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collar-shocked · 5 months

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Coming Home

Derek's latest vacation lands him in a position of life or death, in which life seemed ever-escaping. After returning home and recovering, the true weight of his ordeal lands not on him, but on his family.

Authors note: I finally get to include a smidgen of OC into this blog !! Rejoice!! But I also want to elaborate a little bit on Derek's homelife and living situation. Specifically, his siblings, which, technically also count as OC-territory? I don't know. Felt important enough to mention.

Things/Red flags to look out for: Attempted/Implied rape/sexual assault, violence and gore, bodily fluids, vague implied possession.

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The first day is young. There is no more commotion, no more scrambling of feet or heaving of lungs. It seems everyone who has a purpose out here is either hiding from it, or searching for it. Or, in this case, has found and been found by it.

A canteen slams against the sand, the sound of howling laughter following. "Enjoy that one! Gonna need all the nutrients you can get!" Derek zipped himself up, taking one more look at his choice of livestock. A shorter man on the skinnier side- but like, not in the attractive way, in the 'I eat one meal a day and it's a microwavable TV dinner' kind of way. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a weak, pathetic hanging jaw, tongue hung to display his work. The sacrificial lamb, that of which has a name- Bree's eyes found the canteen, resisting the urge to dive for it right now, not wanting to humiliate himself any more than he has already.

His hair was gripped, two almost playful, rough slaps being delivered to his cheek. "Let's see who finds you next." He was then tossed to the coarse ground, left a whiny, breathy mess as Derek hopped on his quad and left the scene. The Frenchman watched as his shape got smaller and smaller, until he finally felt safe enough to move.

Bree lifted his aching body, clothes wetly latching to his skin as the suns rays persisted. His eyes aimed down, looking at the sand directly below him- red and moist, accumulated from the fluids coming from his mouth. His spit. His blood.

And something more.

His stomach began to boil. Becoming dizzy, Bree whimpered and doubled over, retching loudly before a painful shoot released from his stomach and throat, joining the mess already on the ground. God-!! Even the smallest movement of his tongue felt like hell! He felt his eyes swell with tears- No. Do not cry, not now. His attention instead turned to his reward, oh how generous. Giving a small stumble and bend, instant relief filled his core. Oh, it's so cold.. He placed the canteen to the back of his neck, flinching beneath the feeling. He heard somewhere this can cool you down due to the area of circulation. Whether or not it's working, his brain certainly thought it was.

Not that he plans to share. The others in this landscape have made it abundantly clear it's 'me or you.' All that old bastard had to do was keep his mouth shut and Bree wouldn't have been hurt that way. He earned this. Not wanting to stick around for long, he began to move, eventually coming across a large hill to sit atop while enjoying something as simple as water. The sun may have beamed, but the desire to stay away from people outmatched the need to find some shade. Upon opening the bottle, he was.. Incredibly suspicious. Hell no it's not that easy, right? Not from... Scorpion?

..He smelled the water. Nothing. He poured a bit into his palm, examining the color. Seems normal. He brought his hand to his mouth, licking the moistu-

"AAAGH-!!" He jumped back, kicking his feet while slapping a hand over his mouth. How could he forget so soon?! Ice cold water, directly onto his open wound! "I'm such a fucking idiot!!" He shouted messily as blood pooled around his bottom teeth, trying not to use his tongue. Then, he flinched, looking around to make sure he didn't attract any unnecessary attention. Luckily, silence. ...Bree collected himself, eyes finding the cantee- "Shit!!" In his earlier scramble, it had.. Tipped. No, not all of it was gone, but a significant amount of water had been wasted.

It was so gutting. It wasn't just water to him, wasn't just some bottle. It was his sacrifice. His prize for dehumanizing himself at the snap of a finger because he was scared. His canteen now sits at about half full, and honestly?

He's pissed off about it.

Just the kick he needed while he was down. Just the final pluck on his heart-strings provided to make this whole thing feel helpless. Bree wants to go home. Before his cat was left waiting at the door for him. Before his job called over and over and over again. Before his comfort and virginity were threatened.

He wants to go home.

......

...The third day is young. There is no more commotion, no more scrambling of feet or heaving of lungs, for most have already gone out. No one has caught sight of the cavedwellers for quite some time, as Bree, with his trusty sacrificial blade, had made quick work of them. It was on reaction, an unintentional incident! He's not a murderer! He just didn't want to see whatever happen to that boy happen! ...Killing Dragon was.. It.. It was self-defense, it was..

And now, Bree wanders. Shoulders heavy, feet weak, skin burnt, mind gone. He lazily shuffles through the sand, letting his jaw and eyelids hang halfway while desperately clinging to his canteen, long-since-emptied. He's not sure why he kept it for so long. Some kind of trophy, perhaps. He wandered, and wandered, and wandered, anything but staying in the same place for too long. He didn't even know where he was going. In fact..

..He didn't even know.. Where he was.

Bree turned around, seeing exactly what he saw before he turned. This repeated, beginning to spin, expecting any direction would be different at.. Some point. His ears had a very faint and quiet ring in them as this just kept going. Round and round, nothing new, all surroundings looking the same. Round and round, round and round, round and round, round and round, round.. Round. Round.

He's throwing up. By now, the wound upon his tongue was a distant memory. It's either not hurting anymore, or he's forgotten that it does. There was nothing left in his stomach to release, but his body kept trying anyway. Upon a strong retch, his eyes wettened, the last of his bodies moisture- and for some reason, that just.. Initiated a fit.

Bree is so tired. He's so tired, and burnt, and worn, and his brain is spent, and oh so sick, and he's sick of it. He began to cry. Not just cry, but wail. Like a small child getting lost in a store. His legs gave out, knees becoming sore against the rough sand. He's just so angry! He did everything right! He did all he was supposed to!! He got good grades, he got through college, got a decent paying job, eventually afforded his own house and car and bills, and bills and bills and bills! He missed out on so many opportunities in favor of sticking to his "future plans," just to end up where? Here? In some sick fucks sandbox?

He cried. He cried until his ears began to ring louder. He cried until his body was dry and his face ached. Upon taking in a tight inhale, he came to a terrifying realization-

His ears aren't ringing. That sound is very familiar. A roaring engine.. Wheels on sand..

Someone fucking help him.

Bree tried scrambling to his feet, feeling his exhausted muscles fail him. He got a few inches up before tumbling down, groaning deeply as he pushed his shaky elbows into the ground, listening to hyena-like laughter, and the ceasing of the vehicle.

Derek's shoes met the ground, kicking dirt with his steel toe as he trailed close, playfully spinning his pretty shiny bat. "Look who it is!" Chimed in sport, delivering a hard blow to the Frenchman's head, sending blood to the sand. Now his ears were ringing, a firework of pain spreading through his head like roots. He rolled over onto his back, looking up at both Derek and the sun. Or well, simply seeing them both, but not exactly looking. He's still processing the hit... "You look like shit, ha'gh ha ha! Did anyone else end up messing with you?"

Bree couldn't answer. He held his hands up in defense lazily, fearing the worst. Death is a hopeful wish at this point. He's got nothing left to give. ...Almost nothing.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" A warning shout, staring icy-blue daggers into the other. Bree tried to move upon spotting the fast motion, going too slow, being too weak, and instead taking the kick to his ribs, releasing a loud cry. "Baby's got healthy lungs, so why don't you talk?"

"Iii-I- I'm- It-"

"Aaahh-ah-ah-ah THINK about what to say before you say it, day-amn!" Using his bat as a cane, he pressed the thick end into the ground before bending his knees apart in a crouch, keeping his hands above on the handle. He observed the other, head to toe. His gaze felt predatory. Bree shudders. "..Naaahh! You're not THAT bad off. C'mon, shake it off, it's no fun when you're just layin' around."

Look, Bree is trying. Now that he's laying down, he feels so rested. Even his adrenaline can not carry him away. "H-How did you even-?.."

"Find you? I mean, I wouldn't have if you weren't throwing a tantrum. So thanks for that. What was that about, anyway? Finally losing it~?" Derek teased his purchase, tilting his head far to the right with a long, light hum. Bree swallowed dryly in apprehension. This apprehension was met as Derek suddenly moved in, bottom lip sliding beneath his upper teeth while parting his knees over the other mans stomach, releasing his bat to find his belt. Bree began to weakly cry out, using whatever strength he had left to push against his attackers stomach- "Trynna cop a feel? HAHA! Don't worry! You'll get more than enough~."

Bree begins to swell with fear and anger. He's right. This jackass is right.. He's not going to save himself if he focuses on Scorpion. He needs to put his focus elsewhere- on himself. The position they're in is tight, but not impossible. He has some wiggle room between the sand and the others pelvis- but not enough.

Bree is a smart man. That is what Derek has forgotten. The blond lifted himself to lower his pants- flinching as Bree took his opportunity. His victim rolled quick onto his stomach, officially unlocking himself from him- now attempting to crawl away, dragging his fingers and elbows through the sharp, oh so sharp sand. "Ah-ah-aaahh~! Fuck do you think YOU'RE goin'?!" Derek cheered, digging his fingernails into the other mans hips, forcibly pulling his boxers down while keeping him still, unintentionally causing so much more pain. Bree squealed in fright and agony before quickly turning around, and..

He's been blinded.

In a single moment, Bree, with a handful of sand, launched it back into Derek's face. Into his nose. His mouth. His eyes. He howled in pain and scoot back, both hands gripping his face as a late defense. Bree scrambled away to make distance, still being unable to lift his weak knees easily. His body shook. His brain stirred. His stomach boiled and eyes ran dry. He watched Scorpion writhe and panic, wiping his eyes clean as he spit and panted the earths natural weapon away. Another opportunity. Bree begins dragging himself close on his knees, removing the bloodied blade he kept hidden in his underwear.

Derek peeked at the other through a squinted eye, not being able to react before the knife was pushed into his abdomen. As the blade tore through his skin, he froze completely, feeling disgust, pressure, and burning pain wash over him entirely. Bree, still weak and sweaty and clinging to the handle, was not yet satisfied. He twisted the weapon before roughly pulling it out, sending Derek backwards as fresh, warm blood coated his hands- becoming disturbed at the results of his attack. Derek's legs awkwardly folded underneath the rest of his body while a near inhuman sound came from his throat. Bree, knowing he has time, attempted to carry himself away- until he paused.

...Why continue to run?

Bree struggled to his feet, an effort that took over two minutes. Within that time, Derek came to his senses. He's still a lot stronger. He's still a lot better. With a hand to his wound and the other picking grains from his face, he roared in exhausted anger, eventually finding the effort to sit up. Clothes sticking to him, headband halfway off, eyes sore and body butchered- none of this, none of this compared to the panic he felt upon seeing Bree, already so far away, trying to lift a leg over his bike seat. "Hhh-!! Hey!! HEY YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!!" Bree glanced over with a strange look of calm and continued his efforts. Derek tried scrambling to his feet- being stopped and brought back to his knees by the shocking pain in his stomach. The quads engine began to rumble. "N-NO!!" He cried out to no answer. Within just a few seconds, Bree gave himself whiplash by launching forward, stopping to giggle to himself. "GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT!!"

"You.. You know what?.." Bree chirped, a voice Derek is silently, admittedly soothed by. "I.. I'm bigger than you.." Never mind. The fibbing tease did not come without threat- the bike now shooting forward, full speed. Derek was not fast enough.

The tires met his body within a blink. Dragging him in a brief roll before leaving him in the sand, pooling crimson from his damaged form. There was a crack somewhere. A crack, and a pop, and a scrape. Cheek pressed tightly against the ground, mouth wide open as he breathes in more of this sharp, irritating sand- his eyes watched the vehicle carefully. For a moment, their eyes met from their distance. ..Bree's gaze softened, and he went on his way.

Mercy.

Derek was too mangled to even process the concept of mercy. He laid in the sand, gasping, pulling at parts of his body- too terrified to look. He flung an arm up, a bloodied hand digging into the sand in an attempt to pull himself. He goes nowhere. Panic sets in. Hyperventilation. Forgetting about the humiliation of being beaten and the insecurity of being stolen from, Derek feels all else but panic begin to fade- desperate writhing stiffly for any movement at all.

His teeth grit as the vehicles shape disappears into the distance. He screams out in a shaky, cracked cry, sounding like a distressed wild animal, fingers dragging across the sand in search of something. Anything. A sensation besides heat, and pain, and wet. There is nothing to feel.

Derek's thoughts lulled him into a much needed blank, barren state. What will become of his family after this? Matthew will ultimately become heir, and while that fucking sucks, can he handle it? Will he be able to carry the weight, the title of eldest Goffard kin? What of his even younger brothers and sisters? Who will guide them through? Will his father finally appreciate him for what he was? Is it Derek's passing that will finally unlock the affection that old brute refuses to give? Where will he end up after this? Is Hell really that bad? Is this really it? Alone, mangled, and discarded?

He spent the next few hours hopelessly tossing and turning in damp, clumpy, dark sand. Dragging his own corpse was nothing short of torturous. He didn't get far, but he didn't stay still, keeping him attached to the idea of survival despite the chances. A few times, in his desperate battle to keep awake, he could have sworn he spotted some kind of.. Will-o-the-wisp. Sweet, sick nothings whispered to him- though he could not understand.

He reached for it and collapsed in the sand, losing himself to the blood loss and exhaust.

......

...There is no third night. Blue eyes meet the world in a white, cool room, with buzzing lights and multiple sources of beeping from a distance. A large portion of his body is kept tightly by bandaging and metals beneath the skin, held lock and key by healing stitches. Being hugged by gauze and wrapping, he found his form was also encapsuled by multiple gazes as well, though he could hardly process this at all. Derek guided his sleepy eyes around the room, capturing the wonky figures he recognized as his father, and a stranger. An unfamiliar nurse. His heart thumped against his chest- they are not at home.

Derek shifted his weight in bed, letting out a load, pained groan as muscle strains him from somewhere. He's too high on painkillers to tell. A touch to his arm sent uncomfortable blossoms all through his body, glancing over to see his father pressing his index and middle finger on his arm, using only these to lower him back into a rest on the hard mattress. "How many times is this going to happen?" The older man questioned, receiving some long-winded, nervous ramble from the poor soul in the room with them. Derek couldn't process any of it. He felt sick. He began to try and remember anything, really. The desert came to mind. He's pretty sure Jack found him, he can remember his mask. Or was it? What was it?

...Blue eyes meet the world to a canvas of grey, and a bouncy resting place. Derek is in the backseat of a car now. He released a loud grumble and raised a fake feeling arm and hand to hold his forehead, catching the drivers, and his fathers, who sits in the passenger seat, attention. Sharp, icy, dagger-like hues met his tired frame. "There you are!" He started, "What have you done to yourself?! I let you out for one day, and you come back a slab of meat!"

"I'm.. Sick."

"Yes you are! Very! At least you're smart enough to agree on that!" The old man continued to scold. In Derek's intense eyeroll, the noise and the words began to fuse and mix, as if twisting together. Derek's boiling stomach kept him busy, focusing on not losing whatever his lunch may be in the back of this car.

...Blue eyes meet the world in a warm toned, comfortable room, with a spinning fan above his bed. He dozed off again... This time, he is at home, safe in his bedroom. The sun is young, and Derek's mind is much more coherent- though the grogginess has not left him. His body hurts. His stomach feels empty and sickly. He feels weak. The humming of the fan and loneliness of the room is enough to cast the spell of sleep on him once again, even if he truly tried to fight it this time.

...A click.

The moon is now beaming against the dark sky. Derek, previously fast asleep, is listening to the chilling sound of his door opening carefully, followed by a creaky floorboard. His brow tilted in frustration, holding in his grumble for the sake of the hunt- catching them in the act. It's not uncommon for his siblings, or servants, to creep into his quarters to see what consumables or valuables he's left laying around. He just.. Can't believe they'd try it while he's down and vulnerable this way. It's disgusting... Especially now that he ponders- how long has he been asleep? How many times has this happened in his rest? With a grit of his teeth, he's decided it wont happen a single time more.

"Nice try, asshole." It came out groggy and lazy, not nearly as cool as he wanted it to sound. All movement ceased as he painfully rolled over to face them, spotting the shape of his youngest brother, standing at only the age of 14. Really? Him? He's a bit gutted. "I moved my stash like, last month."

The room was silent with pride as Derek, metaphorically, pat his own back. Caught him. His smirk hidden by the rooms darkness was interrupted, however, as something.. Unexpected happened.

A sniffle.

Derek groaned, beginning to push against the bed to sit up. It was a struggle, but one given time by his company. Squinting through the shadows, he could see the light through the window brush against his brothers cheek- reflecting off the wetness of his face. Pride and offense turned to quiet worry. "...It's not a big deal, okay? Everyone tries it."

"A-Ah-" The child, Val, short for Valentine, tried to speak, disregarding the others attempt at comfort. His hands pulled and picked nervously at his shirt, and his eyes were anywhere but on Derek. "I-I know we fight a lot," A sharp, loud, shaking inhale. "but I don't wan-nt you to die-" Both sleeves are brought up to wipe at his face, a hushed cry being uncontrollable.

Derek watched in utter emotional distress. What a sad little guy. He ran a hand through his hair and grumbled uncomfortably, trying to collect the right words- but first, one thing must be handled. "Hey." For once, softness. "Hey, hey, c'mon.. Don't do that. You know how dad feels about that." He reached a hand out, tugging at the others sleeve, making him remove his arms from his tearing eyes. The poor thing was in shambles.

His brother continued to sniff in. Just when they thought he was okay, his throat began to whistle once more, rocking himself from his toes to his heels while trying to cease his crying. Derek gave him time. "I tried not to but-" A wet cough. "-I couldn't hold it."

"Just try not to again, alright?" He speaks from experience. Men don't cry. Things go wrong if they do. Derek puffed a long-breath out of his teeth, rolling his eyes before patting his bed- an invitation his sibling very quickly took. He scooted himself up, pulling his knees to his chest to bury his face into. Derek delivered a few weak pats to his back. "Look.. Were you that freaked out?"

"Yeah-!" Their gazes suddenly met. "They ha-ad wires everywhere, and everyone was loud, and they wou-ouldn't let us take you home-" More and more waterworks. The pats on the boys back had eventually turned to firm rubbing- affection he leaned into.

"Hey, come on, dude. Do you really think I would die out there? Me?" He offered a shit-eating-grin, one filled with false confidence. "Had a bad run. Win some, lose some, but c'mon.. I'm not gonna die. Too good for that.." Despite his snicker, he could tell he was unconvincing. With an anxious, shaky breath inward, Derek decided to drop the act. Can't cool-guy you're way through every situation. He let out an annoyed sigh and quickly traced his tongue along his lips, leaning back with a flinch before repositioning his seating- getting comfortable. "Look... It was a close call. I know. But I wouldn't let myself go knowing you're not ready for that, okay? Okay?"

That was a little more convincing. Val began to nod slowly, sniffing and shuddering in his seat. They're not the most affectionate family, but this really reminded him how much he wants to be. The boy carefully scooted and leaned over, taking his eldest brother in for a hug- something uncommon in this household. He was unaware of how much agony Derek was in because of this, and the man never intended to make it known. He likes hugs, too. "Okay.."

Almost a full minute had gone by before they moved away. Val's hair was ruffled in a slap-like motion. "There we go! Have a lil' faith in me, yeah? I wouldn't do that to you guys." Small chuckles now hogged the air. Now.. He really shouldn't. But the kid's upset. "..'Ey, you want a brownie?"

"What?"

"You want a brownie? Can only have one, but I'm feeling generous tonight. Not sure why." Snickers and giggles from both followed. Val shyly nodded, keeping his head down, as if they could get in trouble any moment. "Sweet. Closet, bottom left corner, gotta move my shit."

Val went seeking. Upon finding the discreet brownie-box, he trailed back to his older sibling with a gasp. "You actually have these? Dad lets you keep food in your room?"

Laughter was quick to strike, something Derek immediately regretted, pressing a hand firm into his side. Still such an innocent little thing.. "No.. That's why you can't tell, 'kay?"

"Okay..." He retook his seat before opening the box. They smelled different, but were presented beautifully. "..Only one?"

"Only one."

"Why?"

"You'll start seein' shit if you have any more."

"Oh.. Why?"

"God damn dude! Just eat the brownie!"

In goes the brownie. The two share their incredibly rare, special moment before Derek forces himself out of bed, using slow and careful steps to walk Val back to his own room in their large estate. He doesn't trust the staff. The boy couldn't help but to reach for his hand- not that he succeeded in full. Instead, Val grabbed onto Derek's index and middle finger, something that came as a surprise, but not a bother. Entering his siblings rooms is always a treat- rooms he never occupies. He gets to see what kind of people they are when inside, and this room screams youth and innocence. It was fun! Toys left out, walls decorated with video game memorabilia, drawings taped to the wall, dirty clothes pile in the corner- a true kids room. It was nice to see Val is still allowed to enjoy it.

He stayed in that room. He stayed until he was sure the little guy was back in bed and sleeping. It's the first time Val was able to fall asleep under a protective guardians supervision- something he needed. Derek soon moves on, making sure to shut the door with a hushed click before limping himself to the patio. He's been inside for.. However long. He's been trapped in sleep for days, possibly even longer- some fresh air would be nice... His body feels stiff and sore, and each step carries weight and ache, but the moon and stars and wind will be so worth it. This is something he never thought to appreciate before. Something so simple like air.

Derek leaned his hands against a chair and let his shoulders ease, exhaling slowly and deeply. His eyes scanned the distance. The moving vehicles, the busy town, the lights still blooming in every business- a strange green flickering from a pin-prick sized window sending chills across his skin. He took his sweet time to himself. Just... Thinking.

...Whatever happened to Bree, anyway?

Whatever happened to his quad?

#//i feel like i rushed this rly bad at the end but #//OH WELL.#//BEEN PICKING AT THIS FOR SOME TIME. JUST WANTED IT DONE FDNJFGIGFD #Big Fic Energy #//new fic tag please enjoy it #Muse:#D E R E K #//THX TO MY FRIEND FOR HELPING NAME THE SIB <3

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