Brittle Memories 1/2

[soncnica]

Title: Brittle Memories 1/2
Author: soncnica
Rating: R
Genre/Pairing: sci-fi, aliens!fic, space!fic, Jared, Jensen (general)
Wordcount: cca. 11.000
Summary: He didn't want to die like this, with some guy talking all kinda weird things. He didn't wanna die with some 'mad scientist' testing stuff on him, drugging him, hurting him, torturing him, especially in a place like - wherever this was. And then … that got shot down faster than one could say 'wtf just happened?', because he certainly was not expecting that. He was so trippin' on something here.
Warnings: object insertion (idk how else to call it, but it's nonsexual, but just in case that makes you go eww), kidnapping, hurt/comfort (hurt!Jensen), totally-made-up medical&other stuff, amnesia (well, not really), overuse of the words 'oh God' (sorry!), drugs, language, mystery and all around weirdness (can't help myself), NOT a death fic, and no lasting damage done to either of the boys (I could never!), happy ending
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is NOT MINE! ALL IS FICTION. I don't own the boys, and I certainly do not own the picture used as the banner. The pic was found here.
A/N: I saw the picture that I used as art for this fic and the idea to write this struck me like lightening. LOL! I don't own the pic, the original can be found here (no. 21). And this is 42 pages long in Word and I tried my best to fix mistakes, but if you find anything, do tell me, so that I can fix it. Thank you! And maybe I kinda had too much of a blast writing this. Oops…
Also can be found here on AO3

The man that was standing by his right side looked all kinds of tall, really tall and serious in the … scrubs? Where those scrubs? Scrubs. Okay, a hospital then. Obviously. Where else would there be a guy wearing scrubs and an expression so serious like he was contemplating on how to do brain surgery without killin' someone? There was a slight scowl there too, like he was thinking that maybe brain surgery wouldn't be enough to fix this guy's problem.

Oh God, what happened? He remembered absolutely positively nothing since he went to bed last night, did some right hand action, and fell asleep feeling confused and lonely.

After then … nothing.

What happened? Was he … was this hell? Because he didn't think he deserved heaven, not with how antisocial he was pushing people away instead of just embracing them and letting them into his life. No wonder his only pals were his hand and coffee.

"'m I dead?" he croaked. Like a frog. So, there was something wrong with his voice. Tonsils? Meningitis? Common cold?

The man smirked and he was expecting him to say 'not yet, you aren't' but the smirk turned into a smile – with dimples? – and when the guy's thin lips parted what came out was: "Thank the Saturn, no." and well, okay. So … so, not dead then.

Great.

But definitely injured or sick or something, because he was in a hospital after all. So something was definitely wrong with him but he'd get fixed. Everything would be okay, because the guy – a doctor or a surgeon, he had to be one of those - was already by his side; assessing, calculating, making plans to fix him. He would sign any forms for any surgery, whatever it would take, just to get better and get out of there. Hospitals sucked ass.

But … this was a really, really spacious hospital room. The ceiling was way, way up high and … uh … he tried to twist his head left and right, to see what was hiding at the walls and uh-oh, this was … this wasn't a hospital room.

This was … not that … because hospital rooms were usually stark white and smelled of disinfection and had walls that always tried to close up on him – he knew that from experience, he spend a lot of time in hospitals when he'd been a kid - and the beds were a lot softer than whatever it was that he was lying on now. And hospital rooms were brighter, had windows – most of the time - were warmer and …

… this wasn't a hospital room. And that … that meant that the guy was definitely not a doctor.

Oh God …

"What's going on? What's … what …"

He couldn't move his head all that well, not that he didn't try. Because he was starting to really, really panic, he wanted to see all of the place, wanted to see what was lurking in the shadows behind him, but all he could do was move his head just a bit to the left, a bit to the right, a little bit up and forward and backward too. That was all.

He was paralyzed.

The guy did something to him, he … he paralyzed him, because he couldn't actually feel anything physically holding him down, no straps, no ropes, no duct tape. There was nothing anywhere that he could feel or see, and yet, here he was, unable to move.

Oh God, this was how all those horror slash torture movies begun. A guy wakes up, strapped to a table and then there's so much blood and so much screaming and if he survived this, he would never again turn on the TV. God help him, he'd throw his television out the window and threw all the DVD's he accumulated through his life into trash. He would, just watch him. And then he'd stare into his wall and ponder about life.

"Where, what, oh God please don't kill me, please, please, please don't."

In movies, begging never helped, not really, often it just made the psycho killer even madder and more insane, but begging was a natural reaction. He couldn't keep his words in, even if he tried.

He banged his head against the hard surface of whatever it was, that he was lying on and his eyes widened when he came to realize that this, wherever this was, had never really been a hospital. Because hospital rooms don't have a big opening at the top, right above where he was lying. If someone would have dropped a rock from that opening it would've hit him right in the chest.

"Oh God, where am I?"

He was really starting to panic now, working himself into a full on, no men left behind, panic attack. He was in a place that he had no clue of what it was, where it was, there was something preventing him to move, something was bounding him, something invisible and he couldn't move. Couldn't move.

He tried, though. He tried moving his arms, but only his fingers moved, tried to move his legs but all he could do was bend them at his knees a little, tried to move his head, but the range of motion was still as it was before, tried to move his chest, bending his back, but he couldn't do anything but fall back down to the hard surface and roar in frustration: "Where am I? Who are you? What're you gonna do to me? Please don't kill me, please!"

He was banging his head on the table beneath him, tears springing to his eyes, running down his cheeks. He wasn't a weak man, never considered himself weak, but seriously, here, now … he felt as a newborn kitten; scared, helpless, lonely and so weak that tears leaking from his eyes wasn't a thing to be ashamed of.

He drew in a deep breath and looked to his right, blinking his eyes a few times to make the tears go away and try to see the man who was standing there beside him, wearing scrubs. Green scrubs; short sleeves, pants tied with a white string. He looked like he had just come out of a shift at some hospital, the shirt he wore even had wrinkles and sweat stains under the armpits.

He banged his head on the table again. He needed to wake up from this. Right the hell now.

And he shouldn't be thinking about this; about what the man was wearing.

He should be thinking about why he was lying flat on a table in the middle of a huge round room with the roof cut open and the sky littered with bright, flickering stars staring right back at him.

He should be thinking about why he couldn't move, how he got there, where there was and what the fuckin' hell was goin' on here?

"Pleasepleaseplease…"

He begged, pleaded, closed his eyes and though of all kinds of nasty things that man could do to him, while he was helplessly lying there, forced to endure whatever sick, demented fantasies the guy would try to exercise on him.

"Please, don't … don't hurt me…" he whispered through a glob of spit that gathered in his mouth and he swallowed it down, coughing when it went the wrong way.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't be scared now. Didn't wanna scare you, by Saturn I didn't. 'm sorry, but you're gonna be just fine."

The man spoke, his voice deep and calm, rich with compassion, not really something one would expect from a psycho kidnapper slash mad scientist. Because the guy looked the part; the green scrubs, his whole posture – muscular, strong arm crossed at his chest, soft voice, gentle eyes, and a smile popping out dimples on both of his cheeks and longish, brown hair curled up at the tips.

Completely mad scientist vibe. Plus the room … the room was huge, enormous, round and round his eyes went and he saw these little balconies, rows of them going around and around until it all ended with that big hole right in the middle.

It was majestic, was what it was. It was an odd word to pop into his mind, but it was true. It looked majestic. Like he was trapped in a tower, forgotten by time. Although it looked industrial, like there had – at one point in its life – been something made here, something that required a lot of concrete and a lot of roundness, it still looked amazing. Beautiful, if he would be into clearly abandoned places.

There was a smell of ... freshness whenever he breathed in. A smell one would only find near a mountain stream; fresh, watery, cool, balmy.

He couldn't hear any sounds, it was all eerily dead silence, nothing that would make him say 'aha, I'm near water, or near a road or near a city', there as just … quiet so alive it was like a caress over his overstimulated nerves.

He looked to his left – as much as he could – and saw concrete. Everywhere, there was gray, cold concrete. Wherever the lights, that were dimly lighting the place up could stretch their fingers, he could see concrete; floor, balconies, the whole building was concrete. There were some iron railings - he presumed although he couldn't very well go and touch to test - that divided the balconies into, what looked to him, separate compartments.

It was really something extraordinary. And he'd love to spend some time observing it more, but he had more pressing issues to attend to.

Like the mad torturer that was looking down at him with concern in his eyes; the man's face was contorted as if he was the one freaking out.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. That was the last thing I wanted. I … please, just … calm down and after we do this, everything'll be okay."

Oh God. Do what? Do what?! Cut him open? Spill out his guts? Cut off his limbs?

His breathing picked up; he couldn't stop it even if he tried. There wasn't enough air getting into his system and his lungs were starving and he couldn't breathe. He tried to move, his whole body a restless and open nerve, the invisible bonds were starting to itch his skin and he was gonna get a rash …

Oh God, oh God, oh God …

He stopped, when his eyes landed on a machine that was standing by his left foot. Because what the fuck was that? What was that?

He strained his neck, trying to see it better, but all he could see was a machine, clearly connected to the floor somehow, that didn't really look like it belonged to this wacko place. It was all black thin and thick tubes and silver wires. It looked too clean and too shiny to belong here.

He gulped: "Oh fuck, oh fuck, please don't torture me, please, please, 'm no one, I don't know anything, 'm just a paper pusher. Oh God, please, please don't hurt me."

Because it was obvious that the machine wasn't something good. Not with all those tubes and especially not with all those needles poking out of some of them. He counted three tubes, but there could be more. There could be a shit load of tubes and needles that were just waiting there for him. And it had buttons. It had freaking buttons. Buttons that did shit when someone pressed on them. He didn't wanna know what kinda shit they did, when one pressed on them. But there were a lot of buttons. Like … like three computer keyboards worth of buttons.

Oh God, oh God …

It looked like one of those machines dentists have, with all the drills and stuff and he was going to puke. He was going to puke and choke on that, because he couldn't move and he wanted to move and run.

"Hey Jensen, look at me. Look at me."

And why… how does the guy know his name? Why? He … he's no one, he works in a law firm, where he is no one. No one even knows his name. The only one who 'talks' to him is the coffee machine when it pings that his coffee is ready.

Was the guy following him around? Watching him? Observing him? For how long? How much had he seen? Had he seen his right hand in action?

He blushed.

Oh God he had been followed, watched and taken. He had been taken, kidnapped and now he'd get tortured and killed and left by the side of the road somewhere for the wild animals to have a treat.

Oh God, oh God, oh God…

"Jensen, come on now, calm down. Jensen."

The words came from somewhere alarmingly close and the guy smelled of … cinnamon? Cinnamon? For real? Oh God, oh God, oh God he was gonna be tortured and killed by a guy smelling of Christmas.

This was … this was definitely not the way he wanted to go down. He wanted to die peacefully in his sleep when he'd be seventy-eight, two kids, three grandkids and a wife. He had it all planned out, damn it and now this happened. This, whatever the fuck this was. His plans never worked out, he really should've known that by now, maybe kinda even expected this to happen. Because his life just sucked that way, okay.

"What's …" he should try that again and this time without the high squeak:"… what's going on?"

"It's all okay, don't worry, alright."

The guy was dangerously close to his face. If he'd stuck out his tongue, he'd be able to lick the guy's mole by his nose.

He had to squint his eyes to see into the mad scientist's eyes; they looked exotic, brown, green, gold. They had colors swirling in them, that was probably not natural, but he wasn't exactly an expert on eyes, so … his were just plain bright green, although he had heard some say that his eyes were out of this world. Oh well, obviously none of those people ever looked into the eyes of a mad freakin' scientist.

And then there was the hand. It had five fingers – so that was normal at least – that he could feel be splayed across his chest.

Naked chest.

Oh God, he was naked.

Everywhere.

All over.

Skin. And hair. And no cotton between all that and the man's eyes.

Oh God, oh God. He didn't want to get raped on top of everything. Oh God.

He shuddered, feeling goosebumps appear on his arms and legs. It wasn't cold in this place, there was some kinda warm breeze being blown over him, but just the thought of his everything being on display like that, in front of this weirdo.

His junk. His junk was there in the open and he could feel his dick and balls trying to hide. Well, good luck there buddy, because if I can't hide, neither will you.

He closed his eyes again. He wanted to go to his happy place – sipping cocktails in Hawaii. That was his happy place. Cocktails with funny umbrellas, warm weather, sunshine and the smell and the sound of ocean.

His happy place was definitely not a building made of gray/black concrete and being tied to a table of some sort with the dentist's machine of hell standing right beside him.

"Jensen I promise I won't hurt you. I know this is scary, but I promise. Just calm down and this'll be over in a few minutes. We don't have a lot of time here."

Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God. Time? Time? There was a time limit? Oh God. If there was a time limit, oh God, oh God …

"Please don't, please …"

"It's okay, it really is."

He watched the guy circle the table, stop at the top of his head and pull a … mask … from somewhere behind him. It was a dead spot to him, he couldn't move his head that far back and even if he could, the man was blocking it anyway.

"Wh…"

He couldn't finish, because the big, black mask was coming. It was like a huge, black hole descending on him – gonna eat him alive, there'll be poison pumped into him, maybe snakes will come to bite him to death, or it'll be some kinda water torture, swallow up as much as you can until your belly bursts …

Before he could develop a heart attack, the mask was on him; covering half of his chin, his mouth and nose, both of his cheeks. All there was of his face were his eyes and his forehead. His scared eyes and his sweaty forehead; he could feel drops of sweat run down his skin, tears leaking into his hair.

If the man wouldn't kill him, the fear most definitely will.

"Okay, now breathe really deep for me, okay, we're just gonna make you a bit drowsy, alright? It'll be easier then."

He didn't want to become drowsy, he wanted to freakin' scream and run away and maybe do some damage to the guy while doing so.

But then the hand under his chin tightened its hold, pushing his head back, stretching his neck and the mask made a 'ssshhhhppp' sound, attaching itself to his face with a bone crushing sucking pressure, that he thought would shatter his cheekbones. The hand on his forehead held him still, stretching his neck until he was sure it would break.

And this was how he was going to die.

He blinked up and could see the guy looking down at him, smiling, showing dimples, but the look in his eyes … it wasn't evil. There was no menace in those eyes; they were soft, gentle, sparkling in the bright light, they almost seemed happy, but not in the creepy, horrific way. He didn't see anything of what those actors look like in movies, when they play a psycho person, or something. There was absolutely nothing in the man's features that would scream 'danger, insane, creepy, weird, torturer slash kidnapper slash rapist'. Nothing.

Everything about him screamed 'nice, wouldn't hurt a fly'.

And wasn't that just how flies got caught into the spider's web? The web looked all nice and harmless, but then … BAM, and the spider got its dinner.

One could never trust nice. Nice always came with suppressed insanity.

"Come on, deep breaths."

The hand holding him under his chin started to gently caress his neck, a slow up and down motions that would – in some other times – make him upchuck his dinner, but was strangely soothing then. It was forcing him to breathe.

He looked into the man's eyes and drew in a deep breath, giving into the words and into the touch.

He had never imagined himself to become a victim. He didn't want to die in some horrible, painful experiment gone wrong. He didn't want to suffer through lobotomies and unknown drugs with unknown effects and he didn't wanna die period.

And yet, he breathed in, he gave in and if the guy would split open his head and take away his brain or cut right down the middle of his chest and took a peek inside … it would all be his fault. Because he gave in.

But this feeling of … don't fight it, you know you shouldn't fight it … overcame him when the guy smiled and stroked his forehead. The hand was gentle, the palm smoothing out the wrinkles his terror caused, wiping away the sweat and the fear.

He breathed in and coughed when the air that was being pumped through the mask hit his lungs. It smelled stale, tasted even worse when it hit his tongue and it was starting to make him really drowsy.

"You're doing really well, Jensen. Can you count from ten to one?"

"Ten, nine, three, fifth, ones…*

His voice was muffled by the rubber mask, his throat was starting to burn and he was going to toss his cookies if he's going to be forced to breathe in that disgusting air for much longer. He tried to raise up his hand, to push away the mask, but no, his arms were still lying motionless stretched by his sides. He couldn't move them. He couldn't move.

And this was really happening. How the fuck had he gotten himself into this? How the fuck did this deranged person find him? Why? Did he give out vibes that attracted unbalanced people? Because there had been some really wacko people talking to him lately, striking up conversations with him everywhere – on the train home, on the bus home, in the coffee shop, in the goddamn milk and other dairies aisle in his favorite store.

The people were … nice, chatty, if a bit unusual in the fashion department – they all wore red blazers with a gold pocket on their right breast – and the topics they babbled about were – about space.

Space. They talked about space almost fanatically. He smiled to them and walked away as fast as he could, rolling his eyes, but damn it, they always found him. Not the same people, but dressed the same and spewing all kinda things about space and planets and aliens were coming and oh God, oh God.

He needed more of that gas that was being pumped into his system.

He needed to fall asleep and maybe when he'd wake up, this horror, this nightmare would just be that – a nightmare.

Because he was at home. He had to be. He was in his lumpy bed, drooling all over his pillow, the neighbor was vacuuming again at the ungodly hour, the other neighbor's dogs were barking and it was approaching six am and the alarm clock would ring very soon and he'd wake up and all this bizarre shit would just be a nightmare.

Wake up, Jensen. Wake up you son of a bitch.

"Good Jensen, really good. One more deep breath and then we're done. I need you awake and aware, okay. Need you to speak to me, but not move too much. That's it, we're done. You did good."

The mask was taken away from him and he … felt … whoah. The big opening right above him was blurry and … swinging up and down, like someone tied it on a bungee cord. Whoah, too close, too close, it was gonna crash on him, and then it moved away.

But then his eyes cleared and he could see the stars … he could see the stars even when the light in this place was so bright. It was so bright. Whoah. Bright like staring at the sun in the middle of the summer.

The balconies were spinning, the place was spinning, but when he blinked everything stopped. His heart didn't stop though, just kept on beating and beating and beating crashing into his chest like a butterfly caught in a jar. He did that once, caught a butterfly in a glass jar. He released it right away, couldn't watch such a thing of beauty suffer. But he knew how it looked like … the wings of a butterfly, so pretty and so fragile, just like his heart, crashing into the sides of something hard and unrelenting.

"Jensen, you with me?"

The guy's voice was coming from his left, right there, if he could reach out he could touch it … it was a deep rumble that made his bones rattle. He moved his head a bit to the left and looked into the man's eyes.

He smacked his lips together, trying to gather some moisture, but it felt as if everything had been sucked right out of him, when he said: "Gonna do?"

Ugh.

"What… goin' to do?"

His eyes were following the guy's hands over to the 'dentists' machine of horrors' and the fear, that had kind of disappeared when the guy was stroking his nervousness away, was returning now. Full force, slamming him straight to the chest.

Oh, God his naked chest. He was naked and where was that guy gonna put that tube?

"No, no!"

"Relax…"

He didn't want to relax. Relax? But he was relaxed; his body was relaxed, even when his brain was working a hundred miles per hour, but his body was relaxed like he was an overcooked noodle.

"Please, don't … no, please…"

The tube was connected to the bowls of the big machine that looked like a big box painted golden-black. He couldn't tell if the machine was connected to something too, or if it was a standalone torture device. And the buttons were taunting him; 'm poison, 'm radioactive sludge, 'm never before tested drugs, 'm the plague, 'm ebola virus, 'm the thing that will eat right through your bones, 'm what will make your insides boil, 'm cyanide, 'm sarin gas, 'm arsenic, 'm thallium, …

… he should lay off movies and books.

"No, please, don't, please no!"

"Jensen, listen to me. We have to do this, okay? We won't hurt you, we won't harm you in any way, we could never do that. I promise by Saturn. I know you're scared, I know that, but everything's gonna be okay."

Oh God, the guy was speaking in plural now, when it was obvious that there were just the two of them there.

Plural?

Oh God. The guy was completely touched in the head, split personalities, one Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Oh God, oh God … stuff like that only happened in movies, not real life, not to him.

But he seemed so honest. So sure of all of this.

Well, fanatics usually do. They look all cute and sincere before they kill you, or make you kill you.

The guy gave a little nod of his head that was completely eerie in the way his eyes flashed golden-green and his whole face became nothing but honesty and compassion.

"Trust me, okay?"

He closed his eyes and turned his head away. That was his answer to that, except he didn't know if that gesture made the guy think that he trusted him or if he understood it as it was meant to be – a big, fat fuck you.

Turning his head away and closing his eyes, maybe not the best idea, because then he couldn't see what was going on. What that guy was doing. And he needed to know what the guy was doing, he definitely needed to see what the guy was doing, especially with that tube. Because that tube, needed to go somewhere and he was one hundred percent certain that it would go somewhere on him. Or in him. Oh God, just not his dick. He was very partial to his dick and that tube would probably split it in half.

He snapped his eyes open and looked to the guy and the way he was checking out the open ending of the thin tube. And the thick needle attached to it. The tube was thinner than the needle and that was just wrong in every conceivable way.

"I think this is too big. Do we have a three?"

What? What 'three'? Who was the guy talking to?

Then a woman came out of freakin' nowhere. Well she came from behind his head, but still. Nowhere. She was thin and tiny and beautiful in her silky, bright green dress. And with her came air that smelled of lemons and oranges. He would totally hit that, if he wasn't who he was and the only word he ever said to a woman was 'hi' before chickening out. But when he saw what she handed the guy, he wanted to disappear. Because it was clearly meant for him. It was … well something shiny, kinda round, a cylinder maybe. It was definitely shiny, he was sure of that, and it had a needle thick as his pinky. Was that a needle? With teeth?

"No, what… no… what're you gonna do? Please don't… please, no!"

The gas didn't make him slur any words, he could speak just fine if he really put all of his strength to it. The gas just made him really, really lethargic. Relaxed as if he'd been smoking pot. Loads of it, minus the special effects it brought with. Hell, he was in one of those special effects.

"Thank you."

He wanted to thud his head against the hard surface of the table until he'd pass out, because he did not want to be awake and aware for whatever would come next.

The guy was very swift and very efficient – fingers working like they were trained to do just this, his hair falling in his eyes, but that didn't seem to interfere with how masterfully he changed one cylinder with the other. It was … fascinating to watch. Also, the toothy needle was fascinating as well. Small teeth were planted all around the hollow opening, and someone had to give a lot of time and effort into that. It was smaller - he could tell that, so… three meant smaller? Good to know … for future references - which swell, because the other one … had been as thick as his thumb.

And where was that thing gonna go? Mouth? Nose? He could do nose. Ear? Eyes? Well, what else was there? He didn't have all that many holes. Ass? Oh God, oh God. Dick? Oh dear Jesus, please …

"Alright Jensen, this is gonna hurt a bit, but I promise not for long, okay? Just take a really deep breath and relax."

"No, no! Nonononono no!

The guy's hand was dangerously close to his limp dick, but it didn't go there. It didn't go there, thank you Lord for small mercies.

But then the guy's long fingers pushed open his bellybutton and inserted the tube with the toothy needle … he screamed.

He still had his voice, the gas didn't take that away from him and he screamed. Threw back his head as much as he could, straining his neck, which stupidstupidstupid, made his back bow and he pushed his navel straight into the needle.

He freaking impaled himself on the thing he wanted to escape from. He was such a moron.

He kept on screaming, until he could feel veins starting to bulge out of his neck.

"Shh, sh, sh, sh, you're alright, Jensen. Come on, now. Shh, shh, shh..."

He could hear his scream echo through the empty building long after he stopped and started to gasp for breath. He was still gasping when a sound penetrated his gulps of air. A buzzing sound, like millions of flies gathered in one tiny room. Just not that loud. Muted. Subdued.

"Just relax..."

The guy was gonna tell him that one more time and he was gonna ... he was gonna ... he couldn't do anything. He was completely at this crazy person's mercy.

He could feel the teeth on the needle poking, scratching at the bottom of his bellybutton and it felt strange. Felt really strange, like he needed to piss, but not. And it tickled, didn't hurt.

Not yet anyway.

"Stay still, Jensen. Stay really still, okay. Don't move."

Until it did. Until pain he had never ever experienced in his entire life, and he was twenty-seven and had both his arms broken at one point and twice his right wrist, but this ... the needle was being pushed forward, right through his navel, right through, the teeth gnawing at the flesh, eating their way deeper and deeper, like a fat drill drilling into him. He couldn't not scream.

It hurt. It hurt so badly. All of his muscles locked tight and he tried to raise himself up from the table, but all he managed was a weak twitch of his middle finger.

His whole middle was on fire, pain spreading down to his legs, to his toes and up his chest to his head and down his arms to his fingers. His nails hurt, the tip of his hair hurt, he was the essence of pain.

And then it stopped. Just like that, like someone snapped a finger, the pain stopped.

He breathed, gasping for air, swallowing it down as it came his way. He could feel himself almost foaming at his mouth, like a wild animal with rabies, but breathing was more important right now than swallowing.

"Breathe, breathe, that's is, that's it."

He settled into a peaceful buzz that all of this left inside of his head. He could hear the guy talk, understood the words and knew he needed to breathe, thank you so very goddamn much, but he just couldn't.

The pain of something making its way into him, was something he would never forget. It would remain with him forever; in his dreams, on his way to work, while he would sit at his desk, while he'd eat lunch … he knew it would.

"Jensen, I know you can hear me, just calm down. It's over, I swear by Saturn, it's over. Everything's okay. You did good, you did good."

No. Nothing was okay, because now, this was the point when the real torture would begin. He had absolutely no idea why he needed something to go inside of him through his navel for Christ sake and why he was now hooked to that box via a long, black, thin tube. He had absolutely no idea where that thing even went and he didn't wanna know. He didn't wanna know if poison or drugs or oh God some kinda toxins were gonna be pumped into him.

He wanted to die.

"You with me here?"

God help him he was, but he didn't wanna be. He wanted to be in Hawaii, drinking cocktails and watch the ocean, but ... he was there. With the man in the green scrubs and with a hose attached to him.

"Yeah..." his voice was a hoarse whisper. He screamed his throat raw. Jesus. He never thought something like that was possible, but apparently it was.

He had tears streaming down his face, didn't know if he was actually crying or if it was all involuntary. Didn't care. He couldn't do anything about it anyway, couldn't lift his hand to wipe it all away, couldn't lift his arm to hide his face.

He just wanted to hide. Just for one minute of privacy.

"Good, good. Just stay with me, we're almost done, okay. Almost done and then you'll be able to go home."

Home? Home. In a body bag? Or just home? He wanted to go home, to his small apartment in Portland. He wanted that. For this torture to end ...but why? Why do all this just to send him home afterwards?

What kind of experiments was the guy gonna do on him? What?

"Jensen, listen to me."

The guy snapped his fingers in front of his eyes and the sound made him jerk which made the tube move inside of him. He hissed. It didn't hurt hurt, it was just very, very strange.

"Listen. How does it feel?"

How does what ... oh.

"Hot! Hurts!" he yelled and whatever was being poured into him stopped.

"Jensen, 's it hot or warm?"

What?

"Hot."

It was freaking scorching.

"Okay, lower three degrees."

There were some clangs and clinks heard and then whatever was being poured into him, returned, but this time it felt ...

"How does it feel?"

"Cold" he hissed. If before it was hot like lava, now it was cold as ice. It was spreading all over him. He could feel it up in his mouth, and down in his calves.

What the fuck was …

"Alright, up a degree."

"How does it feel now?"

"Just hurts."

"It'll feel better soon, just calm down and relax into it."

The damn thing in his navel didn't hurt anymore, now it was just a distant pressure like someone was resting a really – nicely – warm hand on top of his stomach. He could feel that – pressure – all over his body, everywhere. It was like a blanket that wrapped around every inch of him. It was even sort of … annoying, frustrating, but in a good way. It was doing something to him, something that was making him feel good, better, warm.

Weird.

He raised up his head, trying to see, and immediately wished he didn't; it was obscene, was what it was. Obscene and he had never seen anything like that ever. Well maybe in some more obscure sci-fi movies, but damn. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. There was a black tube connecting him to a machine. From his bellybutton, which okay, it was far better than if the guy'd have stuck that needle into his dick, but fuck.

Fuck.

And there was blood. There was blood running down his hips and his groin. He was bleeding.

"Don't worry, it's all fine."

The guy said and started wiping the blood away with some white, wet cloth he seemed to get out of nowhere.

"'m bleeding."

"It'll stop soon, I promise."

The guy continued to wipe the blood that was starting to run down into his pubes, with wide, gentle strokes, avoiding touching anything that wasn't bloody.

Could this get any more humiliating? Could it? Seriously?

"Please don't kill me, please."

He whimpered and placed his head back on the table. He didn't want to die, not really, and if he was to die, then he just prayed that it would be painless and swift.

"Please…"

He turned his head away and let out a sob. He was way, way past caring if he cried or not, if he was weak or not. He didn't care. Maybe it was the gas, that made him weepy, or maybe that had always just been him.

"Jensen, hey, look at me."

He didn't want to. He didn't want to see the guy, with sparks in his eyes and gentle words and fuuuuck!

He turned his head towards the guy and sighed.

"We're not gonna hurt you. We won't damage you, I promise you that. I know you're scared, but there's nothing to be scared of. I can't tell you what's happening, I wish I could, but it's not my place to do so."

He didn't even wanna process that. Didn't wanna go through that information and pick out important bits and pieces that would maybe help him understand more. He didn't want anything. He just wanted to go home, curl up in bed, hug his pillow and cry himself to sleep.

Because this, this just didn't happen to people like him.

He licked his cracked lips: "What … what's your name?"

The guy smiled, like he was genuinely happy about sharing his name: "'s Jared."

Jared. Normal name. Nothing all that abnormal or specific about it. There were lots of people with that name. Nothing that would scream nutty as a fruitcake.

Jared the fruitcake.

He was losing it.

He was gonna die of brain aneurism or a heart attack … because he was starting to lose it.

"Jared … please just don't … please, just let me go."

He read once that calling a person by his or her name, made everything more personal and blahblabhblah, he wasn't able to finish the article, because his mom told him to take out the trash and when he got back, the newspaper had already been used as the bottom of the cat toilet.

Joy.

But a name. He had a name now.

"Close your eyes."

"No."

"Come on, just gonna wipe your face. It's a mess."

"Oh, uh…"

He closed his eyes and stayed still when Jared started wiping away all bodily fluids from his face. It was embarrassing, but he'd endure it, because it felt nice too. To finally get rid of the itchy tears and the salty snot. And the cloth was nice, warm and wet and soft, so soft like silk, but with amazing soaking powers. He sighed.

"No, this won't work. Give me number one. It's thinner, we can't risk damaging him. We can't risk this to fail. He's too precious for all of us."

Thinner? Damage?

What? What did he miss? What?

"What? Jared, what?"

The gas was really doing stuff to him again. Whoah. The shadows on the balconies grew … bigger, thin and tall and multiplying by the second. He moved his head left and right as much as he could and there were … people … appearing out of nowhere, standing round and round the place, up high, holding to the railings. They were too bright to look at, but he could see hands, legs, heads.

It felt like a theater; and he was the person on stage having a monodrama. Mono-horror.

He started to breathe faster, started to come on the edge of hyperventilation but a hand in the middle of his chest made him stop. Stop breathing, stop his panic, stop his brain from going into overdrive.

"Jensen!"

He had been here for maybe half an hour or so and the guy – Jared – had never ever yelled at him. Until now.

He felt like a kicked puppy, he would've tucked his tail under him and lowered his ears, if he were a dog. But he didn't … he just stopped and looked up at the guy.

"Don't worry. They've," Jared spun around and made his arm fly through the air, pointing at the figures standing all around them, "came here to see," the guy turned back to him and smiled, "you get reborn. They've watched over you your entire life, and they'll watch over you until the end of time. Don't panic. Just breathe, calm down and let's finish this. Then, Jensen, then you'll finally be able to go home. I promise."

The hand on his chest pushed in a little and then let go, leaving him cold, scared and stunned. Absolutely stunned. And horrified. And embarrassed. Mortified. There were people watching him, while he laid there naked, cracked open, remedies of tears and snot on his face and a tube sticking out of his stomach. Observing him, while he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He couldn't even cover his junk; everything was laying on display down there.

Oh God, oh God, oh God … he wanted … he wanted only Jared. He was getting used to the man – was this Stockholm syndrome, was that what this was, because if yes, then he was even more screwed than he through he was - and the guy never ever looked at him down there. Never. He wanted that safety back, because all these people … who were they? What were they gonna do? Was this a gangbang? Was he the main course?

There was a swiiishh-ing sound and a button on the machine blinked in orange color, looking all kind of spooky amidst all that black and gold. When Jared pressed on it, a hidden compartment opened right in the middle of two tubes that were attached to the machine.

Oh shit … there we go with the needles again. Except this one was thin like air, he only saw it because Jared was holding it and rotating it before his eyes, making light reflect from it.

Oh God, oh God…

… he wasn't even going to try and guess where that would be going. He didn't want to know. Not really. He just seriously had enough. The pressure in his navel was unusual, but not painful, and this hum of soft pressure all over his body was making him really … cozy. There was no other word to describe it. He felt cozy and whatever it was that the tube was doing to him, it wasn't really hurting him.

And he was already humiliated enough to last him a life time, the gas he inhaled before was making his thought processes go on and off, and all over the place, the people watching him were making him blush from his groin up, he could feel heat spread up his chest, cheeks to his forehead.

He was done.

For real this time.

PART 2