#james gillies quoting khan was not something i expected myself to do

[veryrealimagination]

Everything hurts and I'm dying

Day No: 8

Prompt: Back from the dead

Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries

Medium: fic

Trigger warnings: cutting someone and permanently scarring them, forced blood giving, human body without skin, murder

Murdoch had woken up to terror.

After being knocked out on the way home from the Constabulary, he eventually woke up strapped down to a dental chair, allowing him a 'nice' view of the area. There were multitudes of candles surrounding everything, a tub in front of him, and a cadaver table on its other side. Watts was strapped down to the offending thing with a strip of leather cutting into his mouth. He had either not be knocked out and dragged to his predicament, or he woke up earlier than Murdoch, as a person was standing over him moving something on his skin. Instead of a brush, which the movements of the item made him think that, it was a knife. From Murdoch's view, it was similar to a wood carving one, except even thinner on the point. There were trails of symbols up and down his arms, chest, and legs. Blood in little rivets moving down to the draining hole. Watts must have given up staying quiet from the pain as he heard moaning and short whimpers.

That was some unholy concoction in the tub, milky and likely used to be whitish until blood started dripping into the mixture. Something was floating in it, and Murdoch watched to see a bone bob briefly up before dipping back. The tub was just as large as the table and chair, possibly from the same place. An asylum, or a hospital.

What is in there?

"About time you awoke, Murdoch," a voice said, taunting him from above Watts. The person standing turned and he saw Ralph Fellows from under a cloak hood. "I was thinking that you were hit too harshly." Any words that he wanted to throw out were caught by the same type of gag in his mouth. He chuckled. "The boy over here did the same thing. Realized I would need to stop the both of you from interfering from the ritual. Also needed to stop his squirming. Told him I would slit your throat to get the necessary blood I need if he didn't stop."

That explained why he wasn't twisting in pain, and Murdoch saw him clenching both fists during a particular curve down his right ribs. It tipped tears out of his eyes, even after trying to look at Murdoch to show he was okay. Ish. Looking at himself, he realized that his jacket was gone and his shirt had been cut up to his right shoulder, allowing access to his arm. There was a needle and tubing to a table on the side. Switching back, Fellows was gliding over all the cuts and wounds he made to Watts's body. He pushed and dug into some of them, catching a few painful groans. "All of them have been done," he muttered, setting down the knife and picking up a bowl. Out of it was the same milky liquid from the tub, almost pure white. He poured it directly onto Watts's body, making sure he went down each leg separately. Setting it back down, he started muttering something before setting his hands to work.

Whatever the stuff was, he saw Watts try to escape his bonds to get away from it. His cries of pain rose in volume behind his gag. Murdoch started trying to scream at Fellows to stop, gag and warnings be damned. Fellows's voice rose to conquer Watts and himself. Murdoch didn't recognize the language that came out of his mouth. It held the power of Latin, but none of the words were remotely close to the Church's version. The man finished with his legs, deciding to make those the first things to be rubbed in before going up to his chest. One particular violent throw from the young man had Fellows grab his hair and pulled it as a warning, gaining a sharp cry. After a minute, he went back to rubbing the solution in. Watts clenched his fists, shaking to keep the rest of his body still.

After he was finally done, Ralph moved over to Murdoch. He glared at the man, hearing his colleague friend's pained whimpers even after what he did echoing around. He was still speaking, and Murdoch started hearing the beginning of his chant again. He started going through possibilities on what it could be. A prayer, as such he would say to God, as it held a call to a power. But it wasn't Latin, and this wasn't one of the Church's rites.

Ritual. That's what he said. Something that he would associate with so called Witches and Warlocks. With someone that told the future by reading a person and playing along with their innate twitching over things they guessed. The words may be something older than Latin, from the same area as Egypt and Constantinople. What in the name of Christ is he doing?

Murdoch hadn't been paying attention to what Fellows had been doing to him, but he felt the needle go into his arm and a worrisome amount of blood come out and go directly into the tub. Its milkyish state became pinker and redder with his contribution to the mix. While he was freely bleeding, Fellows pulled up three more bowls. One held a mixture of dried flowers and ash that he poured on top. The second was a liquid that he dipped the entire bowl in to make sure he all went in. Pulling it back in, the milky substance seemed to scrap the bowl and make sure none of the liquid was left. The third were multiple stone slabs, engraved with symbols. Murdoch watched them be set and lay on top of the liquid. Considering they weren't curved to keep themselves up, he wondered how they were doing that.

Before they started glowing. Then he started wondering about that instead.

The first was the center, which he noticed there was a corresponding one on Watts, causing him to scream. Then the others followed, and Watts lit up unnaturally. Ralph was happy at the result, chanting louder. The stones then sunk into the liquid, the glow disappearing when they got deep enough. The man finished the last line of his ritual, loud and demanding. He stood at the end of the tub. Murdoch looked over to Watts. He wasn’t moving and his cries of pain had died off. No.

The liquid started parting, as something rose from it. The bone that he saw earlier was now wrapped with muscles and tendons and even slivers of fat. There was, however, no skin. An entire human body stood up from the liquid, none of it covered in skin. Murdoch could see organs shifting, a heart pumping blood throughout arteries and veins that he could see. The muscles were contracting heavily, indicating their newness to movement and the strain they were under. The skull was the worst, as he could see through the holes that were naturally covered. The eyes appeared to be bulging from their sockets. Because the skin covering and surrounding them isn't there. They focused on him, and the trials of the first smile stretched out the muscles. The hand, a collection of bones that had the slimmest of connections holding them in place, pulled out the needle before using some of the substance to cover the wound. Focused on the being in front of him, he didn't notice that it healed it completely, stopping more loss of blood.

The 'person' then switched their gaze to Fellows. "I followed it," he said, staring in disbelief that it wasn't completed. "To the herb, to the essence, to the word. I followed the ritual. Perhaps he isn't dead yet. That's what this needs." Grabbing a much larger knife, Fellows went over to Watts, quite honestly planning to slit his throat and ensure the completion. Passing by the tub, the arm shot out and pulled at his cloak.

"You should have let me sleep!"

With a scream, Ralph was brought into the tub, the liquid folding over him and keeping him down. The knife had floated to the top, and they grabbed with with a suddenly skinned hand. Quite new, like healed skin under a scab. Stabbing through the liquid, skin started growing over the bones. It got more rapid as Fellows was apparently dying through the wounds and the suffocation. When he was dead, the skeletal body was now a fleshed out person.

Murdoch hoped that the blood loss resulted in hallucinations.

The person was James Gillies.

Turning with a grin, he slashed the closest restraint. It would come apart, as Murdoch started working to make it break. But it would still take a few minutes. He knew this as he climbed out of the tub on shaky legs. The man searched for something to cover his feet and body. Thankfully, there were socks and a coat nearby. He then turned his attention onto Watts. Murdochs attempts to scream at him, to stay away, made the man laugh. It was off key and wrong. He needed to relearn it. Looking him over, he placed a hand on his chest. "Oh, he's still alive," he whispered, that first sentence felt damaging on such new vocal cords. 

Murdoch started pulling at the damaged band. Get away from him. Get away from him, Gillies! I swear to- "Don't fret, William, I'm not doing anything to harm my new lease on life," he still whispered. His voice was enough for the room. There was no need to be louder. "As long as he lives, so do I." James looked over at him. "And if you try to stop me, I can harm him." His words produced a chilling effect, even if his exit out of the room wasn't the graceful act that he once pulled.

Now alone with someone that he couldn't talk with to get information, his efforts to break the restraint were more controlled. After one strong pull, the leather started tearing, and he was able to free himself. The blood loss threw his balance off, and the lightheadness wasn't the funnest. Ignoring the tub, where the substance was still moving on its own accord, he stopped by the table and worked off the restraints on Watts. True to what he said, Watts was still alive. Unconscious, from the pain and whatever he was just put through. But alive.

Looking over the poor man, several of the symbols carved into his skin were still radiating a glow that he didn't know how was happening. He needed others here to help out. He didn’t know what to do now. Julia can treat him. Violet should conduct an autopsy on Fellows. Henry and George need to start hunting down clues. I-

A whimper interrupted his thoughts. Watts was starting to react to the still painful act his body had gone through, shaking with pain and chill. A few seconds and he realized he could move. He sat up and held his head when his vision went double. "Watts," he reached out, trying to find the safest place to put his hands so they weren’t on his wounds. One ended up curled around the shoulder while the other behind his upper arm.

Knowing it was a friendly person beside him, he calmed down a fair bit. "Mur-doch?" he mumbled, voice almost gone.

"Yes. Fellows is in the tub, deceased."

Trying to open his eyes, Watts's first sight was the tub. That terrified him, as the liquid moved up the wasted away face of Ralph Fellows to stare right at him. Then he realized he was on a cadaver table, and tried to get off. He was on his feet. For three seconds, when his body gave away. Murdoch caught him. But his own body couldn’t hold both of them up, he sank them both down carefully. He arranged Watts so he would be sitting beside him. The younger man tried to curl up, to make himself as small as he could. Except the cuts and whatever was put on him stopped his efforts, causing considerable pain. Murdoch saw a shakiness start going through his limbs and wished there was something to cover him. Protect him. The only thing that was around, was himself. Wrapping his covered left arm around his shoulders, he pulled him along his side, offering as much heat as he could produce. Watts leaned in a bit. The man heard him trying to keep calm, breathing through everything.

That's how Station House Four finally found them an hour later.