The Halfway Point, chapter 7

[tori_angeli]

Things get bad.

I'm sure I'm losing readers due to the dark nature of the fic, but I promise there will, in fact, be plenty of C to complement all the H (y'know, hurt/comfort...I haven't slept).  But it will get worse before it gets better.

“Calm yourself, Leonardo,” Splinter said softly as he sat on the dojo floor in the Lotus position, eyes closed.  By all appearances, this was a normal day for the ninja master. His breathing was slow and even, and he had not spoken in at least a quarter of an hour, at which time he had suggested that Leo meditate with him.  He had not moved, still as a tree on a windless evening, as a porcelain statue, light as air, calm as water.

Leo rounded on him.  “How can you just sit there?” he snarled, and immediately regretted it.

Splinter gave him a dark look without even opening his eyes fully.

Deep breath.  “Sumimasen deshita ka, Sensei,” Leo apologized softly, bowing low, closing his eyes as he did so.  Light as air, calm as water.

“Iie, Leonardo,” murmured Splinter.  He closed his eyes and once more resumed meditation.

It was a façade.  Splinter was meditating because he had no other way to stay calm, now that his son had disappeared.  Again.  And no one knew where he was.  Leo gritted his teeth.  His eyes slid shut, and he sank to his knees before his master.

“Sensei?”

Splinter’s eyes opened again.  “Yes, my son?”

“I ask permission to go out and look for Raphael.”  Splinter’s responses to this question, repeated over the course of the day, had all been to the negative—but it was late now, and there had been no word from Raphael.

There was a moment of hesitation on Splinter’s part, and his eyes flickered, seeming to search through the possibilities of any outcome he allowed.  “Ah… the answer is not as easy as I wish,” he said softly.  “Raphael…is not like you.  You trust the guidance of those who have come before you, and learn from it, and remain true to it.  He is not satisfied with the experience of the wise, or the knowledge of the ages, until he can prove it for himself.  To force it upon him is to drive him away from it, and to cause him to lose himself further.  You walk a lighted path, Leonardo, while he finds his own way by feeling through the dark.  This is what makes him strong—the bird who fought his way out of the egg will survive, while the one whose egg was broken for him will perish.  Your strength is different—you test what you know, but you have not openly rebelled.  His strength causes him to go astray, and that must be allowed when it can be, while we remain ready to show him his true path if he should seek guidance.  He will learn, in time, that living is not an individual effort.  But he must learn that on his own, or he will not learn it at all.  Wakatta ne? Do you understand what I am saying, my son?”

Donatello burst into the dojo in a flurry of barely controlled panic, carrying his cell phone.  “I just spoke to April,” he rushed.  “They saw Raph.”

Leo bolted to his feet, but not as quickly as his sensei.  “Where?” demanded Splinter, eyes making sparks.

“A few miles from here.  They say Casey saw him”—

“They?” interrupted Leo.

“Casey’s with her.”  Don spoke the words with slight but noticeable distaste.  “He was out looking for House and Raph showed up as soon as he found him.  He beat the hell out of Casey before April showed up, and then he disappeared.”

The hesitant relief Leo had felt initially was now gone.  He hissed in frustration.  “Did they see where he went?”

Don’s panic, as though he had been given time to absorb what he had heard, was giving way to an anger than matched his brother’s.  “No sign of him.  Mike was with April, looking for Casey.  He’s coming back.  He’ll probably know more.”

“Why did you hang up?” Leo demanded, infuriated.  Splinter remained silent, absorbing every word and mannerism of his brightest son.

“She told me everything she knew, and she had to drive,” Don snapped as though irritated that Leo was blaming him.  “Leo, she said that when Raph disappeared, so did House.”

That caused dead silence in the room.  Splinter had a dark look on his face, and his eyes smoldered.  “And what does Miss O’Neil make of this?”

“House was unconscious.  She thinks…she thinks Raph killed him.”

“Did Raph say anything?” asked Leo.

“She didn’t say.”

“Call her back.”

Don flipped his phone open and dialed April’s number.  Leo glanced at his sensei, who appeared thoughtful, brows low over his fathomless dark eyes.  After a moment of silence, Splinter said, “Tell me what you are thinking, Leonardo.”

There was no separation of training from real life.  “I think,” Leo said slowly, “that April might be right.  Raph also could have simply captured House, but I don’t know why he would keep him alive when he was one of the ones who…”  Leo didn’t finish the sentence.  “And I would hate to think—but have to consider the possibility—that Raph may have left, and House may have awakened and followed him…or that he awoke and overpowered Raph.”

“No answer,” Don said softly, closing the phone.  “She usually doesn’t when she’s driving.”

Splinter nodded.  “You two will join me in searching the city for your brother.  When Michelangelo returns, he will wait here for Raphael and let us know if he returns.  But we haven’t a moment to lose.  Where did Miss O’Neil say they saw Raphael?”

“Just off 13^th and Bleeker.”

“Then we will start there.  Remember, your brother is recovering from a serious injury, and can barely speak.  We must find him quickly.”

 

Raph had prepared this spot in the sewer days ago.  He’d selected a room with a large, strong pillar of brick and brought in a coil of strong rope and a pair of handcuffs.  He’d even set a chair in the room for himself.  Everything had been thought of in advance.

House was still unconscious, on his knees, tied to the brick pillar, his cuffed hands tied to his ankles.  It was truly an uncomfortable position.  His arms and legs were probably already asleep.  He stirred a little, eyelids flickering.  Raph had had to hit him a few times on the way here to keep him from awakening.  Now, all was set.  Everything was ready.

Everything except Raphael.

Raphael had hunkered down in a dark corner, forcing himself to stare at his captive as though if he stared long enough, his stomach would stop churning, his hands would stop shaking, his heart would stop pounding.  House would awaken any minute, and he couldn’t see Raph like this.  If Raph was going to do this, to make his enemy fear him, he had to maintain control.  If House wasn’t afraid of him, no amount of torture would extract justice—he would always know that he had some sort of effect on Raph.

House was stirring, and Raph’s breath wasn’t getting any slower, his heartbeat sped up, and his eyes widened fractionally.  He hadn’t planned for this.  He hadn’t known his body would reject this plan as soon as it was put into action.  All his life, he had been trained to make his body obey him, but at the same time, give it what it wanted.

So he closed his eyes and abandoned himself to sheer panic for three breaths.  When his eyes opened, he was calm.

The gangster’s eyelids flitted open, pale eyes dim in the shadows, the room lit only by two camping lanterns.  When House’s eyes focused on Raphael, they widened a little and glanced to the side.  Raph stood, staring at the gangster and refusing to shiver.  This time, he was in control.  This time, House was going to suffer.

“Remember me?” he asked calmly.

House didn’t reply.

Raph seized forward, snatching the gangster’s jaw and forcing him to look him in the eye.  “I said, ‘Do you remember me?’” he snarled.

“No you didn’t,” mumbled House through clenched teeth.  “You said, ‘Remember me?’”

Raph bashed his head against the pillar, forcing a grunt of pain from his captive.  “Answer the question.”

“’Course I remember you,” muttered House, squinting as though through a haze of pain.  “You’re the bitch.”

A screen of red passed over Raph’s eyes, and when it passed, House was listing to one side, grimacing in pain.  Raph’s right hand remained balled into a fist, and felt like he’d been punching someone repeatedly… which he probably had.  “My name,” he hissed, “is Raphael, and by the end of the night, you’ll know why you shouldn’t a’ messed with me.”

“Sounds like a nice line, hero,” House said softly, straightening, eyes half-lidded and glittering.  “Believe me, you’re nothing special.  Our lesson was to teach you not to mess with us.  Slow learner.”

Burn of rage, and Raph unleashed another series of blows on House’s hated face, that face, flabby and smug, it should have felt better than it did to hurt it, to make it pay for that smugness.  He seized House’s bare scalp and shoved his head against the pillar roughly.  “In my life,” he said hotly, “I’ve fought and won against guys you’ve kissed the feet of.  I’ve beat freaks that woulda made you shit yourself ta look at ‘em.  What the fuck makes you think you’re any kind of a problem for me?”

“For one, none a’ those guys rammed a C-cell up your ass,” House said with an amused note.

“Fuck that’s brave,” snarled Raph, shoving House’s head harder against the pillar.  “Shoot a guy in the leg and beat ‘im up, and bleed ‘im out, and that makes you so strong?”

“You tied me up,” said House through his teeth, eyes calm but the veins in his neck standing out.  “You’re beatin’ the shit outta me.  That make you stronger?”

Raph snorted.  “Fucking idiot,” he sneered.  “This ain’t about me provin’ I’m stronger than you.  This is about you gettin’ what you deserve.”  He shoved his fist into House’s gut, right beneath his rib cage, where his stomach was.  House’s eyes popped and bile streamed from his mouth to drip down his chin.  Raph’s stomach turned.

House spat.  “That all you got, little whore?”

Dirty little whore likes it!

Raph swallowed the burn of rage.  “Got more than you.  You just got names.”

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” House asked with a note of nonchalance.

“Should be obvious.”  Raph tried to match House’s flippant attitude.  He turned away, picking up the chair and flipping it so the back faced House.  “I don’t wanna.  I wanna hurt you.”

“’Cause we hurt you, right?  ‘Cause we really gotcha that time.  Made you think.  Made you take us seriously.  Made you hurt.  Gave you nightmares.”

With a hiss, Raph struck out again, hit him three, four, five, six times before stopping himself.  He didn’t want House unconscious again.  He wanted him to be awake and suffering.

The beating didn’t seem to phase House this time.  He licked his lips as Raph drew away and turned to sit down.  “We made ‘l’sting ‘mpression, I c’n tell,” he slurred, beaten mouth working less.  “It was good f’r me.  Wuz it… good for you?”

The blow this earned him knocked out a tooth and loosened a few more.  Raph could feel them give, but felt no satisfaction from it.  As House spat his mouth free of the blood, Raph casually swung a leg over the chair and sat on it backwards, as relaxed as possible, folding his arms over the back.  He immediately became aware of how uncomfortable he was sitting like this, especially in front of House, but if he shifted his position, he would give away his discomfort.  If House knew he had power over the way Raph sat, it would be the end of Raph’s control over the situation.

House’s eyes grazed Raph up and down.  “You spreadin’ f’r more?”

The chair flew sideways and clattered to the floor.  Raph gave a cry of rage and punched House again, and again, and again.  With every blow, he only got angrier, only loathed the contact with his victim even more.  House’s skin, clammy and cold like white dough, was becoming more repulsive, and worse, House’s laughing eyes, and worst of all, though helpless and hidden behind his back, House’s powerful hands.  Knowing they were there, attached to him, was what made Raphael stop pummeling his captive and stumble backwards, too disgusted and horrified to be near them, those hands that had crushed his flesh and muscle against his bones, holding him, pinning him, helpless and weak and hideously pathetic…

Swallow.

What a sight he must have been.

House’s eyes had seen it, had seen him weaker than he had ever been, had seen secrets no one had ever been allowed to touch, and knew that, and used it against him still.

House’s mouth was smiling.  Raph wanted to cut that smile in half, to beat it off his face, but he couldn’t stand to touch House’s skin again, to feel it scrape over his knuckles as he struck and know that the physical pain he caused him was temporary.  House knew that, too.  House knew that, regardless of who was tied up, regardless of who was beating who, House had control now.  House’s mouth could make him lose his temper.  House’s voice could remind him of his weakness.  And on some level, Raphael feared that House’s arms would break his bonds and House’s hands would seize Raphael and do it all over again.

Raph hated looking at him.  He could beat him all he wanted and it wouldn’t do a thing for him, any more than it would do a thing to House.  Nothing Raph could do to House would change what had happened.  Nothing Raph could do to House would be as bad as what House had done, and for that, House had the upper hand.

He didn’t have to say a word.  House still had control, and was continuing what he had helped start almost a month before.

He couldn’t look at House’s smile anymore.  His stomach burned, and his knees felt weak, and he knew he was going to vomit.  House couldn’t see that.  House already knew to what level he had reduced Raph.  He didn’t need to get any more satisfaction from it.

Raph turned and walked quickly from the room, faster than he meant to but slower than he wanted to, trying not to let it show, trying to stay in control, and as soon as he was out of earshot he doubled over and puked, his body seized with powerful spasms and waves of nausea.  Coughing, he sank to his knees, waiting for the spasms to pass, for his control to resume.  He didn’t think it ever would.

You’re the bitch.

No.  No.

No, I’m not.

He had to get home.  He had to get away from House.

He stumbled to his feet and started to run, leaving House behind.  He would decide later what to do with his captive, but right now, he couldn’t look at him, couldn’t touch him, couldn’t hear him speaking what he knew was true.

I’m not.