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wolves-and-winters · 1 year

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Shattered #8 - Lies, Lies, Lies

Previous / Masterlist

CW: Whumpee thinks Caretaker is new whumper/master, Vampire Caretaker, Reference to vampire whumper/previous abuse/captivity, Bloodbag Whumpee, Recovery/Rescue, Nightmare (drug induced), Panic attack, Talks of death/hopes of death, Denial, Paranoia, Drugs/Medication, Noncon drugging(?) Loss of speech, loss of autonomy

Taglist: @octopus-reactivated @whatwasmyprevioususername @ramadiiiisme @darkthingshappen @whumpsday @thecyrulik @t0rture-me @redwhump @the-crypid-magpie @snowstuffscuff @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @wolfeyedwitch @interdimensional-chaos @termsnconditions-apply @whump-blog @leyswhumpdump @not-a-space-alien @onlybadendings @darlingwhump @sparrowsage @flynnswhumpprompts @whumpcereal @wolves-and-winters @ashh-ed @idkmansomeusername @whuarri @33-sdtr-45 @pigeonwhumps @canislycaon24 @the-whumpers-grimm @damienxozmoze @predacon-skydrift @morning-star-whump @neverthelass (please let me know if I’ve missed you or if you’d like to be added!)

How do you plead for your life with pen and paper? Would the fear, desperation and agony translate to the ink? The question wracks Declan’s brain, pounding against his aching skull as he clutches onto his pen like it’s his last lifeline.

It might be.

A shaking, yet stern death grip nearly crushes the plastic. Countless balls of paper are scrunched up and strewn across the room, and the notebook sitting on his lap is drowning in countless scribbles, all scratches of words that he determined were not enough to save his life. Splotches of ink once begging for home, or even a scrap of mercy; now blurred. Splattered with his tears.

The vampire thinks he’s fast asleep. Resting, recuperating - whatever the hell it is he should be doing. But Declan’s night is August’s day. The terror keeps Declan wide awake, knowing that the creature is stalking the halls, waiting for the right moment to strike when Declan lets his guard down to sleep, at his most vulnerable. Why else would he have taken Declan in?

He’s scoured the room already; there’s nothing to whittle or fashion into a makeshift stake. There is no protection. Because August has thought everything through, of course. No weapons, no defence nor even privacy or dignity.

He’s a prisoner again and nothing more, he reminds himself. He won’t be fooled by the simplicity of a blanket or hot meals, even if the feeling of fullness in his belly feels like an impossible blessing he knows he’s not worthy of. His purpose is to be a blood-bag. Food. It’s nothing short of cruel and barbaric to trick him into thinking that anything more than anguish lies on his horizon. Freedom is a privilege not for the likes of him. He’d squandered his, took it for granted.

The vampires had won. They’ve broken him down into nothing. The leeches have taken everything from him, and even with nothing left to give, they still want more. They can’t suck him dry of his blood, so they’ll drain his life away. He misses when he didn’t know the difference.

Please - Declan writes down for the millionth time. It’s a good start. It’s just whether he pleads for mercy, or maybe for direction and orders? Just so he can know what his new master actually wants from him. It feels like he’s back at square one all over again. Stumbling in the dark, so terrified of the unknown and not knowing what to expect, how to behave and stay out of trouble. He knows now. It took everything from him, but he knows how to be good now and he just wants to show August how well behaved he can be. He won’t fight back, just so long as August tells him what to do. He’ll listen.

He could write ‘please let me go’ and leave it up to August’s interpretation, whether letting him go means returning him home or…to finally be put to rest. If August truly wants to be merciful, and follow through with his promises of no more pain; he’d put him out of his misery. It would be a kindness.

The jarring creak of the door snaps Declan out of his thoughts; he yelps and stuffs the notepad quickly under his blanket. He is quick to hide the damning evidence that will no doubt land him his first punishment from his master. He can’t lose the little comfort Sir is allowing him right now. Not yet.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I thought you’d be asleep,” August mumbles, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as his eyes dart all over the room to avoid eye contact.

Declan presses his back flat against the headboard of the bed, his spine forced pencil straight, cowering under his blanket, glancing over the top. His eyes stay peeled on August, pupils blown wide with fright. Like a scared puppy in the pound, cornered by the dog warden. He’s sure August was hoping he was asleep. It’s easier to take advantage of a blood bag when they aren’t ready for you. Declan knows. He knows all too well.

“I was just going to-" August trails off, pointing to Declan’s bedside, sheepishly scuttling over to turn up the drip. The look of panic in Declan’s eyes instantly glazes over into a foggy, far-away look. A wave of ecstasy crashes over him. Pain melting away that he didn't even notice was there, he'd long grown accustomed to it.

"There. That should be more comfortable. I hope."

Declan’s eyes roll back into his skull, eyelids fluttering shut as he lets out a low and throaty groan, slouching back into the bed. Even the panic seems to be shoved down deep in his mind, even if he doesn’t want it to. He just lets the sleep come for him, no energy to push back, and steal him under.

Only then does August notice the dozens of balls of paper littered around the room and Declan's notepad sticking up in a jagged shape underneath his blanket. August rifles through the sheets to pull it out.

“What?” August gasps to himself, flicking his thumb through page after page of just black ink blocks.

He can't make out much. It's all scribbled out. But he can make out a few words lurking underneath the abyss of swirls.

A few “please”’s are hidden in there, a “home” dotted here and there. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what the intention of the letter was. A letter crying out for mercy. Declan still can't quite comprehend, or even trust that he's in good hands. That just maybe the hell he’s endured is truly behind him and he can look forward, without having to look over his shoulder.

August can feel his heart drop in his chest. He can feel the terror radiating from the pages, and it’s devastating to think of what must have been running through Declan’s mind in the moments when he tried to write those letters.

They can't keep going like this, round in circles with this breakdown of communication. How can August ever get through to Declan if the boy can't even voice his worries and wants? There’s no way for August to guide him.

It doesn’t matter. August will figure it out. Tomorrow, he will begin the journey to help Declan recover his voice.

*!*!*!*!*!*

“D-Declan? Oh, my baby… I’m here. Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay-”

Mom?

The tears already spill down his cheeks before his eyes can flutter open. The world stands still around them. In this moment, there’s just him and her. Nothing else exists. No horrors lived through, and no monsters hiding under the bed.

She’s here. She’s really here. She doesn’t look a day older than the last time he saw her, God knows how many years ago now. Same outfit too. The scratchy wool sweater he bought her for her birthday one year, beige with bunnies on it.

His jaw stutters open, a strangled rasp making its way out instead of all the words he wishes he could say to her. How much he’s missed her, thought of her every single day that he could think, loved her with every fibre of his being when all his world was consumed with hate.

All he can do is weep, stretching his arms and reaching out for her, grabbing at the air with his hands. She daren’t wait a second longer, sprinting towards him and pulling him up into a crushing embrace, wrapping her arms so tight and burying her nose into his ruffled hair. Who knows if she’ll ever let go again?

She smells the same too. She smells like home.

After all these days of August swearing safety and freedom, all those lies he’s been fed, this is it. This is the first time he’s felt he can accept that he’s safe. Now that she’s found him, everything will be okay.

Declan squeezes tighter, tighter than ever before. He nuzzles in towards her belly and lets his eyes slip shut. It’s time to finally go home.

Then, a dark chortle rumbles above him. The sweet smell of perfume diffuses in the air, and a musty smell swims up Declan’s nostrils instead. The room feels stale, like all the light has been extinguished and the air has been sucked out of it. Or maybe it’s his own lungs; all he knows is that he can’t breathe all of a sudden. The terror grips his throat again. The arms around him crush against him, and sharp nails dig into his back.

“Aw. Needy little blood bag, aren’t we, Deccy?”

Vince.

Where did his mother go? She was just here in his arms. The world was right again, and now it’s been flipped upside down. The dark snuffs out the light, and loving touch is replaced with pain.

In the entire time Declan lay dormant, his eyes saw a thousand horrors that his mind wasn’t awake to comprehend. Now, he’s awake. Now, he can understand and feel the fear. How can that be fair? That living as a zombie, not quite here but not quite gone, is somehow miraculously better than the alternative?

Life. Life that he fought tooth and nail for. But he lost himself in the fight. And now Vince has come back to drag his sorry ass back down to that vile basement, to reclaim what’s rightfully his. It doesn’t matter how many times Declan tries to remind himself that he doesn’t belong to anyone; Vince is always there to remind him of his place.

Declan screeches, trying in vain to untangle his limbs from the demon who tore his life to shreds. He thumps his fists against Vince’s chest to get out of his grip. It doesn’t matter. Vince holds him easily. Finally, With all the strength he can muster, Declan shoves Vince out of his arms, pushing him away from the bed as he goes stumbling backwards.

But it’s not Vince who staggers away from him.

August nearly trips backwards over his own feet and stares back at Declan in astonishment, hurt painted across his face. August’s eyes are full of betrayal and concern, and Declan can’t wipe the confusion from his face. None of this makes any sense. He heard Vince, he saw him, he felt him.

“I’m so sorry. Did I spook you? I didn’t mean to. You’re okay, no-one’s going to hurt you!” August stresses, holding his palms out before him as if to demonstrate his innocence.

Declan's head is about to implode. He can't begin to fathom what's unravelling before his very eyes. Curling into himself, he wails, mourning the loss of home all over again. The universe won't grant him an uninterrupted moment of silence, not without fear.

If he could, he’d go back and talk to himself; go and speak wisdom to the poor old Declan curled up and sobbing himself to sleep on his mattress and tell him it’s okay. To stop fighting. Because what was he fighting for?

He thought he was fighting for life. But what kind of life is this suffering? Is pain and terror? Deception at every turn.

Strangely enough, Declan recalls hearing a voice telling him that. That it was okay, everything would be okay. To let himself fall, because Vince’s words would be there to catch him. The burden of thought and choice, the risk of messing up would be taken away. He’d be the perfect vessel and blood bag.

At the time, Declan thought it was Vince’s persuasion luring him into giving over that final bit of control. Sweet tempting words to let him slip away,

Now, he wonders if it was him. If it was that final bit of him left suffocating under Vince’s power, laying down the sword. Giving up the fight. Telling Declan that they lost, but that’s okay. The sweet surrender of sleep was coming.

Whatever was coming for him, was okay. It would be better.

It would have been. If it wasn’t for August. The saviour that’s condemned him…

*!*!*!*!*

Declan jumps awake in his bed, springing to sit upright, a scream tearing its way out of his dry throat, drenched in cold sweats through to the sheets. He pats his cheeks, feeling the dampness of tears latch to his fingertips.

It wasn't real.

No-one is there. A sliver of moonlight spotlights the space where August was standing moments ago. No, not August, Not Vince… or Mom. She was never here, they're still worlds apart. And it's like a knife to the heart, losing her all over again.

He's living to suffer, despite the words his captors try to delude him with. Alive under August's wish only, to feed from and toy with. It doesn’t matter that August hasn’t used him yet. He will. Declan knows it. It’s August who is responsible for this; he caused that vile nightmare. August had drugged him in the middle of the night.

The blood pounds in Declan’s ears, his heartbeat thumping rabbit fast in his chest. Panic beats him to a pulp, and he chokes on his own wet sobs as he desperately gasps to catch his breath. He rocks back and forth in his bed, slamming his palm over his mouth to trap in the cries.

Footsteps thunder down the hallway, and Declan’s ears prick up at the sound of sprinting at lightning pace as August and Lucas burst into the room. They both look terrified. They must have heard the blood-curdling scream echo through the house, and come running that very second. To subdue him again, Declan is sure.

"Declan! Everything okay in here-?"

Declan doesn't respond, he can't - he's too busy crying himself into hysterics, hyperventilating for breath. His eyes so wild, bloodshot red that they nearly matched those of the monster gawking at him in shock.

“What’s wrong? What happened?!” August gasps, rushing to one side of Declan's bed, Lucas the other. Declan cries out again, rolling away from August and reaching out for Lucas for protection, grabbing onto his t-shirt and burrowing his face to hide away. He must look so pathetic right now. But Lucas is the one thing he's got left that’s closest to humanity in this place. An ally, someone he can rely on.

“C-Ca…Can’t-” Declan pants, sucking in desperate breaths as nausea twists in his gut.

He can’t do it. He can’t cope anymore. He can’t be here, he can’t be food, or a plaything. Whatever he’s done in his life to deserve this, he’s so fucking sorry. But surely it’s time served by now, there has to be a point where he’s suffered enough. He deserves to go home and be free like the vampire keeps promising him he can. Why give him false hope? So he can revel in watching it be crushed again?

Lucas kneels down to Declan’s level, shooting him a solemn look. He slowly reaches for Declan’s trembling hand and places it flat on his chest, “Do what I do, yeah? Match my breathing. Slowly now, in and out.”

Declan feels his hand puff out with Lucas’ chest, following his exaggerated breaths. He focuses solely on matching, keeping in time–he does know how to do what he’s told, after all. He keeps inhaling through the nose…deep breath…back out again through the mouth. His eyes stay trained on Lucas’, and they breathe together until Declan’s back in the rhythm and the staccato gasps for air are no more.

“There we go. You’ve got this. It’s going to be okay,” Lucas consoles, beaming a smile at him. Deep down, Declan feels like he may be able to spare a pinch of trust in him.

“I think you just had a bad dream. You’re safe, Declan," August chimes in. He sounds as though he’s trying to comfort, and even if Declan doesn’t believe him, he tries his best to not to scream at the top of his lungs to stop lying, no matter how badly he wants to. It doesn’t matter anyway. August probably knows exactly what he’s thinking. They always do.

"Can you say it back to me? You’re safe.”

Declan presses his lips together. Not a chance. He's not falling for it, not playing along with the sick mind games. That is, of course, until Lucas nods encouragingly at him, a reassuring smile begging him to at least try. Maybe if they hear it, hear him try, they’ll leave him alone.

“S-...s-sa-” Declan stammers and stutters, his voice barely rising above a whisper. The entire time, his brain is begging him to not believe his own words.

When was the last time he truly felt safe?

“-fe. S-sa..fe”

Who is safe anymore? Where is safe? What does that word even mean anymore? He thought maybe Lucas was safe… and he seems it. But maybe he's just as bad, he's complicit. Declan pulls his hand away from Lucas and holds it close to him. It’s a fool's game to trust.

“S-Sa..fe.”

He’ll never be safe again.

Declan bursts into tears, shaking his head furiously and snatching his notepad from the bedside stand. August stops and takes a step back to give him space. Declan feels August’s eyes as he writes.

L I E S

August crumbles to his knees at the sight of the words. Declan doesn’t understand. If he’s angry, why doesn’t he just hurt Declan like Vince always did? Why go through the motions of pretending to care? It’s not as if it makes a difference. Declan is August’s to use, no matter what.

"Declan, please believe me. It's not a lie."

LET ME GO

"I will. I promise I'm not - I'm not keeping you here. You’re not a prisoner. No harm will ever come to you. You just need to heal, then we can look at getting you home. I can’t send you back like this - a shell of yourself."

The mask slips, August has finally dropped the ball. Just like Declan knew he would eventually. He’s being sent back to Vince. Patched up and shipped back. He just can’t believe August can dare refer to it as ‘home’. He was right all along, he knew August was tricking him. It doesn’t make it hurt any less, knowing that when he’s recovered and healthy, August will hand him back over to Vince so he can be broken all over again.

It’s not fair that he woke up. It’s not. He’s been through hell and back. What is the fucking point if he’s only being made strong enough so that they can drain him all over again? They had no right to wake him up. They had no right to continue his suffering. Who gave August the right to play god?

Special thank you to @whumpcereal for the amazing beta on this for me! <3 and to @darkthingshappen and @sparrowsage for cheering me on when I was struggling!

#Shattered #Vampire Whumper #Vampire Caretaker #Bloodbag whumpee #I JUST REALIZED THAT I DIDN’T REBLOG THIS.

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