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victimeyez · 23 days ago

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Withdraw

Part 2 of the Professional//Victim + In The Woods Somewhere crossover series The Professionals

Tommy spent the rest of the day outside, between lying in the sun and walking laps around the property. It felt like a dream after being in the hole for so long. Well, he assumed it was long - he had no way of knowing how much time had passed since Caius took away the last of his light.

He’d been outside for a couple of hours before he realized it might look bad to Fletcher. If they suspected he was trying to plan an escape, they might take away this freedom just as fast as they had given it. Tommy stood in front of the lodge, taking slow, even breaths to try to steel himself.

He finally ventured inside, nervous to walk through the house alone to try to find Fletcher. Luckily, they were in the kitchen, cooking something that reminded Tommy how hungry he was. He hadn’t dared take anything, even after Fletcher said he could. It felt like a trap.

Fletcher glanced in his direction. “What’s up?”

Oh. Tommy immediately forgot what he had prepared to say.

“I uh– I guess I just wanted to…check in. Do you need– do you want me to help with dinner? Or…anything else?..” He cringed internally, but offered Fletcher a timid smile. Please, please like me.

“Mm, no, I’m just cooking for myself right now,” Fletcher said.

“Oh, okay. I’ve just been outside, you have really - the grounds are really beautiful.”

“I’m glad you appreciate it. Have you eaten yet?”

“Uh…no, not yet.” The idea of taking his own food sounded infinitely daunting. Caius had been very strict on that, and it felt wrong now to assume what he could eat, and when. Tommy fidgeted uncomfortably, wrapping his arms around himself like a shield.

Fletcher said nothing. They retrieved two bowls from the cabinet, filled one for themself, then dished the remainder into the second. It was smaller, but still enough to be a decent serving. They picked both up and held the smaller one towards Tommy.

Tommy looked at the food. Steaming, vibrant vegetables tossed with rice. His stomach growled loud enough he was sure Fletcher heard it. He looked up at Fletcher, trying to read them, to see if this was real. They just waited.

Slowly, hesitantly, Tommy reached for the bowl, and Fletcher pulled it back. Tommy snapped his hand back like Fletcher had tried to bite him.

“I’m being nice,” Fletcher informed him. “I told you to eat hours ago. I’m not cooking all your meals for you. I’m cutting you some slack because you’re new here. But you need to feed yourself. Understand?”

“Yes, Fletcher.” Tommy swallowed nervously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to… overstep.”

“I told you more than once that you can get your own food from the kitchen.”

They held out the bowl. Tommy haltingly reached for it again, and this time Fletcher let him take it.

“I’m sorry… thank you,” he added timidly. The bowl was warm in his hands, and the smell was making his mouth water.

“Do I eat at the table?”

“Sure,” Fletcher said, heading off towards the couch. “Wherever. You can eat in your room, just bring your dirty dishes back.”

Tommy absconded to his room to eat. Sitting at the table felt like too much. He snuck his dishes to the sink and sequestered himself back into his room until nightfall, just sitting at the window, trying to drink in the dream while it lasted.

When it started to grow late, his meditation was interrupted by a knock on the door. When Fletcher entered, Tommy scrambled to his feet.

“Stand down there, soldier, I just brought you some necessities. Since apparently they sent you without anything but the clothes on your back, I put together a little pack for you.” Fletcher opened the bag and showed him - shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, a bar of soap, a toothbrush, tooth paste, dental floss, antibiotic ointment, and a big box of bandaids.

Right. Still going to beat the shit out of me. Don’t get too comfy, Tommy chided himself, but accepted the pack gratefully.

“I don’t – I don’t know what to say, thank you,” he told Fletcher, hugging the bag to his chest.

“There’s some clothes in the dresser. Should fit you, sort of.”

Tommy nodded, thanking them again. Fletcher made a vague grunt of acknowledgement and left. He found a pair of gym shorts and a soft tee to sleep in, both baggy on him, but good enough. Fletcher didn’t lock the door to Tommy’s bedroom when they left, or even after he showered and brushed his teeth. Tommy couldn’t bear to turn the lights off, so he sat in bed with them on, anxiously waiting to see if Fletcher would lock his door. He was still waiting for the sound of that click when he finally fell asleep.

He woke up early on his own. It took him a minute to remember where he was, all that had transpired yesterday. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fallen asleep without a heavy dose of meds from Sam. He wished he had some now, a thought that had occurred to him numerous times while he had sat vigilant the night before. He wasn’t in any real pain, other than the usual aches he had from things that never healed quite right. The meds still offered comfort, the best break he could get from his reality.

Through the window, he saw the grounds illuminated in a dull blue light. Sunrise hadn’t broken yet. Maybe it was the new surroundings, maybe it was a hanging fear of Caius coming for him – whatever it was, Tommy felt sick to his stomach with anxiety. He decided to get up and make his way downstairs to get a jump on the day. If he showed Fletcher that he was useful, then maybe they would maintain their mercy on him for a little longer.

It felt good – or, at least, better – to do something. He found an assortment of cleaning supplies in the cabinet under the sink, and got to work. Without knowing Fletcher’s schedule yet, he wasn’t sure how long he would have, but he was hellbent on doing the most thorough job he could. Everything was wiped down twice, every corner and crease scrubbed to perfection. Tommy was still furiously wiping at the grouting between the shower tiles when the door to the bathroom swung open.

“Uh…okay.” He recognized the trainee at the door, the only woman he’d seen around the lodge. Her hair was tied in a bun that more resembled a rat’s nest on top of her head, and she still had sleep in her eyes. She stepped back out the door, turning her head to call out–

“Fletcher! Your boy is taking up the bathroom!”

Tommy’s eyes went wide, still clutching the sponge when he raised his hands in a supplicant gesture. “No, wait, please don’t get–”

Fletcher appeared in the doorway, eyeing the disheveled Tommy standing in the bathtub. They looked over the bathroom he had already cleaned with a charming look of utter boredom.

“You. Let them use the bathroom.”

“Of course– I mean, yes Fletcher,” Tommy stumbled over himself, rushing to wipe the bleach from his hands and fleeing the bathroom while they waited.

“You can finish it later, it’s a bloodbath trying to get in there in the mornings. Go put some proper clothes on and get breakfast, I have tasks for you today.”

Tommy nodded eagerly and retreated to his room. He was already sweating, did Fletcher turn the heat on in the night or something? But when he wiped the sweat away, his skin felt clammy. He did his best to clean himself up a little, giving the dresser a quick rummage for clothes.

He settled on a pair of jeans and an old shirt with a car on it, boasting the Ford brand. While Tommy was not loyal to any particular car manufacturer, it felt like a little link to his home back in Detroit. Maybe that made it a lucky shirt – and he could really use whatever luck he could get for his first full day with Fletcher. Everything was still big on him, but he found a belt in the bottom drawer that helped. He took a deep breath before heading to the kitchen, scared to keep Fletcher waiting too long.

Having options to choose from for breakfast was a little overwhelming. He settled on a bowl of cereal and an apple. Sitting at the table with Fletcher helped a little - there had been very few times in the last five years that Tommy had eaten a meal without Caius’s supervision. Still, he bounced his leg under the table, and his anxiety nagged at him.

Am I chewing too loud? What does Fletcher want me to do? Are they unhappy with how I was cleaning the bathroom? Sweat dewed on his forehead while he struggled to get his meal down, even though everything tasted good. Fletcher even let him drink coffee, which he immediately burned his tongue on, eager as he was to get to drink it again.

Afterwards, Fletcher presented him with a list.

“Clean up the kitchen. Anything that doesn’t fit in the dishwasher needs to be hand washed, and don’t forget to wipe down the counters. Then start on the list. The order doesn’t matter, other than doing the dusting before you do the floors. I don’t care when you break for lunch, just don’t let me catch you slacking off for too long. I expect everything to be finished before dinner. If you have any questions, come find me, I’ll be with the students. Capiche?”

Tommy read through the list. Dust, scrub the floors, weed the crops, lunch, water everything in the greenhouse, clean the bathrooms on the middle floor and upstairs, clean up after dinner. It sounded doable - though the weeding could take a long time, depending on how bad it was. He tried to remember if he had seen many when he looked at the gardens yesterday – it couldn’t have been bad, he probably would have noticed that. Right?

He worked through the kitchen, trying to do as thorough a job as possible, as fast as possible. He upended the toaster over the sink, giving the bottom a few slaps to empty the crumbs out before wiping it down and replacing it. Dishes were rinsed with hot water before being loaded into the dishwasher, and he managed to slip the broom underneath the fridge while he was sweeping. There was an overflow of dishes from a day or two of neglect, so he was left with a lot of handwashes, which he polished dry. After a lot of rummaging in the cabinets, he eventually found where each thing went, or at least an approximation.

Dusting next, afterwards floors, by then the bathrooms should be mostly clear - and he had a head start on one. He dusted furiously, straining on the tips of his toes to reach the top of the ceiling fan blades. Everything got a once over with the duster, and then again by hand with a paper towel, spraying any surface that could take it with cleaner. It was odd using real cleaners again - he’d been long banned from most anything other than vinegar and baking soda. Nothing that could put him out permanently if he drank it.

He was soaked with sweat already before he moved down to the floor to scrub. No mop, just crawling around on his hands and knees to polish the wooden floors. The fumes from the lemon cleaner stung his eyes. With only a fitful night of sleep, his weariness was quickly catching up to him. At the same time, he was fervently anxious, buzzing with nervous energy. Jittery and exhausted, always a winning combo.

Tommy finished the main living room, his arms sore and knees aching already. He flexed his hands open and closed, trying to regain feeling. He kneeled on the floor and looked at the scrubber, and back up at all the flooring he still had to do, and a frustration welled up inside of him.

What stupid motherfucker buys a big fancy cabin they don’t even take their boots off in, and doesn’t own a mop. Invest in a goddamn Swiffer. How useless do you have to be to not even keep the bare minimum of cleaning supplies? Is that going to be my role here, being a housewife to replace your mommy doing everything for you?!

The moment passed, and he was a little taken aback by himself. Fletcher obviously wasn’t…whatever that was. They raised all of those crops, for fuck’s sake.

Pace yourself better. We just need a little - a super quick break. Grab some water.

Tommy set his supplies to the side and slipped into the kitchen. Unfortunately, he was not alone there, as a student was helping themselves to a late morning snack. Tommy had seen him yesterday, but steered clear. He was tall with a little bit of bulk, the poster boy of frat bros who’d recently gotten really into crossfit. His wavy hair was long on top, buzzed into a severe fade to the nape of his neck.

And he was making a goddamn mess.

A knife handle smeared with jelly stuck out of a jar of peanut butter on the counter, crumbs decorating the counter Tommy had just worked so hard to polish. He had a plate out, but opted to eat leaning against the counter instead, letting crumbs and drips of jam fall where they may on the newly cleaned floor.

Tommy stared at him for a moment in disbelief. Here was some real, shameless laziness to be mad about, but what could he say? He considered turning and leaving to drink from a bathroom faucet, but the trainee had spotted him. Nervously, Tommy made his way to the fridge to find a pitcher of filtered water he’d spotted earlier.

The trainee watched him with open curiosity as Tommy approached the refrigerator with the tribulation of a tightrope walker. When he extracted the pitcher, victorious, he peered inside to find it had been fridged empty. Tommy stared at it, dumbfounded, before raising his gaze to the sink, only a few feet from the other resident.

It was with a dramatic resignation that Tommy approached to refill it. His hands trembled holding it under the tap, wrists tired, already sore.

“I’m Billy,” the student offered. Tommy gave his general direction a curt nod, a thin smile.

“So uh…you live here now?”

Tommy set the pitcher on the counter, waiting for it to trickle through the filter.

“Yeah, um, I guess.”

Billy munched at his sandwich. There was a smear of peanut butter in his short beard.

“Why are you wearing a collar?”

Tommy froze, a deer in the headlights. He had assumed Fletcher had offered some form of explanation to the trainees. Or maybe they did, and Billy was trying to fuck with him. The familiar weight of his collar around his neck suddenly felt heavy, sweaty, conspicuous. The barbed tines inside itched.

“If it’s a sex thing, you can just say so. You look like you’re into some freaky shit.” Billy wasn’t subtle about checking him out, his eyes sweeping over Tommy with a lurid gaze. Maybe Tommy could have fielded it, if he was still under Caius, but what Fletcher expected from him remained an enigma. Should he ignore it? Dispute it? Agree with it? Excuse himself? Fletcher hadn’t said anything about how Tommy was supposed to treat the students.

“Jesus dude, chill. I was just asking.” Tommy hadn’t realized he was breathing hard until Billy raised his hands innocently.

“I’m – I’m sorry, I don’t think – I’m not sure if Fletcher…” Billy raised an eyebrow, waiting for Tommy to form a complete thought. Tommy waited for one, too. The awkward pause only grew more awkward.

“I just – came here for some water.” Tommy ended weakly. He snatched a glass from where he’d put them away earlier and poured some water in with shaky hands, spilling some on the counter. He wiped it up hastily with a towel, cursing under his breath.

“You look crazy tense. When’s the last time you got laid?”

“No,” Tommy snapped. Simple, but an unconscionable protest. He slapped a hand over his mouth and retreated, beelining for the bathroom. He enjoyed his hard-earned glass of water sitting in the half-cleaned tub, behind the curtain, hiding from the world as best he could behind a door with no lock.

His frantic compulsion to please Fletcher forced him out after only a brief break. He washed his face in the sink, sweat beading on his brow almost instantly. His head felt foggy, and a throbbing headache was blossoming in his skull. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment, before wringing his hands out as if to banish his shakes. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Fletcher was waiting for him.

Fletcher looked like they were about to say something, but stopped when they saw Tommy’s face. It was pale and sweaty, dark curls sticking to his forehead, deep shadows under his eyes. Not a huge difference from his usual demeanor, but enough to give them some pause.

“You good, dude?”

“Yes,” Tommy said quickly. Then, “Um, actually, I just have a headache. I was wondering if I could maybe get some painkillers, please?”

“Yeah, sure,” Fletcher said, still eyeing Tommy skeptically.

They led him back to the kitchen. Billy was gone, but his mess remained behind. Tommy could feel his heart racing. Should he tell Fletcher that he had cleaned the kitchen and Billy had messed it up again? Or would they get mad that he was blaming one of their trainees?

Fletcher glanced around but made no comment. They opened up a cabinet and fished out a bottle of ibuprofen, dumping two small red pills in Tommy’s hand.

Ibuprofen was not exactly what Tommy had hoped for. They may as well have stuck a bandaid on his forehead for all the good it was going to do him.

“Thank you,” Tommy murmured, staring down at the pills in his palm.

“You need water?”

“Oh...right. I got it.”

Tommy picked up the pitcher on the counter and shakily refilled his glass. He tossed the pills into his mouth and drank them down. He forced a smile to Fletcher.

“All good. Thanks.”

Everything went blurry, then sideways. The ground hit him hard.

Tommy laid on the floor staring up at the starburst of the ceiling light. Fletcher appeared over him, lightly slapping his cheek.

“Hey, hey, you with me?”

“Uh… uh-huh,” Tommy managed.

He started to stand up, but the room swam, and he fell back with a groan. He felt feverish, his short break hadn’t helped the sweating at all. His head pounded like a hammer to his temples. He felt so weak he could barely move, yet he trembled uncontrollably.

Tommy couldn’t deny it any longer. He’d tried to dismiss it, tried to power through, but he knew this feeling - it was unmistakable. It didn’t always happen when Caius took his pain meds away, depending on where in the healing cycle he was, if he’d been tapered off slowly - but when they cut him off cold-turkey, things got bad fast. He just wanted so badly to prove to Fletcher that he was worth keeping around. Instead, he was twitching uselessly at their feet on the kitchen floor, a junkie going through withdrawals.

Fletcher sighed, kneeling down over him. “Alright, alright, c’mere.” They pulled Tommy by his arms to sit up, hunched over his lap limply like a ragdoll. With a surprising swiftness, Fletcher pulled him over their shoulder and lifted him up in a fireman’s carry. Tommy squeaked, dizzied from the rapid shift, and swallowed back nausea as Fletcher carried him off. He was deposited unceremoniously into his bed with a bounce and a yelp.

“Bag, please, bag-” Tommy stammered, but he only lasted long enough to crawl to the edge of the bed before retching onto the floor.

“Great,” Fletcher mused dryly, and walked out, shutting the door behind them.

They only left Tommy to wallow a few minutes before they returned with paper towels and a cleaner Tommy had left in the living room.

“I’ll clean it up,” Tommy mewled, but when he reached for the paper towels, Fletcher slapped his hands away easily. Chastised, he curled his hands against his chest, whimpering in distress when Fletcher did a quick clean up.

Oh, they’re going to leave me to die in the woods for sure now - it should never be their duty to clean up after me. Fletcher’s aid had immediately iced Tommy’s agitation, leaving him feeling remorseful and meek.

“‘M so sorry,” he slurred miserably. Fletcher didn’t answer, just removed the soiled paper towels from the room without a word.

They returned a few minutes later with a water bottle, a sleeve of crackers, and a small garbage can that they placed beside his bed.

“Here, just, stay hydrated. I can make some ginger tea or something if you still feel… nauseous…” The end of Fletcher’s sentence trailed as they looked Tommy over. “You’re shaking real hard.”

Tommy wrapped his arms around himself as if he could hold himself still.

“Sorry,” he forced out through a clenched jaw. He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. Being too sick to work?

Fletcher placed their hand against his forehead.

“When did you start feeling sick?”

“This… morning.”

“Hm.”

Fletcher stood there watching him for a moment, then sighed and sat down at the foot of the bed, drawing their phone from their pocket and dialing a number. There was a moment while they waited for an answer, then Tommy heard one half of their conversation.

“Hey, I got a guy here who got really sick all of a sudden. He just got here yesterday and seemed fine then. Feels like he’s running a fever, definitely sweaty, shaking, throwing up, headache, passed out for a second, looked like. Seems kinda out of it. He’s not like sneezing or coughing, though. Hey, anything else?”

Fletcher poked Tommy in the leg to signify they were talking to him.

“Um…” Tommy tried to take stock. He tried to remember the symptoms Fletcher had already said. “Hurts.”

“Hurts?”

Tommy nodded. The motion made his head swim.

“Okay, uh, body aches I guess,” Fletcher added to the person on the phone.

Fletcher pulled one of Tommy’s arms toward them and pressed their fingers to his wrist. After a moment they said, “It’s elevated.”

Fletcher listened to the person on the other end, then reached over and pulled Tommy’s eyelids open, looking closely.

“Yeah, I think so.”

They released, and Tommy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, Fletcher was pinching the bridge of their nose.

“Yeah, I was worried you would say that.” Fletcher moved the phone away from their mouth and spoke to Tommy. “You on drugs?”

Tommy’s mouth flapped like a fish out of water. They said on drugs like someone in a DARE psa, and he didn’t want to get in trouble so quickly. But it would be worse if he lied. It was obvious now, so he should just cooperate. Maybe… maybe Fletcher would get him what he needed if he was forthright about it.

Tommy nodded an affirmative.

“What were you on?”

“I, uh, I don’t know, exactly,” Tommy responded sheepishly. “Mostly, painkillers and sedatives. Sometimes….some coke, to wake me up. I just took whatever they gave me, I don’t - I didn’t ask questions. I think… I think the doctor started, um, overdosing me on purpose.”

Fletcher stared at Tommy a moment before speaking into the phone.

“I’m gonna have to call you back.”

Fletcher ended the call. They began dialing a new number, walking out of the room as they did so. They didn’t particularly want a chat with Caius, but it seemed to be in order.

“Tommy’s not giving you trouble, is he?” A silky voice asked when he picked up the call. Caius oozed charisma - an insufferable tryhard at his best.

“Well, he was perfectly well behaved before he started going through fucking withdrawals,” Fletcher said as they shut the door to their office behind them. “I need to know what drugs he was taking since you and your associates conveniently forgot to mention this.”

“Oh, well, we have a doctor on staff who provides cutting edge medical care-”

“What. Fucking. Drugs,” Fletcher cut him off.

“I’m saying,” Caius sounded annoyed, “that I didn’t administer the medications myself beyond some basic painkillers.”

Fletcher took a breath through their nose. “Then put me in contact with the doctor.”

“I’m not at liberty to be giving out the personal information of-”

“I will come to your fucking house!” Fletcher yelled through the phone. “Meadowview Community. Only house in an abandoned neighborhood development, props on pulling that off. You sold me a defective product. Don’t fuck around with me right now.”

“...One moment.”

There was shuffling and muttering on the other line before a new voice spoke into the receiver.

“This is Dr. Sam Snow, how can I help you?”

Fletcher blinked. “Were you fucking sitting next to Caius this whole time?”

“Well-”

“Put the phone on speaker. I want a list.”

Sam sighed, and Fletcher could hear him shifting in his seat on the other end.

“I make customized blends and dosages to fit the specific needs of-”

“Of what?” Fletcher interrupted again. “I don’t need the sales pitch, I need names of drugs.”

“Some of them are pre-market, the names wouldn’t be of any use to you. What do you need them for? Maybe I can help if I know what you’re looking for.”

“Yeah, the guy you sold me is going through withdrawals, so I need to know what he was taking.”

There was some muttering on the other end, muffled like a hand was held over the microphone.

“Mostly opioids, some SSRI’s, and then some stimulants and depressants to keep the yoyo going. Give him some methadone to wean him off, he’ll be fine. How bad off is he?”

“Shaking, passing out, throwing up, running a fever,” Fletcher rattled off the symptoms. “You said he was on SSRI’s?”

Caius said something unintelligible, and they both giggled.

“Uh, yeah, just to keep him from, you know. Kermiting-the-frog suicide. You might want to watch out for that.”

Fletcher blew out a long breath. “Okay. Methadone. Anything else I should know? How often was he taking stimulants - are those going to be a concern?”

“Eh, probably not. Towards the end there, we were kinda just keeping him in storage, so he’s just been doped down.”

“Right. Well. If there’s anything else I should know, you should tell me now. You don’t want me to have to call you again.”

Fletcher balanced their tone between civil and threatening. There was a long pause on the other end.

“...Like, about drugs?”

“About anything! If I need to know something, tell me now.”

“Ehh….not really? If you ever want some more though, I know all of Tommy’s favorites.”

“Did Tommy ask about me?” Caius spoke up, his voice carefully dry. He could play casual all he wanted, Fletcher wasn’t fooled.

“Why, did you want him to?”

Whatever Caius might have said, Sam interrupted. “We don’t care. Did you need anything else?”

“That’s all.” In the interest of being diplomatic, they forced out a, “Thanks,” before ending the call.

They called Estrada back.

“Do you have any methadone?”

Fletcher slipped back into Tommy’s room, looking something akin to apologetic. It set off alarm bells in Tommy’s head. If his heart wasn’t already racing from the withdrawals, it would be now.

“So… here’s the thing,” Fletcher began. “I can’t get you methadone until tomorrow at the earliest. So we’re just gonna have to tough this out together.”

It took a moment for Tommy to process what they were telling him, trying to think through a haze.

“Can I have something else? Just, a tiny bit to get me through, until then? Please?”

“Thing is, I don’t know what exactly you were taking, so I don’t really want to give you anything else. I don’t know what’s in your system right now - it’d be better to just flush everything and get a clean start.”

There was a terrible dread in Tommy’s expression for just a moment, before he reflexively masked himself with a poker face. He curled up on his side, looking up at the window, his throat too thick to reply.

“Alright, well, I’ll check up on you. Drink water, try to sleep it off for now. I’ll be back around for the thick of it.”

Before Fletcher could head for the door, Tommy pushed himself to sit up.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Fletcher hesitated.

“What do I have to do?”

“You’re gonna just have to let it run its course-”

“No, no - to get the drugs,” Tommy stammered out. “What do you want me to do?”

Fletcher stared at him. “What did I just say?”

Tommy looked down at his hands, fidgeting.

“I know,” his voice broke. “But… you could get them. If you wanted. So… just tell me what you want and I’ll-” he swallowed uncomfortably. “-I won’t fight.”

Fletcher looked down at him. “You would do anything?”

“Yes,” Tommy breathed.

“That’s why you need to detox.”

Before Tommy could beg, bargain, or argue, Fletcher left the room.

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Thank you for reading!

#drug abuse #drug withdrawal #captive whumpee #forced labor #suggestive whumper #the professionals #professional//victim #in the woods somewhere #tw someone putting jelly in a jar of peanut butter

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