Chapter Text
To the ends of this lost world
You have marched and you have sworn
To a tainted crown of thorns
Alex kept his breathing calm, he knew panicking would only make the situation worse. They had been thorough in their bindings before they tossed him into the trunk of this car. Considering he had gotten out of the first set of bindings they had tried, it made sense.
This time they had gone with copious amounts of duct tape. The tape around his head and across his mouth was particularly uncomfortable. They had wrapped copious amounts around his ankles and wrists as well. His ankles were in convenient reach of his fingers at least though both were behind his back. Alex had been picking at the tape in the long hours since. Unfortunately he had made no noticeable dent.
They had subjected him to the most poorly executed interrogation he had ever had the pleasure of receiving. When they were sure he knew nothing, they had thrown him unceremoniously into the boot of a car. The drive had been short, and Alex had expected to be pulled out, presumably in a more convenient location for body disposal. Instead the car had rolled to a stop, the gentle vibration of the engine had ceased, and then nothing.
Alex could hear voices talking at various volumes around the intermittent sounds of power tools. But nobody had come to open the boot yet. It was the longest he’d ever been in the boot of a car. And wasn’t it depressing that at sixteen he had other experiences to compare this one to.
The bruises from the beatings he had received during his “interrogation” ached where he was lying on them and his muscles had started cramping before the car had even stopped. He was focusing his attention on his breathing and the slow picking at the duct tape on his ankles to distract himself.
Suddenly there was an explosion of sound outside. Alex caught the words “Police! Hands where I can see them!” and then everything devolved into indistinguishable shouting and gunfire. Alex recognized the retorts as handguns. No automatic weapons, considering he was in America that was a high probability. Alex felt little relief at the knowledge, a stray shot fired from a handgun would cause just as much damage as one from an automatic if it hit the car. The boot would do little to slow a bullet.
After a few minutes that felt like an hour the shooting died down and the shouting turned from frantic to authoritative. Alex could make out very little but he got enough to know the police had been the ones to win this fight. He abandoned his futile attempts at removing the tape and shifted to his stomach so he could thump his feet against the ceiling.
His ribs protested the shift, and from the new tightness in his chest Alex confirmed that his ribs were more than just bruised. He pushed through the pain and continued to bang his his bare feet against the carpeting above him. Between the banging noise and the pain he couldn’t hear what was happening outside, so he was caught by surprise when his feet lifted and met no resistance.
Light blinded Alex and he rolled back onto his side and squinted upward. There was a dark silhouette above him, and Alex could make out the shape of a gun pointed at his midriff. After a few seconds the man lowered and holstered the gun. Gradually details began appearing out of the dark mass. Alex was able to make out insignia though he didn’t know enough to understand it. He was at least confident the man was police.
“I have a civilian in need of medical attention here,” The officer called out as he approached. “You’re going to be okay. Let me get this tape off.” The man reached for Alex’s face. Alex flinched but he only grabbed the tape and started pulling at it. The man’s brow furrowed as he fought with the tape. Alex looked the man over, he was dressed in a blue uniform, his gun holstered but not secured. He had dark eyes and his curly black hair was cropped maybe a centimeter from his scalp. He paused in his work to roll up his sleeves revealing dark toned forearms.
When the tape pulled off his mouth Alex gasped in lungfuls of air. The officer stopped pulling when the tape reached the hair on the back of Alex’s neck.
“Thanks,” Alex rasped, surprised he managed to get anything resembling words out. Suddenly there was a second person there. Alex recognized her uniform as a paramedic.
“I’m going to cut this tape off, but you’re going to need to go slow on moving your limbs, okay?” The woman said as she reached for his feet. Alex almost rolled his eyes, he knew what getting restraints off felt like thank you but was too busy getting oxygen back into his lungs. The tape was quickly cut off and removed, though it took two pairs of safety scissors to get through everything. Alex slowly moved his arms to his side and extended his legs until they hit the side of the boot.
“That’s it. Take it slow,” She said, as Alex flexed his hands and shifted them underneath him. Then he pushed himself up to a kneeling position ignoring the loud protest from his ribs. “Not so fast,” she said alarmed and two pairs of hands reached out to steady him. He ignored them and looked past his two rescuers.
He was in a repair garage. Several cars in various states of assembly were crammed into the space. The power tools Alex had heard earlier were scattered around on the floor and rolling carts. The bright fluorescent lights were fighting with the strobing blue and red of the fleet of police vehicles parked outside. Police officers were milling about the small space, moving between the cars, heading in and out of the door Alex assumed led to the offices.
“Christ you’re just a kid,” The officer in front of him breathed. Alex ignored him. There was movement at the front and then another paramedic appeared from between two police cars pushing a stretcher. Alex wondered if someone had been hit in the firefight earlier, though he didn’t see any bodies. Then the man turned toward them and Alex realized the stretcher was for him.
“Let’s get you out of there, shall we?” The woman said. Alex looked back over at her. She looked to be in her mid twenties, the same age as the police officer, her black hair was slicked back in little waves and pulled into a tight bun at the base of her neck.
Alex nodded and let her and the police officer guide him into sitting on the bumper. He could breathe much better now that the pressure was off his ribs. The tape still stuck in his hair was annoying him where it dangled down his shoulder. In annoyance Alex tugged his arm out of the police officer’s gentle grip and yanked the tape off. He gasped as he felt it take a good chunk of hair with it.
“Don’t,” the police officer said belatedly. Alex dropped the tape into the boot behind him. The police officer looked vaguely horrified. When Alex brought his hand back around the man grabbed it more tightly. The stretcher paramedic had arrived by then and all three were looking at him in shock.
“Was annoying,” Alex slurred out. Then his eyes focused on the stretcher, or rather the straps hanging from it. “I’m not getting on that.”
“We need to get you to the ambulance so we can assess your condition and get you to the hospital,” the new paramedic said calmly.
Alex cataloged his wounds mentally. He had bruises all over his body, cracked if not broken ribs, and possibly a mild concussion. It was hard to tell if the dizziness and nausea was from a lack of oxygen and the foul smell of the boot or from one of several strikes to the head he had taken during his failed escape attempt. He wanted to refuse anyway.
The paramedics looked him over again, this time with more concern. He knew he was a mess. He had ligature marks underneath the tape, and a spectacular black eye. He could feel his breath hitching around his rib injury.
“You might feel okay now, but we want to make sure. There’s no harm in a little assistance,” The lady tried again, looking him in the eyes.
“Fine,” Alex said. “But no sedative and no restraints.”
“Okay, I think we can do that,” The woman said, smiling at him. It was clearly meant to put him at ease, but Alex could see the tenseness behind it. “Can Emmett here pick you up?” She continued. Alex eyed the stretcher with trepidation but nodded.
The police officer, Emmett, wrapped his arms around Alex’s shoulder and under his knees and lifted. Alex gasped as pain lanced through his chest letting out a string of curses mostly in Russian. He was carried the short distance to the stretcher like a child being carried to bed. Then the officer was laying him down and the relief on his ribs was dizzying.
Emmett was staring down at him in concern. Alex smiled back up at him, trying to let the man know he’d be fine. He’d survived much worse before after all. Then the stretcher was moving. Alex was relieved they hadn’t tried to get the restraints on.
When they got to the ambulance the questions started. The man with the stretcher had shut the door to the back with a finality and presumably moved up to the driver’s seat, leaving him in the back with the woman.
“My name is Sheilyn, I’m going to ask you some questions. I need you to answer them as truthfully as you can,” She said bustling around the small space as the engine rumbled to life. “Are you allergic to anything, any medications?”
“No.”
“That’s good. I’m going to give you something for the pain, okay?” She took his right hand and Alex stared at the ceiling as she inserted an IV needle. “Can you tell me your name?” She asked once everything was set up and she was sitting with a computer in her lap.
“Alex Machunski,” he said, keeping to his cover identity. They had let him keep his first name for this operation. He could feel the pain receding as the floaty feeling of the painkillers hit his brain.
“Do you have insurance?”
“Ummm,” Alex wasn’t sure. That wasn’t a normal question. He knew his cover was an American, but insurance had never come up. He wasn’t supposed to need the hospital until after the mission if at all. Though he guessed the mission was technically over.
“Alex,” The woman said. It was clearly not the first time she had said his name. How much did they give him?
“Yeah,” He slurred.
“Is there someone we can call?” His sluggish brain tried to process that, someone to call. His brain hit a number, handed to him on a slip of paper he had later burned. He could see the neat tiny handwriting with the words ‘for emergencies’ curling into ash in the motel bathroom. He rattled it off.
“Thank you,” He heard the woman say from a distance.