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writeintrees · 3 years

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Carter Part 2 of 4

Summary: This is it, Carter is going to die here. His torturers are relentless and no one is coming for him. At least that is what he thinks until a mysterious stranger busts into the building searching for their sister. Carter is brought to the rebels, who surprise him, keeping him on his toes and helping him to work through a few things. This group is so happy and kind and better than he could ever dream of.

Found family, trans mc, chronic pain mc, trauma, hurt/comfort

Content warnings: concussion, torture (simple physical injury and neglect), blood, low self esteem, negative self talk, history of physical and mental abuse from family and a partner, self harm scars, panic attack, getting triggered, derealization, dissociation

3457 of 15060 words total

part 1, part 3, part 4

He startles awake at the sound of a car door slamming closed, his heart hammering in his chest. His instincts yell at him to grab everything and run for his room. He scrambles and the seat belt digs against the cuts on his chest and shoulder. The door beside him pulls open.

“Whoah! Hey it’s okay you’re safe now.” Emille reaches across him to unbuckle the seatbelt. He stills, his body flooded with fear and irrationality. They must see the wild look in his eyes because they give him a gentle smile. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

He takes their outstretched hand but does not put any weight on it as he swings his legs out. They are at a nondescript building along a long empty road. A little in the distance he can just see the glitter of a lake. He wonders if they are in the south of the city.

Tasha walks with certainty to the door and rings the buzzer. There is the clatter of footsteps then the door is swung inward. The person leaps onto Tasha with a big hug. “Ow.” She gasps.

“Fuck, Joao go easy!” Emille snaps.

“Sorry.” They pull away with an expression halfway between a goofy grin of relief and worry.

Carter stands awkwardly just a little behind Emille and pulls the blanket tighter to hide his bare and injured torso. There are a few more moments of Joao energetically babbling about being “worried sick,” telling the story of them all tracking her down, and how they figured out a way to break into the building. Joao startles mid-sentence and steps sideways to reveal someone with medium-dark skin with their hair pulled back. They are in a white manual wheelchair.

Their smile is more certain than Joao’s as they look up at Tasha. “We’re glad you’re back.”

“Thank you Naji. I’m happy to be back.”

Naji makes eye contact with Carter and extends a hand towards him. “Hey, I’m Naji. Who might you be?”

“Carter, he/him.” He reaches out to take her hand and his vision spots black with the pain of injured muscles. He covers it as best he can as he gives her hand a quick shake and lets it fall back to his side underneath the tattered blanket.

“She/her. Nurse Joao can you help get the injured folks inside? You need to give them a once over.”

“Yes. Yeah of course.” He offers his forearm for Tasha to steady herself against and leads her down a long hallway, chattering the whole way down.

Carter stares after them and his head jerks up when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“You good to walk?” Emille asks. They look ready to help take his weight, but his anxiety screams that he is being a burden on these strangers. Besides, he and his blanket smell terrible. He knows that getting his arm around Emille’s shoulder would also be a nightmare.

He nods, pulling the blanket closer around him with his arms tucked around his midsection. Naji waits until he takes his first step forward before she turns and rolls further into the building.

“I totally blanked on intros with all the shit back there. Name’s Emille and I use they series. Joao uses he series and Tasha she series.”

“Nice to officially meet you Emille. Although you’ve already seen me shirtless so can’t get much more acquainted than that.”

“I don’t know, I can think of a few ways.”

Carter snorts in response to that, feeling the tension between him and these strangers melt away.

It looks like this was meant to be a business building. There are offices all down the hall, the glass covered up with patterned paper. Carter sees beds and tables behind the few doors that have been left open. It looks like a mix of garage sale furniture, none of it matching but having character and a homey feeling. The walls in one room are hand-painted with colorful designs and nick-nacks line the frame of the outer window. He smiles at that and he feels his busted lip crack open a little. The taste of blood drips onto the tip of his tongue.

The hallway opens up into a larger living space. Two couches sit at a right angle to each other with stacked crates acting as a coffee table. There are papers littered over the surface along with someone’s computer and some mugs. Joao has sat himself on the table opposite where Tasha is on the couch and is looking over each of her injuries one by one.

“Here, take a seat. Joao can look at you in a sec.” Emille motions towards the second couch.

“I can stand. I don’t want to get blood and dirt on it.”

They laugh as if it was a joke but sober when Carter does not laugh with them. “You’re kidding right? You matter more than some busted up sofa. Sit down and let me get you some proper food. Tash tells me they fed you like shit.”

He sits down, covering as much of his skin as possible with the blanket so he does not dirty the upholstering. The clanking of dishes in the kitchen is impossibly loud, driving into his skull like an icepick. His fingers fidget with the edge of the fabric. Joao is running over all of Tasha’s injuries and his incessant chatter has softened into the occasional question. Tasha looks about how Carter feels, her skin battered and with large purple circles beneath her eyes. She makes eye contact with him before his eyes dart away.

Emille walks over with two bowls of chicken noodle soup. They have shed the austere black jacket for a slouchy disneyland tee shirt and have taken their long straight hair down to fall over their shoulders. They hold out the hot ceramic bowl wrapped in a kitchen towel with cat designs. It is such a contrast to how they first appeared at his door guns-a-blazin.

Carter sips the soup greedily, burning his tongue before giving in to blow onto one spoonful at a time. It scalds the back of his throat pleasantly, almost too hot but not quite. Once he is full and warm, he sets the empty bowl back onto the crates and leans back. His eyes fall closed against the pounding of his head at all the light and movement and sound. It hurts but he takes a slow, deep breath. A stillness seeps into him that he has not felt for a while. He starts drifting off but is roused by a hand on his knee. He stiffens.

“Sorry,” says Joao, and to his credit he does look apologetic. “Can’t let you sleep until we do an inventory of your injuries. Can you take off the blanket for me?”

Carter hesitates before he peels it off, slow and guilty. He cannot bear the pinched expression of pity on Joao’s face so he turns his head to the side. The cool metal of a stethoscope finds its way to his chest and he breathes in and out, letting him listen to his heart and lungs. Joao mumbles something under his breath. Gloved hands take his right arm and turn the hand over. Carter scrunches his eyes closed when fingers brush over the scars at his wrist. Joao leaves to grab a few things.

He is about to wrap the nasty blanket back around himself when Naji comes over and sets folded clothing and a plush towel onto the couch arm. He looks up at her with surprise.

“I hope they fit. Put in a towel for if you have the energy to shower. Might do you good to wash off that building and put some heat on those injuries. Pretty sure Tasha is doing that right now.”

He looks at the pile and finds a simple black long sleeve tee and grey sweatpants. There is also a pair of boxers. “Thank you.” He rasps, clearing his throat.

She nods in acknowledgement and puts the lock on her wheelchair. “Why’d the coalition want you anyway? Are you involved with UPM somehow?”

“No clue what either of those things are. I work at a warehouse though and they wanted info on something I shipped. Some gold jeweled vase.”

She gasps softly. “The Sweitzer Vase.” She turns to him, eyes burning into his with an emotion he cannot discern. Whatever she is thinking it is with great determination. “You saw it?”

He is suddenly wary. “Why? What do you want with it?”

Joao comes back and is scribbling something down on paper. “Hey, Naji bug off. You’re agitating my very injured patient.” She makes to counter when he holds up a hand. “Whatever questions you have can wait until tomorrow, right?”

She huffs before rolling back down the hall. Joao looks back at his clipboard. He nods to himself and continues looking over Carter’s skin inch by inch, only pausing occasionally to jot something down. It goes quicker after that. Once he is done with his arms Joao asks if Carter can take off his pants.

The others have busied themselves elsewhere so he agrees. He lets Joao untie and slip off his shoes for him. But when he goes to stand he only manages to lean forward before his abs send white hot pain into his heart. Everything goes indistinct as his breath seizes and he thinks for a second that he will throw up before the feeling passes. His vision comes back to see his fingers’ painful grip on his thighs that kept him steady.

“Carter, are you alright? What hurts?”

“Everything.” He laughs bitterly. “But I think they bruised my abdominals. Along with my ribs.”

“Here, let me help.” Joao lifts Carter’s arm to wrap it around his shoulder and pulls them up together. Joao is at least a head taller than him, so he hunches over awkwardly as Carter gets his footing. Once he steadies himself, the nurse has him walk back and forth a few times, checking his motor skills and balance. Then focuses on his eyes a bit, having Carter follow his finger and shining a light and having him tap his finger between his own nose and his finger. Neurological testing, he realizes.

He peels off Carter’s pants dispassionately, showing regret when they get caught on a couple scabs. Carter tries to suppress his shivers as he stands in the middle of this strange building in nothing but his boxer briefs against a faint draft. Much like with his arms, Joao goes through the injuries on his legs one by one, then his back. He says nothing except for asking if any injuries are beneath his underwear and if there are any particularly painful spots in his legs and back. Carter says only his neck and his abs are bugging him. Joao palpates his neck and Carter scrunches his eyes shut and grips his own forearms. Once he is done with that probing, Joao helps him back to seated to look at his front.

Carter just wants to be done with this. He wonders if he can sleep here. Everyone has left him alone so far and he cannot tell if it is a reluctant acceptance of his presence in their apartment or if they will shove him out the door as soon as they get what they need from him. He glances over at the clothes and towel. It would be nice to have a shower. He feels disgusting, sweaty and greasy and caked with his own blood. It wouldn’t be so bad to just wash, sleep, then walk out the door. Once he finds a landmark he can figure out how far he is from home. He hopes they’re still in the city.

He gasps when fingers push against his ribs. He clenches his teeth and tries not to move but cannot help how his body curls in on itself.

“Yeah, definitely broken ribs. Your abdomen doesn’t seem swollen but we should look out for signs of serious bleeding.” He pulls out his clipboard and runs his eyes over his notes. “Nothing else seems broken so that’s good. You have a headache?” Carter nods. “Alright. You seem to have a concussion too. Seven of your cuts will need stitches. As far as I can tell you should heal up okay.”

Carter manages a weak smile. “Thank you for doing this.”

He waves him off. “Of course. You good if I do those stitches now?”

“Yeah.”

Joao rinses out the larger cuts with saline. Pink runs down his body in rivulets and his eyes follow the streams until they are absorbed by some ratty towels. Joao must have a lot of experience because he sews the cuts up quickly and with precision. He cleans the other cuts and burns too. It hurts but his hands are gentle and warm and Carter is so tired that he feels himself being lulled by the methodical nature of it all.

Joao helps him to his feet and to the shower. He stands at the shower door and cleans Carter’s back while letting the saline run into the drain. The air is already hot and wet and Carter remembers that Tasha was already in here.

“Do you need help showering?”

Carter shakes his head.

“Alright, because I don’t care really. I’ve helped half the people in this compound after a bad fight.” Carter wonders what they are up to that they are too injured to shower alone as a regular thing. “Any products in there are up for grabs. Don’t get dressed though so I can put bandages and shit on. I’ll hang by the door if you need me.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me. This is quite literally my job. Also I can’t just leave someone in pain. It wouldn’t be right. Alright then, see you soon.” He closes the door behind him.

Carter thinks about turning the lock but wonders about what if he collapses or something and thinks better of it. The glass wall to the shower is opaque to neck height and gives him a feeling of privacy.

He kicks off his boxer briefs and looks around. After figuring out the knobs, he turns on the warm water and revels in the feeling of it running down his body. There is a shower chair in there which he gratefully uses. The heat feels good but also makes the dizziness a little worse, especially when he moves the wrong way and is hit with another wave of pain that makes his vision spot black. The burns sting anew under the heat like a bad sunburn.

He is not able to raise his arms without his abdomen acting up, so he does t-rex arms as he washes his hair and body. It reminds him of being post-op from top surgery. At least he already knows the way to bend his head down to reach.

Once he finishes washing he meets another dilemma. He had not thought ahead that when he sat in the shower chair, he would need to get himself out of it too. With some gasping that is thankfully covered up by the sound of the water, he manages to roll himself onto his knees then drag himself back upright. Thank god for the handles on the wall. He turns off the water and wraps the plush white towel around himself. He cringes at the water that beads up and runs red from his wounds. Now he’s ruining their towels.

He is too tired to dwell too long on that. He cannot wait to face plant onto that couch and sleep for fourteen hours straight.

“I’m decent.” He calls.

The door handle cracks open to reveal Joao with a weak smile on his face. “Feel any better.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty tired though.”

“Makes sense. I’ll try to be quick.” He pulls out a bag of bandages and sets the bathroom trash can onto the counter.

Carter leans against the cool glass of the shower as Joao works, following his instructions when needed. This settles into a rhythm as well. Drying the area, peeling open the band-aid packaging, and applying it to his skin. Dry, peel, stick. Joao ends up using at least one pack of bandaids. Some need folded gauze for pressure or vaseline to keep the burns from drying out. Joao warns him when he has to hike up the towel to get the injuries higher on his thighs. Carter honestly does not care right now but he appreciates the thought. He just shifts his posture against the glass.

Joao keeps his eyes respectfully up as he helps Carter get dressed. The fabric is a welcome weight on his body. Despite the pain he cannot remember the last time he felt so content. He wraps his arms in the soft material of the tee shirt and sways gently as he stands there and waits for Joao to clean up.

“Come on let’s get you to bed.”

Carter nods sleepily. He lets himself be led out of the bathroom. Joao presses a white pill into his hand along with a glass of water, a quick explanation of what it is and how often to take them. Carter barely registers it, just remembering how awful opioids have made him feel in the past. He swallows quickly before the powdery tablet reaches his tongue and follows Joao down the hall. Only once he is through a door does he realize he is in one of the bedrooms. With a shot of adrenaline he is wide awake and whirling around towards Joao.

He takes a step sideways to give Carter space. “Hey, it’s okay. Emille wanted you to take their bed and they’ll be on the couch.”

Carter nods slowly, not letting his eyes slip from Joao, noting every movement, looking for any signs of reaching towards him. All those gentle touches from earlier suddenly sour on his skin. His brain is going a million miles an hour and bringing up so many worst case scenarios. The opioid is already tugging at the edge of his consciousness and causing his thoughts to become slippery. A haze sets in and he is not so sure if he could protect himself while this injured and under the influence of the drug. He curses himself for not waiting to take the pill. He wishes he did not even take it at all.

“I’ll let you get some sleep. I’m across the hall with the red door.” Joao walks through the threshold and stops. Carter’s hackles rise at feeling trapped without an escape, it does not matter that there is so much space between them. “You can lock the door if it makes you more comfortable. I’d like to wake you in the middle of the night because of the concussion. Or maybe you’d prefer one of the others did it? Emille or Naji?”

Carter is shrinking in on himself, still watching with hypervigilance. “I don’t want anyone losing sleep because of me.”

“Tasha has a concussion too so someone’d be doing it anyway.” He watches patiently for a response.

“Then… Yeah could I have Emille do it please?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll go tell them.” He begins closing the door after him. “Good night Carter.” He says softly.

Joao leaves the door ajar by about an inch as he leaves. Once he starts down the hall Carter walks over and closes it fully. He turns the handle all the way then releases it slowly inside the door jam so it doesn’t make noise.

His head slumps on his shoulders. The bone-deep fatigue sets in once his frayed nerves are soothed by being alone and safe. The bed is at good sitting height so he crawls in between the soft sheets, reveling in the warmth and weight of it. It is easier to breathe as he lies there, staring at the white ceiling tiles. The fabric pads of the band-aids across his body buzz on his skin. Not quite hurting but stiff and with a certain electricity in his nerves.

His eyelids drag closed with the fatigue of the last week and he falls asleep without his usual insomnia.

It is dark when he is roused. There is the shape of someone kneeling beside the bed. Carter startles backward an inch and gasps when his injured muscles constrict.

“It’s alright. I’m just checking you aren’t in a coma.” They say, hushed. “Go back to sleep.” Their silhouette stands and turns. Their bare feet pad on the linoleum and the latch clicking rings through the dark room. He stares up at the occasional blink of the smoke detector.

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#writeblr #writing #oc #original story #milo's stories #hurt/comfort #chronic pain #fibromyalgia #fibro #pain

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