He stiffened, surprised to feel the cuffs coming off his hands, but before he could have done anything, a blunt object collided with his kidney, sending him to the floor. Pain was like lightning, reaching all over his body, so the kick meant to shove him past the doorway hardly mattered in comparison.
“Patch ‘em up. We don’t have time for it,” the guard barked and threw a first aid kit and some rags to the floor next to Drake before slamming the door shut.
The quick steps that followed were yet another confirmation that their captors were in a hurry.
Drake squashed hope before it could have set any roots.
What mattered was reality, not daydreams. And in his reality Clover curled up on the floor next to a tall industrial shelf. His back was marred with bleeding wounds that would become scars if they got to survive in captivity long enough.
And the brand. He’d been marked like cattle, and Drake knew exactly how much that hurt because his shoulder bore the same symbol.
This should have never happened. Drake had been meant to protect Clover, but he hand-delivered him to the predator instead.
The air smelled of bleach, and as Drake dragged himself to his knees, taking in the small space, he instinctively searched for red spots the cleaner might have missed.
But this wasn’t a cell. The door looked strong, but in an average kind of way, and while he couldn’t see any boxes, crates, or bottles in the empty space, the vacant block of shelves suggested the room was meant for storage, not keeping prisoners. There was no food or water, and nothing that could be used as a toilet, not even a bucket.
He shuddered when the light above blinked, but forced down the growing sense of panic. He couldn’t save Clover, but he could make things more bearable for him, even if the perspective of meeting his gaze made Drake choke on air.
So he touched him.
The boy had followed Drake to the edge of a cliff and jumped blindly when told to do so. Not even Tank trusted Drake that much, and now here Clover was. Broken and punished for his pure intentions.
Clover flinched, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. The wounds in his flesh did the talking, still open and screaming at Drake.
Drake should take it like a man, since he’d already acknowledged the role he played in this mess, but the physical rejection stung so much worse than any beating could have. He swallowed around the rock in his throat and glanced at the white bag marked with a red cross. “I… you need those wounds cleaned.”
Just earlier tonight, in what now felt like someone else's life, Clover had kissed him, loved him, given Drake his body. Now the pale back and thighs were a mess of cuts and bruises, like a physical reminder that the boy wasn’t the same anymore. He would never love Drake after this.
The sob tearing out of Clover’s throat broke Drake’s heart and threatened to provoke a chain reaction in his own body, but Drake needed to be Clover’s rock now, not break down like a child who’d never seen torture. Drake had been in this hell before, and he could stomach it for Clover’s sake.
“I’m sorry,” was the only thing that came to his mind as he shifted closer, wishing he could carry Clover’s wounds for him, but what did those thoughts matter when that wasn’t humanly possible?
“It’s okay,” Clover whispered, his voice raspy from the earlier screaming.
It wasn’t okay at all. Not in the slightest. The angry red brand on Clover’s skin didn’t belong there. It was like a parasite Drake couldn’t rip off Clover, no matter how much he wanted to.
Drake swallowed a howl itching to tear out of his chest and pulled on Clover’s arm in an attempt to hug him. He didn’t know if it was for his own sake or Clover’s anymore, but this might be the last time they could experience the touch of someone who didn’t want to chew through them and spit them out.
But when Clover turned in Drake’s arms like a rag doll, he whimpered in the most broken way. Whenever he got beat down and tired in training, he’d always put on a brave face. That mask was nowhere to be found as their gazes met, and even now, Clover’s eyes betrayed a glimpse of encroaching panic.
“It hurts,” he uttered.
It took all of Drake’s inner strength to not break down then and there. He was responsible for all this, and he would help Clover for as long as he could. “I’m sorry. I had to,” he whispered, pushing Clover’s messy hair back to reveal his tear-streaked face.
He looked like a different person. Drake had seen him crying before, but not like this. Back then, his will had remained solid, but what he saw now was a broken person who didn’t have the strength to hope.