[TIER 10] IATL: Chapter 16 (Patreon)

Warnings for rape and physical violence.

The words 'Lullaby Blues Motel, Room 5c' is scribbled in cursive on the piece of paper. Figures Ramsay would be the kind of pretentious douchebag with curly calligraphy-like handwriting. Chase feels a little out of sorts as he makes his way to the motel. It hadn't taken him long to google the place and print out the directions at the library. Now holding it in his hands, he can feel the snakes that had been slowly uncoiling in his stomach since he was called to Ramsay's office starts to spit and hiss.

The briefcase feels heavy in his hand, and Chase has half a mind to stuff it in his backpack. Except, it's too huge. He feels guilty just for holding it. Like at any moment now, the cops are going to tackle him. It's not like he hadn't had a run-in with a cop before but that was something different. This feels loaded, much worse. Cold sweat films his forehead and back. He tries not to look too guilty as he walks down the busy streets, keeping his head down. He looks conspicuous enough as it is, a teenager out and about during school hours.

The motel isn't far off from the school grounds. It took Chase around twenty minutes to arrive, power-walking his way through. By the time he steps into the air-conditioned reception area, he's breathing hard. A shiver runs up his spine as the cool air brushes his damp skin. Why the hell would they turn on the air-conditioner this early in spring? It's not even that warm outside. He pulls his leather jacket tighter around himself, shrugging his shoulders.

The place looks as welcoming as a funeral home. Instead of the somber black, Chase's eyes are ambushed by ugly mud brown color tones. The room also lacks a certain decor. No paintings on the wall, the chairs in the 'lobby' are wooden and look uncomfortable. No couches. There is not a plant in sight. Everything seems pretty sterile. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but it's not this. Maybe something more cheesy. Like lewd pictures of naked women and porn magazines scattered around. Maybe even a little porno-ish music in the background.

Ignoring the ginger kid behind the reception desk, Chase heads towards the elevator. He taps a beat with his fingers on his thigh, humming ACDC under his breath. Chase's nervous. He doesn't know who's waiting for him up there. His stomach makes a swan-dive. Is there a code or an etiquette for this? What does he even say? Does he even need to say anything? Or just silently exchange briefcases? God, he's so in over his head. The elevator dings. Chase swallows the lump in his throat and steps inside.

During the short ride up to the fifth floor, he has managed to calm down somewhat. As he exits the elevator and walks towards the daunting door with the 5c on it, he feels a bit steadier. Just rip it off like a band-aid. He takes a deep breath and rings the buzzer. No answer. He leans closer to the door, ear flat against the thin wood. He thought he heard the shower running. Great, whoever it is is taking a fucking shower. It's not like they're about to make a transaction here or whatever. Jesus.

Chase is debating what to do when a voice from inside yells, "Who's there?"

"Um..." Does he say his name? Better not. "Ramsay sent me. I got a briefcase for you?" he explains, rolling his eyes when it comes out sounding like a question. Way to go on making yourself sound like a fucking amateur, Chase. Bravo. Jesus, why can't the man just come to the door? "You're supposed to give me one in return?" Again with the question. Why can't he just state it? Like yes, I am here to deliver this briefcase. And yes, I am here to take a briefcase from you.

There's a pause before the man is yelling again. "The door's unlocked. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be out in a bit." Chase continues to stare at the door, hesitating with an alarmed look on his face. He doesn't want to go in. He just wants to get this done and over with. Sighing dejectedly, he turns the doorknob and pokes his head in. There's a door on his right that is ajar, tendrils of steam swirling out from it. Stepping inside, he closes the door and moves further into the room.

The room itself is quite small. A single bed in the middle, a tv screen hanging from the wall and a small table and chair in a corner. There's a window too, but the curtains are drawn, casting the room in darkness. The only illumination comes from the two small bedside lamps. Chase feels awkward standing in the middle of the room, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands or as a matter of fact his whole body. Glancing back at the bathroom, the showers still running, he decides that it's going to take awhile.

Blowing the air from his cheeks, he hesitates only briefly before taking a seat on the cushioned chair, placing the briefcase on his lap. On the table is a laptop. The whirring indicates that it's on even though the screen is black. Staring around the room, he fidgets, tapping his feet on the carpet floor, hollowing his cheeks and pursing his lips. He digs out the paper Ramsay had given him and crumbles it into a ball, playing a game of toss and catch with himself. He performs a few complicated tricks. Balancing the paper ball on one foot, he kicks it up into the air. The ball of paper makes a wide curve in the air. Chase tries to keep it in the air with his head, but the paper ball just bobs off his hair and falls with a soft rustle onto the touchpad. The black screen dissolves and the image there captures his attention.

At first Chase isn't sure what he's looking at. The angle is all wrong. He tilts his head a little before the full knowledge of what he's seeing slams into him. A boy is bent almost in half in the middle of a tangle of limbs; Chase is having a hard time distinguishing who is who. His legs are spread obscenely wide, held apart by two bulky arms. He's naked, oh he's so naked. Chase wants to look away, but he can't. He's stuck, unable to move, horrified.

There's another man in between the boy's thighs with his cock balls-deep in him. And what he sees makes him want to puke. There is blood staining the pale skin around the anus and coating the man's engorged penis. That looks like it hurts and it looks a hell of a lot nonconsensual. Without realizing it, his fingers are on the touchpad and with a tap, the image starts to move.

Chase freezes as cries filter out from the laptop, the sound painful and guttural. The boy is crying, sobbing and begging. But the men surrounding him paid him no attention, and continued to jeer as they jerked him around. He can tell how much pain the boy must be in, by the way his limbs are trembling, spasming. His stomach lurches at a particularly nasty thrusts. The boy's cries are muffled even as the violence escalates.

Frozen in his chair, his eyes widen as the camera angle shifts and is directed at the boy's face on the floor. Unseeing blue eyes filled with tears stare back at him. Chase almost falls out of his chair when he recognizes the face. There's no mistaking those baby blues and disheveled hair. That's Gabriel. Jesus mother of all God fuck, that is Gabriel lying there!

Before he knows it, Chase's on his feet, the briefcase falling with a thud to the carpet floor. His mind is screaming at him to look away, to run, but he's physically not able to. A blood-curdling scream tears out the laptop's tiny speaker, chilling him to the bones. He forces himself to look away when the men step on Gabriel, wiping the sole of their dirty shoes onto his skin, his face. Gabriel wouldn't want him to see this. His heart aches with an unspeakable sorrow, and he finally turns himself around. Bending forward, hands on his knees, Chase dry heaves.

The sound of the running shower stops. Chase squints at the door with watery eyes. Then it hits him. He's in the room with Gabriel's rapist! Panic, terror and anger tears at him, blinding him. His eyes dart around desperately, seeking out something, anything that he might be able to defend himself with. The door opens, and he turns around, grabbing the chair and brandishes it above his head, ready to swing.

A man wearing nothing but a towel stands by the opened bathroom door. He has this bemused expression on his face. Chase recognizes him immediately. It's the guy from the truck stop; the one with the crazy eyes. Gabriel chokes and sputters behind him; the sounds sit heavy in his stomach. And for a moment there, Chase sees red. Anger overpowered any other feelings he might have, pumping him full with adrenaline. He charges the man in front of him, slamming the chair down onto his body.

The man's reflexes are fast. He raises his arms to block the strike, but Chase does manage to land in a good shot. The chair crashes into flesh and bones and the man's arm weakens. But before Chase can lift the chair again, the man is on him, his good hand grabbing him by his neck, choking him. He can't breathe, the chair clatters to the floor as he reaches up, fingers clawing at the man's death grip.

With the chokehold, the man advances on him, trying to push him to the ground. The edge of his vision blurs but Chase still has the presence of a mind to swing his leg up, kicking the man in the balls. Howling, the man's grip loosen, and Chase takes the opportunity to shove him away. Gasping for breath, face red and knees weak, Chase stumbles forward. He grabs the man's head and lifts his knees. But before he makes contact, the man lunges at him, the force of it sending Chase sprawling back.

His head hits something hard and a jolt of pain momentarily blinds him. When he can see again, his world is tilting and he can feel bile at the back of his throat. The man is sitting on top of him, straddling his chest. He is panting, grabbing Chase by his hair and yanking it. Chase grunts in pain as his eyes focus.

"I see you found my porn collection," the man says, voice calm but breathless. He is still breathing hard.

Chase glares up at him and spits out. "That's no porn."

"Oh? Is that so? And how would you know that?" he challenges, grinning, showing off his white teeth. His eyes are wild. Just like when Chase saw him at the truck stop.

"Because that's my friend you motherfucking rapist!" Chase yells. He can't help himself; he's so angry. He doesn't care that he's overpowered. His head feels like it's splitting open and it's getting steadily harder to breathe with the weight of the man on his chest. He's fucking pissed. He wants to claw the man's eyes out if his arms aren't pinned to the side of his body by the man's calves. Struggling, unable to do much more, Chase spits in his face.

The man backhands him, causing his head to snap to the side. He tastes blood, knowing that he had bit himself. "Bitch! Do you think you can spit at me and get away with it?!" He bellows, voice loud in his ears. Chase flinches, his heart thumping so loud and fast he's afraid he's going to pass out. "You're going to get it now!"

Strong fingers grab his chin, forcing him to face forward. Chase's preparing to spit again when the man slaps his fat sweaty palm over his mouth and nose and presses down. His airways are immediately cut off. Chase struggles defenseless, unable to use his hands as the man keeps pressing down hard, using both hands now, his fingers digging into his cheeks. He can't breathe. He kicks out, and thrusts his hips, trying to buck the man off him, but he's too heavy and Chase is suffocating. His eyes start to water and his vision darkens. Fuck. This can't be it. This can't be how it ends. It's not fair. His body jerks. Gabe. Sammie.

No...

Everything goes black.

---

The sun is shining as they walk out of the hospital. The air is a little humid for spring, especially since it's only mid morning. Lucas thought about taking off his jacket, but he only had on a pair of threadbare t-shirt underneath. Having almost no sleep the night before, he doesn't want to deal with uncomfortable, stiff clothing. The soft cotton, so well worn, is smooth against his skin. It reminds him of being warm and fuzzy in bed seconds before waking up. It relaxes him. Putting on his sunglasses, he turns around, frowning when he finds Michael with a discernable expression on his face.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Michael's head jerks up. He stares at Lucas for a bit before shrugging. "I'm hungry. Want to grab a bite?"

He raises his eyebrows in surprise. He had assumed that they're going right to Ramsay. Knowing Michael, that'd be the first thing on his mind. The job always comes first. "Don't you want to go to Ramsay? The exchange could be happening any time now that Walker's in town."

"I'm hungry." Michael's reply is short and curt like a petulant child. Furrowing his brows, Lucas stares at the man. "What's going on, Michael?"

"Nothing!" That's certainly not nothing. He has never seen Michael looking as uncomfortable as he is right now. Lucas narrows his eyes and waits. Michael is looking anywhere but at him and he knows he's going to win this chicken contest. And he did a moment later. "I didn't have breakfast, okay?" Michael snaps. "Now, do you want to eat or not?"

Lucas is taken aback by how defensive Michael is responding. His shoulders are tensed around his neck, back stiff. His hands stuffed into the pocket of his leather jacket, jaw set and mouth tight. Lucas tries to read into his expression, but there seems to be a shadow of a mask blanketing his face. It's not exactly blank, but it's an expression he has yet to see. It's baffling. It's going to be a long day.

Deciding to keep the peace, he says. "No need to get snappy. If you want to get a bite first, I won't be the one to say no."

"Okay. Let's go then." Michael's tone is still a little too sharp and as he turns to leave, then hesitates. Lucas smirks. "Do you know a place?" Michael asks, not turning around.

Lucas would laugh if he thinks he could get away with it, but he doesn't want to risk enraging Michael more. Trying to curb the smile from spreading wider, he shakes his head. In a manner much too fond for his liking and says, "Follow me."

Without thinking, he wraps an arm around Michael's shoulder, steering the guy. Immediately he can feel Michael tenses up. When he realizes what he has done, he freezes up too. Old habits die hard. This was how it used to be with them. Easy and comfortable despite their constant bickering. For him at least. For Michael, it's more like quiet acceptance. He wasn't the type to initiate contact.

But that was then. This is now. They're not whatever they were anymore. They can't go back in time. They can't undo the choices Michael made. Michael chose this. And he has to live with it. Debating how best to lift his arms without it being too obvious, he stills when he feels Michael relaxing into his side, the tension rolling out in waves. He glances to his side, heart almost stopping when he spots the smile on Michael's lips. An unidentifiable emotion rushes through him.

Suddenly, it's too much. Everything is too close. There's not enough space. He feels claustrophobic. He needs air. Slipping his arms from around Michael's shoulder, he brushes past him, walking ahead. Already he's mourning the loss of Michael's solid weight pressing against him and gets mad at himself for it. What's happening to him?

"Luke?" The voice stops him in his tracks. Michael sounds small, unsure, hesitant and it's pulling at his heartstrings and he doesn't know anymore. His heart aches. "Don't call me that..." he whispers, voice hoarse. This is so unfair of Michael. He has no right barging into his life again, acting like nothing happened and expects everything to go back to the way it was. It doesn't work that way.

When the silence drags on, Lucas risks a glance back. Michael is standing there, eyes on the ground. He looks dejected. And no matter how much Lucas wants to hate the man, he can't stand to see him sad. Michael was always so proud, unruffled and to see him like this doesn't feel right. Running a hand through his hair, Lucas sighs. "I hope you still like pancakes because that's where we're heading."

Michael looks up at that, and his intense blue gaze is on him, searching and gauging. Then, he gives him a small smile and nods, falling into step with Lucas again. They walk the rest of the way to the diner in silence. It's not exactly uncomfortable, but more like they had reached a common ground. An understanding. Which is stupid because Lucas is still confused as fuck.

But he's tired, though and he doesn't want to think anymore. They need to focus right now. Walker is a dangerous man, and they need to be at their best; 100%. Gabriel is counting on him.

Lucas finds his thoughts drifting to the boy. He still doesn't know what he feels towards him. The sudden attraction, the need coursing through him; not just sexual but the need to be close. Gabriel fills this gaping hole inside him, he realizes. But why? And how? And why does it feel like the answer is staring him right in the face, but he's too blinded to see it? Fuck. He closes his eyes and pushes these confusing thoughts to the back of his mind.

By the time they reach the diner, Lucas is more than ready to quit thinking. And eat. As the smell of sizzling bacon reaches him, his stomach growls loudly. Maybe Michael is right. Who knows when they'll be able to eat next? It's not like they work regular hours.

The bell jingles as they walk into the diner. Lucas heads to the corner booth, where it seems somewhat peaceful and quiet. The majority of the patrons favor the service counter. They both slip into the both sitting at opposite sides of one another. Lucas grabs the menu, dying for some kind of distraction from those intense blue eyes staring a hole into him. If things keep going the way it is, he can already feel the beginning of a migraine forming.

A voluptuous waitress with big boobs, small waist, and bubble butt stops by their table. She looks too cheery for the mood Lucas is in, shooting them both a flashy smile. Notepad and pen in hand, she asks, "What can I get you, gentlemen?" Her eyes land on both of them before straying to Michael, and the watt of her smile increases. Her body language shifts. It's subtle, but it's there. The slight jut of her hips. The straightening of her back. The flirtatious look in her eyes that say they mean business. It grates on Lucas's nerves.

"I'll take a coffee. Black. And some waffles, please," he states, returning the menu to its place. Rubbing his temples, he closes his eyes and waits for the waitress to address Michael. White spots start to appear behind his eyelids, and there is a tension running down the back of his head to his shoulder blades. He hates migraines, especially those that mess with his neck. They're the worst.

It takes him a while to notice the silence. He didn't think he had heard Michael ordered. Blinking his eyes open, he looks across the table at the man who is frowning down at his menu like it's an especially complicated piece of puzzle. "Oh for the love of god..." He turns towards the waitress; voice clipped. "He'll have a black coffee and an apple pancake with lots of maple syrup." The waitress jots that down, tells them it'll be ready in a few minutes, winks and sashays back towards the kitchen.

When he turns back to Michael, he finds the man frowning at him. "If you don't like it, you'll just have to suck it up," he snaps, irritated. Michael just continues to stare at him, and he's getting more self-conscious and annoyed by the minute. He doesn't know why he's in such a foul mood, but Michael always seems to bring out the worst in him. He's about to make a rude comment when Michael breaks the silence.

"So, what do you do now?"

"Oh, are we making small talk now? What's next? Talk about the fucking weather?"

Michael doesn't seem impressed, his mouth thinning. "From what I can gather, you're not exactly on the straight and narrow here. Let me guess. You're a bonafide pimp."

"Fuck you."

"You know, I have to say I've never pictured you as a pimp. Where are your blings?" Michael asks, a teasing smirk flirting at the corner of his lips.

"Seriously, fuck you."

"Nah, you're fucking Gabriel already. He might get jealous."

That came out of fucking nowhere, catching him like a slap to the face. It takes him a while to process it and when he does, he freezes, staring wide-eyed at Michael. The man seems relaxed, at ease. His first instinct is to deny. Abort. He feels exposed all a sudden like Michael knowing this somehow bares him open. He feels vulnerable like his innermost deepest darkest secrets have been revealed. Secrets he hides even from himself. He realizes that he'd hesitated too long when Michael adds, "Do you fucked them all? Or is it just Gabriel?"

Desperately trying to collect himself, he puts on his best calm and indifferent face. "Who says I fuck them at all?" he replies coolly. He ignores his remark about Gabriel. Michael is just making a wild guess, trying to pry information out of him. He's not going to be stupid enough to hand it to him on a silver platter.

"I don't know about the others, but Gabriel? You fucked him," he says it so matter of factly like one plus one equals two. Tilting his head, he continues, "I didn't know you were into men."

Whatever remaining cool he has vanishes. His defense falls apart leaving him open and unguarded. It's a question he's been asking himself many times. He doesn't think he's gay. He even went to a gay bar to test the theory and he was definitely not interested in men. Only Gabriel. Considering his previous relationships were with females, he never questioned his sexuality, naturally assuming he's heterosexual. But now that he thinks about it, he had never felt any sexual attraction to the ladies as well. Not until months into knowing them. It was never the physicality of it that drew him in, he realizes. Doesn't matter their gender, it's who they are or what they meant to him that eventually attracts him. The sudden epiphany stuns him. He feels the sudden itch to Google.

"One black coffee and waffles for you," The waitress is back, setting the coffee and plate of waffles down in front of Lucas. "And one black coffee and pancake for Blue-Eyes." She winks at Michael, smiling seductively. Lucas seethes.

"Thank you," Michael says, polite as always. The waitress smiles wide and saunters back to the kitchen, glancing back at Michael as she goes. Lucas grabs his fork and stabs the waffles, bringing his knife up to cut viciously into it. "Are you ok?" Lucas looks up, coming face to face with Michael's concerned gaze. "If this is about my previous comment, I'm sorry. It's personal, and it's up to you whether you want to tell me or not. It's wrong of me just to assume."

"I'm not gay," he says, shaking his head. "I'm-" he sighs. "I don't know what I am. But I do know that gender doesn't play a determining factor in my having a relationship." He stares down at his plate and pretends to be focused on cutting his waffles. It's not something to be ashamed of but for some reason, he doesn't think he could look Michael in the eyes. It feels too much like baring his soul. That nagging feeling at the back of his mind prickles at his peripherals again, demanding his attention. He ignores it. "Why do you care so much if I fuck Gabriel or not?" he asks instead, turning the tables around.

"Did you?" Lucas stares at Michael and they are silent for a few moments, eyes locked. Neither one is confirming nor denying the statement. Then, Michael shrugs. "I can't help but notice that Gabriel looks..." Michael seems to search around for the right word, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally settles on, "Familiar."

Lucas frowns, his heart thumping wildly against his chest. That thing he's been ignoring scratches the surface, extending its claws. He knows that once he opens that floodgate, there's no turning back. It's so close now. And so dangerous. "What are you getting at?" he snaps, tone harsh. Why is he being so defensive? You know why. No, he doesn't.

"Nothing," Michael replies, too fast not to be suspicious. But Lucas lets it go. Dragging it all out in the open would not bode well for him. He just knows it. Keep it buried. Stay on neutral ground. "Let's finish this and go and meet Ramsay," Michael sighs.

Lucas doesn't know if his mind is playing tricks on him or what, but Michael looks resigned as he cuts into his pancake, his eyes downcast. Digging into his waffles, he thinks. Yeah, it's better to keep things as they are. They have better things to worry about like Walker. At least with him, Lucas is clear on what he needs to do. Everything else can go and fuck themselves. They eat the rest of their meal in silence.