#[strangles it] i have so many cool thoughts and feelings about soundwave and i think that the way this blog is set up is doing a disservice

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( hrgggggg this blog needs an overhaul but that is so difficult to do on mobile....... )

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Day 6: Dragged Away

(But they won’t push us down.)

Whumptober 2019 Day 6: Dragged Away

Word Count: 1823

Relationships: Moxiety

Warnings: Attempted kidnapping, unsympathetic Patton, mildly violent language, rape mention

A/N: yeah... sorry this is late. i’m uploading this in the car, and i’m exhausted, but i had to get it up, so.

The sound of Virgil’s shoes slapping on the pavement is certainly something that can be relaxing, a way to lull someone into a sense of safety. Each patter is like a metronome, a beat to a song that walking creates. Every step echoes in the emptiness, the open darkness of a city abandoned at night, and Virgil absolutely hates it.

He hates it because he’s not even supposed to be here, isn’t supposed to be pushing through the aching in his calf muscles just to get home quicker. He tried to finish up at work quickly enough to take the bus like he always does, but there was a pretty big spill, and he has to stay behind and clean it up. It’s too late for buses now, too late for comfort, and it’s all Virgil can do to not take off in a sprint.

He’s trying, he really is, but he’s never liked walking long distances, and the fact that it’s night time and nobody is around makes it a thousand times worse. He just wants to go home and sleep, cuddle with Patton and forget his weariness, but there’s still a few blocks to go, so he trudges on.

And the footsteps are his only guide again. The footfalls, sound of the soles and their meeting with concrete. The way the soundwaves bounce against the cold stone walls, clash against brick and fall right back. It’s almost like a poem, ticking syllabic through cool night air. And it is night, almost 2 in the morning, and Virgil has a feeling that Patton is going to be awake waiting for him when he returns. He’s figuring things out, trying to sort his thoughts and compartmentalize the split between work life and home life, and then the echoes multiply. 

They’re almost identical in their timing, at first, so close to Virgil’s own pace that he doesn’t even notice. It’s only when Virgil speeds up to get across a driveway outlet that the stark contrast of the echoing thumps on pavement while his own feet are completely off the ground makes itself prominent in the forefront of his mind, brings a growing anxiety to his conscious thought. There’s somebody walking behind him, someone following him, and Virgil’s heart rate quickens as he speeds up very gradually so as not to alert whoever is behind him. He doesn’t want to turn around, to tip them off that he’s aware of their presence, because that could cause them to speed up the process. Is he about to get kidnapped?

And then the footfalls behind him gain speed, too, rise to match Virgil’s new rhythm, and he’s positive that they’re gonna try to hurt him. There’s no other explanation; he’s walking alone, in the middle of the night, in a nearly abandoned, dilapidated part of the city, and there’s someone behind him going at the exact same pace and making the same turns as he is. This is a kidnapper. Or a murderer. Oh god, he’s gonna die. He’s gonna die and he’ll never get to see Patton again, never get to listen to his favourite music, never eat that one really good chicken and rice meal from the restaurant across the street--

Virgil is stupid. He must be stupid, because he does something stupid. Like an absolute idiot, he risks a glance behind him, tries to look and commit his attacker’s face to memory, and the guy dressed completely in black is way closer than it sounded. Virgil’s heart stops, and his pace stutters, and the man is lunging forward to grab him.

Virgil tries to let out a scream when the assailant yanks back hard on his arms, painfully twists them behind his back to keep him immobile, but his mouth gets immediately muffled by the man’s other hand. He’s strong, somehow able to keep him in place with a single hand, and Virgil knows that his own skinny, weak self doesn’t stand a chance. 

He struggles and thrashes as he’s pulled from the road, tears brought to his eyes as the dim yellow glow of the streetlamps starts to fall further and further away. He can’t breathe, the pressure on his throat from the man’s arm restricting his airways, but the panic is setting in and that certainly doesn’t help.

And then the adrenaline kicks in, a harsh rush that’s like a breath of fresh air. His systems are flushed with a solution of fearlessness and fire, and everything feels so much clearer. He can see, and he can breathe, and years of hearing Roman and Logan’s stories as first responders (a police officer and paramedic respectively) gives him enough forethought to act quickly. He can’t wait, can’t drag this out. He has to do something before the panic fills up his lungs again like a black sludge, has to fight before he’s left weary and exhausted and… dead.

With a strangled cry that doesn’t go far from his lips, Virgil throws himself forward just enough, and then uses the momentum to swing the heel of his foot back and connect it with the man’s crotch. He lets out a strangled yell, one that dissolves into an angry whine, and Virgil takes advantage of his pain to rips his arms from the stranger’s grip and kick back again to put distance between them. He manages to get him in the dick a second time, which, under different circumstances would be literally the funniest thing he’s ever heard, but he can’t bring himself to find any humour in it while he’s still in danger of being kidnapped or killed.

Running towards the street again allows him a moment to process, to reorder his frantic, frenzied brain. He knows he’ll be fine as his foot first hits the road, because he was a champion when he ran track in high school, and he can outrun anyone if he just pretends that he’s in a competition. The grey buildings around him turn into bleachers, the pavement underneath him turns to blacktop, and the streetlamps morph into the familiar feeling of the sun beating down on his face. He sweats now, too, both from exertion and fear, and his body is just a vessel for quick transportation again.

He doesn’t remember much of what happened after that, can feel the yells of the sports fans ringing in his ears just the same as before, and when he realizes where he is, who he is, the familiar surroundings of his and Patton’s neighbourhood allow him to breathe a sigh of relief. He still isn’t really processing the whole experience well, and he’s sure he’s going to have probably a million panic attacks when the adrenaline rush has faded, but for now, he just pants hard, turns in the direction of his house, and runs. 

Bursting in the door and slamming it closed behind him gives Virgil an immeasurable satisfaction, borne from the almost victorious feeling of winning. He went through the ringer, rose up, and came out on top, just the same as when he used to run. He feels the same rush, the same jitteriness he used to get when he got first place in competitions. Virgil will freak out later, but for now, he's a winner, and he needs to tell Patton. 

"Virge, honey, you're so late coming home. Did something happen at wor-- ...Virgil? Why are you all sweaty?" Patton's sympathetic tone shifts into one of concern, a layer of worry embedded in his furrowed brows and slight frown. He rushes forward from the hallway to Virgil's side, gives him a once-over to check for any obvious injuries, and audibly frets while Virgil catches his breath. 

"I got-- almost got kidnapped, Pat, an' I-- I kicked him in the balls and ran away, it was awesome and-- and terrifying and I was s-so scared, I… it was so scary… I thought I was gonna d-die… I," Virgil whimpers, comes crashing from his high too quickly, and Patton is surging forward to gather his boyfriend in his arms. Virgil shudders at the touch, flinches for a split second, and then relaxes. His embrace is so warm, brings the tears out of his eyes with soft reassurances, and Virgil is sobbing. The tears soak into Patton's pajama shirt, bleed through to touch his skin, and he's rubbing Virgil's back soothingly. 

"Oh, Virgil, honey, I'm so sorry it happened like that. It's okay, it's over now," Patton murmurs. He guides Virgil's head to rest on his shoulder gently, cards through his hair with a muted pressure. It's always worked and a grounding technique, something that they've discussed and employed many times in the past, and Virgil feels touched that he's thinking of that even now.

"It must have been so scary, sweetie. I'm sorry. It… could have been scarier, y'know. You could've… been shot, or stabbed," Patton muses, and although Virgil understands that he's just trying to help in his own misguided way, his words only cause the anxiety to rear its ugly head once more. Virgil hums shakily, swallows around his residual fear to clear the vice around his neck, and clutches onto Patton's shirt. 

"Uh… yeah, Pat, but that… that isn't really helping right now. Maybe we can just… I don't know, watch a movie? I-- I need to take my mind off of this," Virgil mumbles into Patton's shoulder, sniffs as more tears leak over his lashes. 

"Yeah, I mean… you could've gotten electrocuted, or got your head bashed into the concrete, or maybe even got raped, poor thing," Patton continues, keeps talking as if he didn't even hear Virgil's request, and Virgil's brows pull together. The words send a wave of nausea rolling through him, force a gag out of him that he somehow manages to keep at bay. Patton's hand slowly comes up to rest on the back of Virgil's neck, a gesture of reassurance even as he starts squeezing, clutching a little too tight. "Honestly, it's a shame… I should've told them to do whatever they wanted with you, but you have to go and make things difficult, don't you, huh?"

And before Virgil can process this, before he can feel his heart leap into his throat and pull away, there's a sharp pain in his neck where Patton's hand resides. His muscles feel tired, so tired, and his knees give out within seconds. Patton manages to catch him, gently lowers him to the ground, and Virgil's head is screaming. He can only lay there, bore a terrified stare into his boyfriend, and watch and a spectator to the unknown. More tears spring to his eyes, and a scream tries to build in his dormant throat, and his fingers can't even twitch to move. Patton sighs as he picks up Virgil by the feet and starts dragging him towards the basement door, and Virgil's been knocked down to last place in the rankings.