#it absolutely doesn't have sh vibes but unintentional isn't a tag people block

[b0amagination]

Hasan and Declan - 11

Series masterlist

Content warnings: intimate whumper, slapping, brief suicidal ideation, escape attempt, electrocution, unintentional self harm, mention of past injuries and broken bones, hopelessness/depression.

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I had to split up the audio file for this chapter so click here for (RECORDING PART 2)

Previously…

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A spike of pain sent Declan’s head into the wall behind him and his eyes shot open.

“Th’ hell?”

The bright, bleary figure of Hasan raised their hand and smacked him across the same cheek.

“Christ! I’m up!” he groaned, rubbing the sore spot until it stopped tingling.

“Well, I’m going to be late so listen up.”

“Wish me luck; my head feels like an echo chamber.”

Another slap felt like it reverberated.

“Cool,” Declan rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”

“If you keep sassing me I’ll take your breakfast back.” Always a catch.

“...fine.”

“Glad we understand each other. I’ve got granola and fruit for you that would’ve been in yogurt if I didn’t remember about your intolerance, so you’re welcome.”

“I’m also allergic to strawberries,” Declan squinted at the offending pieces.

“Anything else I should know about?!” 

“Uh…” Declan counted on his fingers. “Shellfish, cats, and hay.”

“You must’ve been a blast to test,” Hasan remarked dryly.

“It was hell, thank you very much.”

“Well I’m not keeping an epipen on hand so let me know if I fuck up.”

“The shellfish one is literally deadly-!”

“So communicate. That’s it,” they shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Back to important shit: you’ve got the telly, the Wii, the movies, and games.” They pointed to each respectively. “Just brought your water and lemons in that cooler, shirt and pants, and the cot’s against the wall. I’m not trying to put that together. That’s your responsibility.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Without missing a beat, Hasan picked up Declan’s breakfast cup and threw it in his face. Granola pelted him, fruit left a slightly sticky feeling on his skin, and he flinched back.

“You sassed me,” Hasan shrugged, nonchalant.

“That wasn’t your threat!” Declan protested.

“I changed my mind. Be happy I’m still letting you have it.”

He flushed, the embarrassment hitting full force. He took a deep breath, turning his head to the side. This wasn’t something to get riled up about. It didn’t matter that much.

“Pick it off the floor if you want.”

“I can’t reach it,” Declan pulled against his cuffs, and Hasan gave a dramatic sigh before leaning down and unlocking them.

“Now you can. Have a great day, babe!” They called back, storming out the door and slamming it, audibly fumbling with the key in the hole. Fantastic. 

But they were gone now. And he wouldn’t have to deal with them for… another eight hours if he was lucky.

“If you’re such a bad widdle boy I’ll take your breakfast away,” he mocked under his breath, picking up granola crumbs from the floor and sticking them in his mouth. “What? Mad I’m giving it to you, huh? Mad that I’m so generous, huh? What do you mean you’re upset about being held captive? I’m so nice to you! The torture is all fun and games! 

“Haha and wouldn’t it be funny if you stayed here for-fucking-ever?! And I took nice careful care of you and then beat you within an inch of your life and was nice again?! Wouldn’t you be so happy and fulfilled and not wanna kill yourself?!”

He shoved a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth and pounded a fist into a stray strawberry, which gushed all over the concrete. It hurt and he regretted it a little. 

All the other strawberries were gathered in a little pile over the other’s corpse, and Declan beat them to a pulp as well. He learned his lesson and did so less forcefully, not eager to break more of his bones. Like that nose which was still not properly set and hadn’t stopped hurting since he got it.

Having coped so healthily with his feelings, Declan collected the rest of his measly breakfast and scooped it up in handfuls to finish it off. Now…

He sat back for a moment, processing his situation. Hasan was gone. They were out of the house, working, and he was here. No handcuffs or restraints. The door closed and locked. A few things to entertain himself with.

He had hours to himself now.

He had to find a way out.

Declan glanced around the room and his eyes caught on the cot and the folded clothes next to it. He inspected the cot as he slipped a blue v-neck over his head. Did Hasan sort through the rest of his clothes for him? They must have. He hadn’t seen them since… he didn’t want to think about that.

Right. The cot. It was folded up, but next to it there was some kind of metal bar… light in his hands, ridges going through it, and probably not the sturdiest of things, but it was the best he had. 

He hurried over to the door, heart already pounding, not sure why he moved with such haste, and twisted the knob. It… opened. 

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” he muttered to himself. He was sure he’d heard Hasan locking it too. 

Well, that meant they fucked up. And he was free.

The room outside was more familiar now, and Declan rushed to the door he’d tried to open the day before. The handle didn’t move, only clicking against its locking mechanism. Dammit! If that led to the staircase, he was going to throw a fit. 

He tightened his grip on the pole and turned around, rushed for the door next to the bathroom, and turned the knob. It opened, so he was probably about to run into the least significant room-

“Nevermind, nevermind nevermind,” he mumbled, starstruck, staring at the staircase stretched out in front of him. Declan rushed up the stairs, dizzy and lightheaded with anticipation. His free hand hit the knob and he froze.

He couldn’t properly grasp it but he couldn’t let go, and blinding pain flashed through him. The buzz of electricity consumed him and he collapsed, dropping the bar, and falling down the stairs.

Hard ends jutted out, even through carpet, slamming and hitting and then he was flat on his back, panting.

Declan curled in on himself, huffing when his shoulder and back protested. Rubbing over his face found his broken nose bleeding sluggishly. A web of pain stretched over his back but, even so, he stood up. 

As he mindlessly crawled back to his feet and teetered up the stairs, his brain finally caught up. Metal handle, electric current, shock, incapacitation. They had to be kidding.

Declan knelt on one of the top steps and cautiously brushed a finger against the doorknob. He jolted and pulled away when a spark flashed through him. If he could just maintain control long enough to twist… his hand clamped over the knob and he threw himself to the side, but everything in him tensed up. He twitched when he slid down, splayed out over the stairs, breathing heavily. 

His teeth ached with how hard he’d bitten together, the rest of his body resonating a similar soreness. But he couldn’t give up. 

Tears slipped down his face as he reached for the knob. If only it was a handle and he could let gravity drag him down and open it, or he could force his muscles and mind to just push past this. 

Declan balled a fist in his shirt, and though lesser, the shock still incapacitated him. He pulled it off and folded it so that several layers protected him from the charge, but the fabric slid off before it could turn the handle. He nearly screamed from frustration and lasting pain in his hand, throwing it to the floor. 

He’d had a bar from that cot before. Looking behind, he saw it sitting abandoned at the bottom of the stairs. He grabbed it and trudged back to the door, rage bubbling up. A strike against the doorknob became one harder, then one against the wood of the door itself that bent it.

“Cheap ass shit,” Declan muttered, slamming it even harder against the door. It left scratches and bent it more, which only fueled him to hit until he was gasping for breath, shouting when the door refused to give. He threw it back to the ground, the low thud entirely unsatisfying. 

Fists slammed into the door now, blunt nails pressed into electrical burns, scabs on lashes splitting open painfully. Thin trails of blood turned to bloodstains on the door, smeared into his skin, and thickened the air with the smell of iron.

He slumped down, only worse for wear, and didn’t notice tears well up until they slipped down his face. That couldn’t be all. There had to be a way out. 

But despair was too quick on his determination’s heels and only weighed him down as he searched through the rest of the basement. The bathroom window was fitted with a brand new padlock. Past the couch, the final door was open, and inside… Declan saw a dryer and shivered. Laundry room. The window inside looked to be a double of the bathroom, also locked. He didn’t want to spend more time there than necessary. 

Around the bend, behind the wall that sofa faced, was a large room filled with… a model train layout? He didn’t care enough to investigate past the fact that the room had no windows and it was fucking over for him. 

No way out.

Right now.

He couldn’t escape this afternoon while Hasan was gone, and that was okay because there would be plenty more days and times when they weren’t there to stop him. When… sure they’d have the same precautions in place, probably that electricity, more than likely more defenses upstairs, and they’d intended to lock his door in the first place, which he didn’t know how to pick… And when Hasan was home, he was restrained, being actively hurt, or kept in his room.

When Hasan was home.

What was going to happen to him when they got home today? He could hide in the room and tell the truth about the lock, but that would mean he’d tried it. And if he played dumb, he’d probably reek with the lie. 

There’s no way Hasan could miss the scratches on the basement door. Nor the bent rod, still on the stairs where Declan couldn’t muster the energy to move it. 

They told the perfect story of what he’d done, so convinced of his own capability that he’d completely disregarded consequences.

What would Hasan do to him?

The fear consumed him entirely in a mere moment, dizzying, and he collapsed next to the sofa. Everything around him went blank as he retreated into his head, unmoving, unthinking, for long enough that it worried him.

He- he needed a distraction. He needed something. His throat was sour with tears and his neck grew sorer the longer he leaned against the couch.

Declan painstakingly pushed himself to his feet, wincing as his left hand stung, most of the electricity having burned through his palm. Dots of blood from his hands stained the carpet and he halfheartedly rubbed them in, walking toward the room.

His seat where he’d been chained was stained with strawberry juice and Declan sighed, kneeling in front of the television and surveying his movie choices. Cars seemed harmless. It was something he didn’t give much of a shit about. He slipped it into the DVD player, pressed play and left this plane of existence.

He paid enough attention on the first runthrough to know that cars were flashing across the screen, talking, and moving the plot forward. Half the time he was asleep, and for the rest of the movie he was half asleep. 

The second runthrough had him paying attention, trying to engage with the story.

The third runthrough was interrupted by the sound of a door opening.

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Next...

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Tag list: @suspicious-whumping-egg, @as-a-matter-of-whump

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