Chapter Text
Jeering and pushing. Ropes pulling and burning. Lights imprinting after images behind his eyelids. He could tell his head was doing little more than lulling back and forth at this point.
Were they still fuckin him?
He couldn’t tell which voices were inside and which were outside.
“...break the…. Shoot… “ Alright, that was Tony, inside voice. Even he can’t get a full thought out anymore.
He was nauseated. The drugs that so often gave him the edge that caffeine never could were doing little more than keeping him awake now. His body jarred hard, slamming him into the concrete block wall at the head of whatever he was on. He couldn’t remember anymore. Someone grunted before grabbing him by his hair and throwing him to the floor.
“No..” He managed weakly; he couldn’t remember fully why. It didn’t matter. Val had been enjoying the realism for months.
“Beg all you want. You’re better off to me on the stake.” Rough hands drug him across the cement floor, shredding his knees.
His head was still pounding from coming back.
“Stop, please stop…” He tried to see past the wall of filming lights. Too hot. Too bright. “Can’t..” He was cut off by slamming against the iron bars.
“Shut it, Witch. You’ve seduced half the village with your carnal spells. You brought this on yourself.”
“CUT! Stage two!”
He slid down the bars, panting. “Val.. “ His throat was glass rough. Everything sticky, blurry.
“Shush, babycakes. Daddy’s working. We’ll move you in a moment.” The warm purr no longer promising pleasure but horror, so much fucking horror.
“Please no..” He felt the sob rip from him. He breathing tasted like copper. He smelled like copper, copper, and semen. He watched the lights blur out as a shade walked slowly towards him.
“Ya ain’t any use, Anthony! One good son, that’s all your mother gave me?”
“M’sorry. M’tryin…” He sobbed harder.
“Shut up!” The shade backhanded him hard enough to knock out a razor-sharp tooth. Other shades in suits clung to the edges of his vision, snickering. “You will learn to be useful.” The smell of lamp oil oozed into his senses and mingled with a rising scent of cigar smoke.
“M’sorry. I’ll do bettah, stop.. Please.. Please stop.”
Another slap knocked his head into the bars. “What are you yammering about. Focus, amorcito!”
“Val?” His vision cleared of the shades to vaguely take in the moth towering above him. He spat blood. Where was he? When was he?
“Stage Two and torches ready?”
Wait, again? No. A mewl in his throat as he wriggled on the floor, the stone scraping against every inch of his naked form. A white noise shrieked in his head. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Not again. Not again. Hands hauled him up to his feet. He resisted, or thought he did. It didn’t seem to do any good. The smell of oil and the sound of fire grew.
“Action!”
Chants of “burn him” started up. Angel shrieked and writhed as much as he could. No, nonononono.
“We can’t..” Tony’s desperate voice broke through the hammering in his head. Too drugged to do much, too bound to summon his guns even if they weren’t drugged. The feeling of shoving everything away. Was this real? This couldn’t be real. Maybe, maybe they weren’t even dead. Was this a nightmare? Let it be a nightmare. He’d take his fucking father next to this.
“Val!!! Please!” But his begging was expertly drowned out by the actors around him. Somewhere above him, a vent shaft kicked on. He was pushed against a stake, large splinters immediately dug into his skin, causing him to try to arch away from him. More ropes pulled him tightly against the multitude of them. They couldn’t really be doing this. They wouldn’t go this far. Hands pawing.. Groping.. Stroking. Sex mixed terribly with sheer terror. He couldn’t process it.
Somewhere in him, something hissed, something terrible shifted.
“Kill all”
“Not good,” Tony whispered weakly at hearing the new voice and the accompanying sense of absolute rage-fueled bloodthirst.
Lips biting his. Blood was trailing down his chin.
“Goodbye vile bitch.”
There was a puff of sound and then, smoke, acrid and stinging his throat and eyes. He closed them, sobbing, bracing himself. Wishing for more or fewer drugs, he wasn’t sure which. Focus. Ignore that you can’t breathe. Home. A home. Warm arms and a safe voice. It’s already so hot. No, think of a home. Safety. No more Val. No more death scenes…
Pain. So much. It’s bright. It’s agony.
In the screams, someone in them starts cackling. They cackle over the flames.
Then nothing.