WHO: Thomas (And Beelzebub) WHAT: Uhm. Oops. WHEN: Tuesday evening, while his family are couch-forting WHERE: Place WARNINGS: So this was supposed to be a narrative and it turned into an abduction by its fucking self. So. Sorry. Uhm. Drug use and demons.
There's no way he could ever understand.
There were few things Thomas knew with absolute certainty; he loved his son above and beyond anything else, he would never quite master the awkwardness of certain social situations, and there was no way he could ever understand what his son and fiancee went through at the hands of their demon captors.
Since being messed with - and there wasn't really a better term for it than that - by Beelzebub nearly a week ago now, Jamie and Lena had not been the same. Thomas wasn't surprised at all when Lena started squirreling food away in their bedroom. That, at least, Thomas understood. It's what he had done when their circumstances changed and he was able to afford to have more food than was strictly necessary around. He had hoarded it, keeping excess groceries basically everywhere he could. Both Lena had Jamie had been kept in a state of perpetual hunger and Thomas knew what that was like, at least in theory. He had even made efforts to bring both his fiancee and son something to snack on at least every hour.
He was trying. He was trying so dreadfully hard.
The changes were in everything his precious family did. The way Lena's eyes darted around suspiciously every time she entered a room, as if she expected the very furniture to betray her. They way both Jamie and Lena were so uncharacteristically quiet, which had the unfortunate effect of making their house far too quiet as well. Thomas didn't know what to say to them to break the silence. There was no protocol to fall back on for this; no greeting card level platitudes easily accessed for just this kind of occasion. When sudden sound did burst through the veil of dead air, Lena and Jamie would jump and startle as if their skin had been burned.
There was nothing he could do.
Beyond the ever-present feeling of helplessness, there was something else eating away at him. Guilt festered in his belly and corroded him like so much rust. He was Jamie's father and he was going to spend his life with Lena, however long or short that ended up being. Shouldn't he be able to help them? Shouldn't there be something he could do to pull them out of the fear and the grief and the pain? Someone had hurt the people he loved again, and he was left in the wake of it, drifting away without anchor.
It didn't really help abate any feelings of guilt when instead of returning home after work, Thomas ducked into his favourite pub. He was just going to have a drink before heading back into the fray where his words were powerless against the darkness that had seeped into their lives. There was nothing that could fight against that really, beyond time.
Best laid plans often go awry, right? Wasn't that the saying? Or maybe it was that no good deed went unpunished, if he could somehow twist his quest for alcohol before going home to his traumatised family into a good deed. Or maybe colloquialisms weren't really what was at work here at all. Either way, Thomas never got his beer. He hadn't even had a chance to sit down before strong fingers wrapped around his upper arm and yanked him back the way he had come.
Were they made of concrete? Was he being manhandled by a statue?
He hadn't even seen the person pulling him out of the pub and back into the street. His world had become a blur, all fuzzy edges and too, too many colours bleeding together. Then there was darkness and Thomas thought he had passed out before he heard an engine revving and he realised he had somehow been loaded into a vehicle, most likely a van. In fact it had to be a van considering how the ridges of the floor were poking into his back. And when had he ended up on his back anyway?
Thinking was like trying to wade through thick mud. His brain was uncooperative and slow, and when Thomas tried to cry out, he realised he had also been gagged. His wrists ached, indicating he had been tied up though the discomfort felt far away somehow. How had he not noticed this happening to him? The turning of the van caused Thomas to roll across the ridged floor and crash against the far wall. A whimper of pain escaped his throat, muffled slightly by the gag.
Oh god. Oh god. What was happening to him? Where was he being taken? His thoughts were so unfocused and slow that fear hadn't even occurred to him yet. And then there it was, tying his belly in knots while his heart damn near tried to jump ship up through his throat.
The dim realisation that it was possible he might be able to understand Lena and Jamie's grief soon enough was followed by a desperate, nagging thought he isn't proud of.
I don't want to understand. Fuck me, but I don't want to understand them. Not like this.
His face was pressed against the cold, unforgiving metal of the van floor and it didn't even occur to him to roll back over. Icy dread had crept in and stolen all his wits away and all he could do was lie there and panic and maybe, just maybe cry a little too.
The van shuddered to a stop and then those fingers were on him again, those strong, unrelenting fingers dragging him forward, pulling him up. Thomas cries were stifled by the gag as he was unceremoniously slung over a sharp shoulder and carried god even knew where.
Darkness and fear and silence had been his life for nearly a week, but not really. Not true darkness or true fear or true silence. That was what he was given when his abductor dropped him to a stone floor and left him without a word. The silence was broken only by a door slamming home and the knife of horror in his heart twisted just a little more.
Left on his own for hours, Thomas's felt his mind clear. It became evident to him that he had been drugged, though he had no idea how or even when his captor could have done so. The pub hadn't even been empty, the normal after-work crowd ensuring at least half the tables bad been filled. With the gradual fog lifting from his mind, pain too seeped into every inch of his body, tied too tightly to allow movement. Thomas' teeth gritted against the anguish and the worst part was that he was all too aware there would be worse coming for him.
When the door creaked, Thomas lifted his head, despite the fact that he was blindfolded. He made a questioning sound towards what he thought was the direction of the creaking door, though he was answered by nothing but footsteps approaching him. Fear flooded Thomas' body and he became convinced he was about to die. Even tied up and restricted, Thomas' entire body shook.
The second time his captor drugged him, Thomas felt it. The high hit him like a wave of absolute pleasure, his spine electrifying and curving upwards without him realising it. And Thomas welcomed it like a long-lost friend. Every muscle in his body relaxed, the fear draining away like water. A moan escaped his bruised lips and when the dreadful buzzing reached his ears, Thomas was far too gone, far too blissed out to even notice.