheek shifts to squeeze the sides of his jaw, the second sealing over Leon's now-open mouth to force the pills inside in a quick movement. Leon thrashes, protests made all the more inaudible by the strong hand that stays clamped over his lips until his nose is pinched shut and he's forced to dry swallow the mystery drug in a traitorous automatic response. The man pulls back to let him breathe, ruffling Leon's hair. He shrugs nonchalantly when Leon glares up at him, as if to say 'was that so hard?'
The bag descends over his head a moment later, a helpless sob all Leon can manage before he's plunged back into shapeless darkness. It's not long before strange wooziness sets in, and Leon can't fight the heavy pull of his eyelids as it drags him down into the floor. He dozes, slipping in and out of consciousness and sensations that make no sense at all, until his body finally gives in.
He sleeps.
And wakes again to the sensation of something sharp burning into the side of his neck, eyes flying open to the flicker of blinding torchlight. The bag and earplugs are gone, wrists aching where they've been stretched behind him to secure him to the wooden chair he's sitting on. There's a hand on his head, two others on his shoulders, a whine escaping him at the awful press of cold fluid that he can feel spilling outwards under his skin. It throbs, the muscle there spasming as the sharpness is drawn away to reveal a massive hand holding the handle of some sort of syringe gun. The needle attached to it is long and wickedly sharp, the burn in the side of Leon's throat suddenly making a disturbing amount of sense.
"What the fuck are you doing to me?" he croaks, glancing upwards with wide eyes to see a towering, bearded man dressed in black robes that make him look like the grim reaper. His eyes are two different colors, skin an awful shade of gray. The man says nothing, but the hands on his shoulders squeeze, a familiar, smug laugh sending a chill down his spine. Leon tenses, suddenly cold despite his vintage Letterman jacket.
"He doesn't talk much, pretty boy," the scarred man says gruffly, hands shifting to wrap around Leon's biceps. He hauls Leon to his feet so quickly that the blood leaves his head in a rush, dizziness making him stumble. Apparently, he wasn't tied to the chair itself—his wrists stay pinned uncomfortably together as he grunts in exertion, rough rope rubbing his skin raw. "Let's go get you settled."
Leon is too stunned to react, glancing nervously at the bearded giant as he watches Leon leave in silent impassivity. They seem to be in some sort of hall, a filthy table full of rotting food coming into view as the scarred man leads him at a quick pace through the wood-floored building. Leon grunts on a particularly rough shove, unable to keep himself from shaking the man's hands violently from his arms.
"I can walk," he snaps, immediately regretting it when the man cuffs him over the head with a sturdy palm. Fear flutters in his chest, heartbeat so fast he can feel it thudding through his throat. He risks a glance backwards, the man's broad, scarred face twisted into a tooth-baring grin.
"You could also run." He pushes Leon forward again with insistent hands, sneakers scraping over the floor as he stumbles. "It wouldn't help you, but it'd be annoying for me. Move it."
Leon scowls, but does as the man says, cowed. He shakes his bangs from his eyes, swallowing. The air is cool with rain when the man leads him outside, a breeze rustling Leon's hair as the man frog-marches him up a sloping pathway lined with chittering birds and menacing trees. Patches of candles and hanging decorations are scattered along the path at irregular intervals, unfamiliar symbols painted on wooden signs that give Leon the creeps just to look at. His head still throbs from whatever drugs he'd been forced to take, anxiety building with every step. Something about this place gives him a serious case of the creeps.
The path leads to a graveyard set into the side of what seems to be a hill, rusty trees glinting in the light in all their autumn glory. The ground is wet with recent rain, the scent of damp earth somehow soothing even despite the situation. A large church sits at the top of the hill like a weathered stone crown, Leon's throat bobbing as he swallows his apprehension. The gloomy sky is the same slate gray as the building, both as cold and imposing as the chilled breeze that bites through Leon's fashionably-ripped jeans and seems to whisper tauntingly through the dying leaves.
The man leads Leon up the rest of the hill and through a menacing iron gate, hauling him towards the weathered stone building like it's just another day at the office. His muscles flex as he steps in front of Leon and forces him to stumble up the stairs, expression impassive. Leon's never wanted to hit someone more. He's got Leon grabbed by the scruff of the neck—or t-shirt, whatever—like he's some pathetic kitten who can be dragged around in pity, his jacket pressing uncomfortably into his throat until they're inside the actual building and the man slams the door shut behind them with a bang. He picks at his bound wrists in irritation, scowling in frustration.
"Hell are you lookin' at?" the man demands, scarred lips curled into a half smile. He pulls his combat blade from the sheath at his shoulder, the metal gleaming in the light as he steps forward, and Leon can't keep himself from freezing up. Oh, God, what did he do to upset him? He's listening, fuck, he's doing everything this guy says—
Instead of slitting Leon's throat, the man spins him around easily and grabs his elbow, Leon's wrists falling easily apart a moment later. His eyes widen as the man spins him around again and sheathes the blade, hand coming up to rub at the sore spot on his throat from the injection. It still smarts, tender and hot to the touch, like a wasp sting. The man sees him massaging the swollen flesh and smirks, icy eyes pinning Leon to the place.
"Hurts, don't it, pretty boy? Bet you're not used to pain." He looks Leon up and down, creepy gaze almost lecherous in a way that makes Leon shudder. He can't tell if the guy is imagining what he'd look like all cut up with that knife, or if he's—Leon feels a cold jolt of anticipation down his spine—like Leon. Like one of those hardened guys he meets at underground bars, who look at Leon like a piece of meat and fuck him even harder. Not that he's been with many—just a couple in his first few years of university, though even that much is dangerous considering his father's reputation. If anyone were to find out that the president's son is a queer… well, it'd be a mess, to say the least.
Of course this guy isn't like him, that would be ridiculous. Leon scowls defiantly at the man instead of entertaining the thought, jutting out his chin and letting his hand drop. "Don't call me pretty boy," he snaps. "What the hell did you do to my neck?"
The man smirks. "Don't like nicknames? Alright then, kid, let's get a move on. I've got places to be."
Conveniently, he ignores Leon's question, large hand falling heavily onto his shoulder. It's sore from being wrenched around so much during his capture, and Leon winces, going far too easily when the man guides him around the end of the row of pews to a sort of side hallway. He frog-marches Leon all the way to a rusty looking ladder and shoves him towards the first rung, uncaring of the fact that Leon's sneaker catches on the uneven cobblestone and sends him careening into the wall. In fact, he probably did it on purpose. Leon swallows the urge to cringe away and glares at the man again, ignoring his low, amused chuckle as Leon starts to climb the cool metal.
Anger has begun to swell somewhere deep inside his bones, the faint embers of frustration quickly catching on the distress of the past few hours and turning his feelings into a blaze. His hands shake as he reaches for the next rung on the ladder, the satisfaction of curling his fist around it an immediate balm.
His mind is made up the moment he gets to the top—and before he can stop himself, he's throwing his body over the edge and rolling back up into a crouch, lashing out with a clumsy punch the moment the scarred man's face appears where it had been following him up the ladder. Time seems to slow as his arm splits the air, fist flying straight into the man's crooked, once-broken nose. The impact judders up his arm before Leon even realizes the hit has connected, knuckles bursting into aching pain almost immediately. The man grunts in shock and jerks out of Leon's reach, and for a long moment they stare at one another in varying levels of disbelief.
The scarred man whistles as if he's impressed. "Dirty trick," he drawls, surprise dissipating in an instant as if the pain never reached him at all. Amusement curls over his wicked features as a laugh rumbles up from somewhere in his chest, the sound like the low growling of a sleeping tiger. "I didn't expect you to actually take the opportunity."
"Fuck you," Leon spits, and the spell holding him hostage is broken. He tears his gaze away from the man and scrambles clumsily across the wooden church flooring, vaguely aware that he needs to keep moving if he wants to actually use the attack to his advantage. He rounds the corner at the end of the short pathway, feet skidding from the mud caked to his shoes.
"Alright, kid, you've had your fun," the scarred man calls, and Leon feels his stomach jolt with fresh adrenaline. He throws himself around the corner of what seems to serve as the walkway for the upper floor, pulse thudding with prey animal panic as he nearly topples over the ornate railings and into the pews of the nave. His breath catches.
Leon's thoughts reel wildly, his feet stuttering as he tries and fails to find an exit. His heart is thundering too loudly for him to think through the rush. By the time he manages to reorient his brain, large hands are slamming down on his shoulders and shoving him against the wooden wall, the scarred man catching up to him in the instant of hesitation. Leon cries out when his head hits the dark panelling with force, the simultaneous wrenching pain in his shoulder and elbow rendering him useless as the man pins him tight to the wall. His arm has been bent awkwardly behind him in a hold, the pain holding Leon hostage just as much as the scarred man's strength. He curses, preparing to struggle—
Cold metal touches his throat, the sharp curve of a blade pressing into his Adam's apple with light pressure that makes him shiver and freeze in place. The touch may be light, but Leon can feel the threat behind it, breaths gasping in and out of his lungs with involuntary, humiliating terror. The scarred man chuckles and kicks his feet apart with a boot, bending Leon's torso awkwardly enough that his lower back begins to burn. He grits his teeth to stifle a cry, but it still echoes pathetically around the room.
"You've got guts," the scarred man says, as if impressed. His voice still holds enough laughter that Leon feels his face warm. "Too bad you're wearing such shitty shoes, huh? What are those, Converse? Traction trumps fashion, kid."
"You—you bastard!" Leon says angrily. He feels the knife slip away from his neck an instant before he finds the world whirling around him, an exhale forced out of him as the man pushes his back into the wall so that they're face to face.
The man smirks. "The name's Krauser, actually."
His scar crinkles as he sneers again, the grin on his lips infuriatingly triumphant. Leon wants to leer right back, maybe spit another insult, but the man isn't being patient anymore. He yanks Leon away from the wall by his upper arm, walking swiftly enough that Leon stumbles as he's led along the walkway. The man—Krauser—marches him up to a doorway and throws him bodily inside, too quickly for Leon to catch his balance. He hits the floor with a thud an instant before the door is slamming closed. His eyes widen.
"You—!"
The click of a lock sliding home sends an echo around the small storage room he seems to be in, his sentence cut off in an instant. Krauser laughs through the door. "Enjoy your stay, kiddo," he mocks, the loud sound of his footsteps retreating following immediately after. Leon waits until he hears the ladder creak and the large front door boom closed before he unfurls himself from the floor and dives at the doorway, tearing at the handle and hinges with barely-controlled haste. It's no use.
He's locked in.
Leon takes another long moment to search the room for ways to escape, but it's futile. A sob hitches in his throat and he's collapsing bonelessly to the floor before he knows it, knees coming up to his chest and head pushed down against them. Hot tears dampen his jeans.
Fuck. How the hell will he ever get out of this awful place? Is anyone even looking for him? Why did it have to be him, anyway? He's aware of his own rising hysteria, the panic swelling and bulging into something unbearable. Finally, he reaches for a bottle nearby on the floor and hurls it at the wall with a scream, knowing he's being childish but unable to stop himself. "Fuck! Just let me go!"
His only answer is silence.