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whumpster-in-a-dumpster · 5 years

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Whumptober 18 - ‘Muffled Scream’

Characters: Peter Petrelli, Nathan Petrelli

Fandom: Heroes

Well. This got...long. Like, very, very long. I knew where I wanted to end up with the ‘muffled scream’ part of the story, but ehhhh...I got sidetracked. Somehow I think you’ll probably forgive me. Who doesn’t love watching two brothers get interrogated in front of each other when only one of them knows the truth?

Also I started writing this at midnight. It’s now 03:25...good job I work nights 😉

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Nathan tried the ropes that held his arms suspended at either side of his head again, to no avail. His wrists and ankles were bound tightly to the metal piping behind him, and the cords were beginning to bite into his skin. The pipes rattled as he strained against them, but didn’t budge. The basement was cold, and stank of damp and rotting wood. Across the little space, Peter still lay curled against the wall, his arms cuffed behind his back and strapped to his sides with what must have been half a roll of tape. Nathan shivered – it had to have been almost an hour since they’d been dragged down here, and his sweat-stained shirt and dress pants did nothing to keep in any warmth. His legs were stiff from standing or leaning against the wall. His mouth was dry, and he had to clear his throat before calling out to Peter for the tenth time in as many minutes.

“Peter. Pete. Come on, buddy, wake up. You gotta wake up, man, I’m…losing my mind over here…”

Finally, finally, Peter stirred, curling in on himself with a faint groan of protest. Nathan started up, standing straighter.

“Pete! Hey! Hey, wake up now. You okay?”

“nnn…Nathan?”

Peter looked blearily up at him from the floor, but before Nathan could answer, the door at the top of the basement stairway opened quickly and two men descended into the bare lamplight. Nathan recognised them as the pair who’d pulled the brothers from the car – the taller one, the sallow man with the sharp sideburns, was leading the way, trailing a cattle prod behind him. As the other, a blonde man in jeans and a beat-up jacket, moved behind him to kneel down by Peter, the sallow man smiled at Nathan. It was not an encouraging smile. Nathan ignored him and shouted to the other,

“Hey! What did you do to him? Hey – Stop! Leave him alone!”

The blonde man grabbed hold of Peter’s collar and dragged him up onto his knees as Peter struggled weakly. Reaching down, he produced a small syringe from inside his jacket pocket. Nathan jerked against the pipes uselessly, then turned to the first man, changing tack.

“Look, if – if this is about money, I promise you, we’re worth more to you in one piece. However much you want, if you just let us go I swear I’ll make sure you get it. No, stop, just – !”

He could do nothing as the blonde man pulled Peter’s head to one side, ignoring Peter’s pleas to stop as he injected the contents of the syringe into Peter’s neck. He pushed Peter down roughly and the younger Petrelli fell back, sprawling awkwardly with his arms still trapped behind him as he struggled to scramble back against the wall.

“God, you really don’t ever stop talking, do you, Petrelli?” The sallow man asked, shaking his head at Nathan with that same sick smile. His accent was a slow southern drawl that somehow suited his long, hollow features.

“Wh-what did you do to me?” Peter gasped, pushing himself up clumsily against a corner of the basement.

“Power suppressant.” The man said, turning around and crossing the room as if he had all the time in the world. Peter pressed himself further against the wall on instinct, drawing his knees up. “Nifty little thing. I’d imagine this whole scenario would go a little different if you could use any of those borrowed abilities of yours.”

“Y-You know about that?” Peter shifted, trying to hide his attempts to pull free of his bindings. At the same time, he tried to reach down inside himself for anything that might help them – telekinesis, electrokinesis, even a quick time-stop, if he could manage it. But he couldn’t; he could feel the powers still there under the surface, but each time he reached for them they receded, like water through sand.

“Sure we do. And I’m guessing by the fact that we’re not both plastered over the back wall that that concoction’s doing its job.”

“Who are you people?” Nathan called, trying to pull attention away from his brother. “What do you want from us?”

The man turned back to him with a look that almost made Nathan wish he hadn’t asked.

“Who are we?” He replied icily. “We’re the ones that you and your little group of upstarts turned their backs on. The ones you lock away ‘cause we’re too dangerous to be left out here. The ones you put into cages and prod and poke so you can do your research.”

He walked forwards as he spoke until he and Nathan were almost nose to nose. He stank of sweat and cigarette smoke and unwashed clothes, and Nathan flinched back even as his heart dropped into his stomach.

“Nathan, what’s he talking about?” Peter asked shakily.

“I don’t know, Pete.” Nathan said steadily, finding it in himself to maintain eye contact with the man in front of him. “Look,” he added, lowering his tone – speak quiet, stay personal, engender some trust – “I don’t know what you’ve heard or what you mean by research, but my family and I have nothing to do with –”

He cut off with a muted grunt as the man punched him viciously across the mouth, swinging him against his restraints. Nathan reeled sideways, tasting blood.

“Anyone ever tell you that lying is a sin?” The man hissed into his ear. Nathan took a moment, hoping that the room would stop rocking.

“I swear I don’t –”

The next blow caught him in the stomach, knocking the air out of him. He doubled over as much as he was able, which wasn’t far, trying to gasp as his diaphragm cramped up.

“Every word that comes out of your mouth is a bald-faced lie.” The man said, disgusted. Then he laughed, stepping back. “Although, I guess it’s just inherent for your family now, right? Bred right into the genes?”

He turned to Peter as Nathan was still struggling to straighten up, coughing as air came back to him slowly.

“How about you, golden boy?” He asked, kneeling down to be on Peter’s level. “You treading the Petrelli party line?”

Peter swallowed, lifting his chin obstinately.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said, earnestly. “The people who did the kind of research you’re talking about, they’re shut down. The Company doesn’t exist any more–”

“The Company!” The man shook his head, exchanging an incredulous stare with his partner. “Primatech Paper? Bunch of Men In Black wannabes with a superiority complex? No, no, I’m not talking about them, I’m talking about the real bad guys, the ones who don’t bother with the bagging and tagging. The ones who only let you out when they’ve drained you dry and sent you on your way with a bullet in your head, and your family –”

He half-turned, staring accusingly at both of them with eyes wide and maddened, “ – Your family are the ones who sign their cheques!”

“Th- That’s insane.” Nathan managed to choke out around the pain in his stomach, feeling blood leaking from his split lip.

“Is it now?” The man turned slowly back to Peter. “What’s Building 26?”

Peter shook his head slowly.

“I don’t know.”

The man nodded, and reached out. The cattle prod, which he’d left leaning against the base of the stairs, jumped into his hands. He weighed it in his grip for a moment, savouring the way both Nathan and Peter tensed instinctively.

“What do you think, Caleb?” He asked the blonde man. “Think you can trust a Petrelli to tell the truth?”

“Not without a little help.” The blonde man said smoothly, his voice high and quiet.

“Reckon that’s a safe bet.” He nodded twice, then jammed the metal prongs against Peter’s chest. Electricity crackled and Peter cried out in shock, every muscle contracting taut as Nathan threw himself against the restraints, yelling, threatening, pleading with them to stop. Finally, after what felt like minutes but in truth couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, the man cut off the flow and Peter collapsed back, panting.

“Let’s try a different question.” He said calmly. “Where is Building 26?”

“I…don’t know what that is –”

Immediately the man moved his wrist, and this time Peter screamed as the cattle prod was pushed into his stomach. He bucked once then fell awkwardly, stiff and immobile. Nathan threw caution to the wind and tried to take off, throwing his full strength at the ropes. His feet left the ground, but the bonds were too tight, pinning him to the wall. He stopped only when he felt his wrists were about to snap, thudding back to the ground.

“Anything to say, Congressman?” The blonde man asked Nathan quietly, pulling his attention away from watching his brother jerk helplessly on the floor. The words came out of Nathan’s mouth before he even had time to think about them – perhaps they were right, maybe lying was instinctive at this point.

“I’ve never heard of any Building 26! Look, you don’t know what you’re doing, and I swear to god if you don’t stop –”

The blonde man had his hand around Nathan’s throat before he could finish the sentence, eyes burning with hate. No, it wasn’t his imagination – there was a deep orange light somewhere behind his pupils, and suddenly Nathan’s throat was burning; white, scorching heat like a fire pressed against his skin –

“You gonna tell me it doesn’t exist, huh? You gonna tell me my sister wound up dead on the side of the road by pure coincidence? You and your black books initiative killed her, and you are gonna pay –”

Nathan’s knees were giving out – he squeezed his eyes shut but white sparks were starting to dance behind his eyelids. The fire in his throat was everything, that and the roaring in his ears…

And then the pressure was gone and he was left to drop limply against his restraints, head spinning and blackness still creeping in at the edge of his vision. He came to with a racking cough that he couldn’t stop, involuntary tears springing to his eyes. Caleb had stepped back, the sallow man’s hand on his shoulder.

“Easy, Caleb.” He was saying. “We still need big brother to be able to talk.” He looked back at Nathan, all humour gone from his face.

“Maybe your little brother here really doesn’t know anything. He seems like the kind of guy who could probably come up with any excuse for what you’ve done. But you know. I can see it already.”

Nathan, breathless, looked helplessly at Peter, who’d pulled himself onto his knees and was looking up at Nathan with worry – not worry for himself, Nathan realised with that now-familiar swoop of guilt, even though Peter’s shirt was charred through and the skin underneath burned red-raw. No, he was worried about Nathan. About what they’d do to him. If Nathan had spoken sooner…but how would he look at Nathan, if he had known?

“You’re gonna tell me.” The sallow man said, all traces of good humour gone. “You’re gonna tell me, or I’m gonna kill him, right now. And I’ll tell you what, he may not be able to piece himself back together right now, but I’m still gonna make sure it takes a while.”

“Nathan,” Peter interrupted. They all turned to him, and he hesitated, then clenched his jaw, finding some resolution in himself as he looked at his brother with defiance in his eyes. “Whatever this thing is, whatever’s going on…if it’s a secret worth keeping, don’t give them a goddamn thing. Don’t give them anything!�� He shouted as the blonde man snarled and grabbed him, hauling him up as he snatched the roll of tape from a table in the corner. “I trust you, Nathan! Don’t give them anything! Don’t -!”

His shouts were muffled as Caleb roughly bound the tape over his mouth and around his head. Peter kept struggling, turning his head and shoulders and trying to shake the man off, but the tape was wound three times around his jaw before Caleb finally tore it off and kicked Peter brutally to the floor, then kept kicking him as Peter tried to cover up as best he could with his arms still tied. Nathan clenched his fists tight, trying to hide the way his arms were shaking, flinching as if the blows were landing on him instead.

“What do you think, Petrelli?” The sallow man said quietly. “Is it a secret worth keeping? Is it worth your brother’s life?”

“I – ” Nathan wavered; his heart was beating too fast and hard in his ears for him to think clearly. He felt sick with fear. His eyes met Peter’s as the kicking finally stopped and Peter dragged in a painful breath, reading the mix there of courage and pain and terror.

The sallow man shrugged. “Guess it is. That’s pretty cold, man, I gotta say.”

He changed something on the cattle prod – twisted some dial on the handle, and now when he pulled the trigger a bright blue bolt of light jumped between the prongs.

“But what can you expect from a Petrelli.”

“No, wait – ”

But the man didn’t stop – he took a step towards Peter and rammed the prod down between his shoulder blades. Peter let out a muffled scream and contorted, lurching out ramrod straight, arms wrenched back unnaturally far.

“STOP! STOP, GOD, PLEASE, PLEASE STOP, I’LL – I’ll tell you everything! I’ll tell you everything I know, just please god let him go.”

The electricity cut off. Even through the layers of tape, Nathan could hear Peter’s whimpering, laboured breaths. His own cheeks were running with tears that he couldn’t stop, every inch of him trembling. The two men looked at him, waiting. Even now, there was a tiny part of him that held back, tried to remind him what was on the line if he spoke, but Peter…oh, god, Peter.

“You’re right.” Nathan said heavily. “You’re right about Building 26. You’re right about me.”

The sallow man smiled humourlessly, and moved to lean against the cattle prod, uncomfortably close.

“Go on…”

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whumpster-in-a-dumpster · 5 years

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Whumptober 2 - Explosion

Character: Peter Petrelli

Fandom: Heroes

AU Warning! This work takes place in a canon-divergent timeline.

Heating things up for day 2 🔥 Time for another one of my favourite whumpees, and one of my FAVOURITE fandoms. Heroes season 1 is so good y’all.

This one takes place in an AU of mine, and is...actually the first thing I’ve published from that AU. There will be more scattered through the rest of Whumptober! Very happy to answer questions if anyone has any, but for now - Peter is currently in a position where he has no useful abilities at his disposal, i.e. no telekinesis, no flight, and NO regeneration. Let’s see how he does!

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Throbbing hands. Stinging throat. A cold, wet burn along his leg. Peter shifted, and grey dust mixed with sticky clumps of plaster cascaded from his hair into his face. He coughed, spitting dust, and hissed as his something in his chest flared sharply. He breathed shallowly, clenching his fists to stop from coughing again, and gradually, inch by inch, shifted his body until he could take stock of himself. Two arms, splayed out in front of him. Ten fingers clawed slowly at the cracked concrete. His chest, pressed heavily against the floor, ached more and more with every breath, but at least he could breathe. Something heavy lay across his back, but it moved when he moved, and after the first waking twitch no more dust rained down, so that was a good sign. His legs…the right one moved, though he could feel patches of bare skin scraped raw along its length, but the left –

Peter tried to move it and immediately cried out as a shock of agony jolted up into his hip, leaving a cold fire in his thigh. His throat was raw and the cry almost immediately subsided into racking coughs, small flecks of blood spattering onto the chalky floor. His chest began to feel as though someone was driving a knife into his lungs; Peter heaved himself up onto his elbows just to feel some relief from the pressure of the ground, and groaned as whatever was wrong with his leg clawed at him again. Turning as much as he could without moving it, Peter looked down at the limb.

The blast had knocked him clean through the plasterboard wall, and collapsed the floor beneath him – he was back on the ground floor, chunks of brickwork and twisted machinery scattered haphazard around him. The thing on his back turned out to be one of the overhead bar lights, mercifully disconnected. Peter pushed it roughly away, grimacing as the movement tugged at his jagged ribs, and it clattered heavily to the floor. His left leg was stretched out straight behind him – there was nothing obviously wrong, no awkward angles, no dramatic pool of blood – but then he tried to lift it, and didn’t quite manage to stifle a scream as he both saw and felt a solid steel rebar thrust into the flesh of his thigh. Even the small movement of lifting it half an inch triggered a spurt of scarlet blood that trickled down the bar and splattered onto the concrete, soaking through what was left of his trousers. Peter held himself there awkwardly for a moment, breathing hard, trying desperately not to whimper as the leg started to tremble. Already his arms were shaking with the effort of holding himself up, but the thought of letting go, letting his leg slide back onto the metal...it was enough to make his stomach contract, and he gulped, squeezing his eyes shut against hot, stinging, involuntary tears. With an immense effort, he held them back, and forced himself to regain control. The bar wasn’t all the way through – he would have seen it in the shape of his leg. And it couldn’t have hit bone – as awful as the pain was, bone would have hurt far worse. So it wasn’t that long. And it was straight. He could pull himself free. He could.

Peter coughed, swallowed, and then coughed again, harder. His eyes were smarting – it wasn’t just tears of shock, there was something else stinging them. There was a new smell in the air, and a haze that was more than just lingering dust. Horrified, Peter twisted, ignoring his screaming ribs, searching for the source. There – flicking orange light on the opposite wall, throwing twisted black shadows towards him. Even as he watched, there was a low roar, like a rip in the air, and the light grew brighter. He could feel it on his skin now, the tiny hairs beginning to singe. The fire would be on him in moments. If he was still here when it reached him…

There wasn’t a choice. He didn’t have the luxury of staying to think of another option. Peter took one final shaky breath, closed his eyes, bared his teeth, and pulled.

#whumptober2019 #no.2 #peter petrelli #heroes #heroes (2006)#whump #blood #trapped #fire #scared #broken ribs #powerless #fall #my writing #nbcheroes #nbc heroes

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