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Belleview: Burned

Notes: Pre-Belleview/Shutdown.

Belleview: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (Part A), Chapter 2 (Part B), Chapter 2 (Part C)

TW: Institutionalized slavery, Med Whump, Noncon Medical Care, Human Experimentation, Burns TW, Restraints TW, Noncon drugging TW

✥ ✥ ✥

“It’s nice to meet you.” Katherine Blackwell sits languidly behind a large desk, usually reserved for the site director. From the doorway, a handler levels a warning glance upon the worker – a young, angry-looking male – who has been… challenging, to say the least, up to this point. He stares back at her, his features clear of any emotion at all. Whether this is a side effect of drugs or exhaustion or simply a deficient personality is anyone’s guess. It’s inconsequential to her, and more importantly, to her team. “My name is Katherine, I’m one of the head researchers at Hutton Medical.” No response. “Over in Deerfield?” she adds, narrowing her eyes. No response. “We often work with the team here to acquire participants for medical research… drug trials, experimental treatments, things like that.” She cocks her head to the side. “Not important, I suppose.”

No response.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

The boy, unsurprisingly, does not offer a response, although his posture shifts, which is, in itself, something. Kate places one finger on the file in front of her and draws it closer, peeking at the first page.

“River,” she says. His shoulders tighten, almost imperceptibly. “That’s a very sweet name.”

His focus shifts to the far wall.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, River,” she starts, cautious with her tone and her words and her expectations.

He shifts his eyes just enough to glare at her, and the handler issues a soft, but firm, “Take it easy, Riv.”

Kate offers a tight smile toward the handler then turns her attention back to River.

“Assuming that you pass a couple of preliminary tests,” she says, “we’ll be pulling you for an offsite trial at our main branch.” She’s not unaware of the fact that the handler is on edge, and she keeps her attention split between the boy in front of her and the handler’s hands, one gripping a remote, and the other resting anxiously on one of the tools on his belt.

“Do you have any interest in the details of the trial?” she asks him, and the muscles in his jaw tighten. She takes a breath, gives him a moment to speak, then eventually continues, “I know this must be a difficult position to be in. I want to assure you that our aim is not to harm you. As you might be aware, you’re uniquely positioned to make a really meaningful impact in the future of medical care.”

“Ma’am,” the handler says, tense, at the same time that River repositions himself. If he lunges, there will be more than enough time for the handler to intervene. Kate suspects that they are all well aware of this fact, and fails to understand the shared anxiety between River and the handler.

She holds up a hand. “You have the opportunity to support us in making tens of thousands of peoples’ lives better,” she continues in spite of the protests from the corner. “Hutton has made impressive strides over the past several years in burn treatm–”

“I don’t want to hear this,” River says softly, sucking in a deep breath. “And I do not consent to whatever you intend to do to me.”

Kate nods. “Of course,” she replies. “Nonetheless, our company does not require nor expect your consent. Your site director has signed off on your participation, and at this point, we simply want to provide you with some information about what the next few weeks will look like for you and extend to you the opportunity to ask any questions that you have.”

River glances quickly toward his handler but then falters, his gaze instead landing somewhere toward his feet.

“River,” Kate says. She tries to be supportive where she can, but ultimately, this decision is made. “I want to share some of the details of the trial with you, if you will allow me to? We have found that participants cope a little bit better when they understand the expectations, and the limits of, their participation.”

“Ma’am, just say what you gotta say,” the handler interjects.

She clears her throat. “Right.” And then, decisively, she explains, “It will be a short trial. You’ll spend two weeks in our facility in Deerfield. You’ll be treated well, although we expect that the trial itself will be challenging for you. Today, one of our doctors will examine you to ensure that you qualify for the trial. Your cooperation will be appreciated and ultimately, rewarded.”

River’s grip on the chair tightens, his knuckles white.

“After the doctor clears you, we will medicate you for transit. When you wake up, you will be at the facility, and from there, we will begin the trial. I will be present through it all and will support you as needed. From here,” she continues, “I believe things will move fairly quickly. I understand that you sometimes struggle with being handled, so I expect that, once we get started, you may have some difficulty voicing your questions or needs.”

He looks afraid, under the bravado, she thinks. It would be impossible not to be afraid. “So I’ll ask one more time, River: do you have any questions?”

He turns away from her, his expression just as empty as it has been, but his muscles tight.

“Okay,” she says, decisively. “You’re welcome to voice your questions as they arise,” and then, to the handler, she says, “No sedatives, the doctor needs him alert and oriented.” She scoops up the files in front of her and places them into her bag, then stands.

As three men from her team file into the office, Kate side-steps them and exits swiftly. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees River spring from his seat, and although she narrowly avoids seeing the fight, she can’t get away quickly enough to escape the sounds that come from the office.

✥ ✥ ✥

The first thing River becomes aware of, as the darkness fades back into reality, is the taste. There is a sweetness on his tongue, almost sickeningly so, and River instinctively moves to spit it out but, just as quickly, realizes that something has been placed behind his teeth and is preventing him from doing so.

He presses with his tongue all around the edges of the item, but it doesn’t budge. His limbs feel heavy, and although he knows he should be afraid, he’s mostly just… confused.

He blinks hard against the harsh lights of this room, and moves to push himself up from the awkward position he’s awoken in. His limbs are heavy, though, and instantly, memories piece themselves together and awareness takes a cold, distinct hold on him. He stops struggling.

“Welcome back,” a man says from somewhere above him. The voice sends a frigid shiver of dread all down River’s body. “I’ll help you up, if you’re ready to be calm,” he says.

He moves around the table and kneels down to River’s eye level. “While I can appreciate a clean upper cut,” he continues, “it won’t be tolerated here. You’re not in a position to do any real harm, but if you want to wear yourself out trying, we can do this all day.”

River isn’t positive how long they have been doing this, but judging by the pounding headache and soreness of his shoulders, wrists, neck, back, and everywhere else, he suspects he might have lost significant time somewhere. He blinks, he tests his jaw, which aches with the resistance of the gag, and he forcibly relaxes.

“I’m Doctor Hank Anderson,” the man says. “I’ll be assisting in getting you ready for the procedure this morning.”

The man helps River sit up, then lifts each of his hands individually and places them in his lap. His arms are covered in bruises, he notices. He wrists, welts. The memories are fragmented, but they continue to fall into place.

“You’ve been gagged because you haven’t shown any ability to censor yourself.” Anderson releases his grip on River’s wrists but places a hand on his back, keeping him balanced. “You’ve been medicated, because–” He makes a vague gesture, as if to say River’s entire existence provides all the rationale in the world.

“After the procedure, the gag will be removed. Should you continue with the vocal outbursts, we will respond accordingly.” And then, a flat, “Do you understand?”

River wonders briefly if he has enough agency over his limbs to flip the man off. He watches his fingers as they try with a kind of detached fascination. Whatever this is is going to happen. Whatever they want to do to him they will do to him. He does not need to help them feel better about it.

The door opens, and River slowly lifts his head to see who has entered. “You remember my colleague, Dr. Blackwell?”

She keeps a healthy distance from him but the condescending smile is plastered on her lips. His stomach roils.

“Hi, River,” she says. “It’s good to see you’re awake.”

The gag is a heavy weight in his mouth, digging uncomfortably into his cheeks, and the woman says, “Can we remove it now?”

“Not yet,” Anderson replies. River’s stomach is still threatening to revolt, his vision still swims, and he has no control over his body. He becomes aware that the man’s hand is still on his back keeping him balanced, and he tries to pull away.

He focuses on memorizing their faces. Their voices.

“This will be done in two phases,” the man is saying. River blinks himself back to the moment. “Phase one will take place today, within the next couple of minutes. Once they’re ready for you, a team will come in. The first phase will be fast but will be uncomfortable. Phase two will begin in a couple days, but you don’t need to concern yourself with the details.”

River is concerned with the details, but isn’t sure that alerting them to that fact serves any real purpose.

“If you do well, you’ll be treated well,” the woman says. She smiles again and takes a tentative step toward him and River, against his will, pulls back.

“We don’t mean to scare you,” she continues. “There is not an option for you to do poorly. We aren’t interested in subjecting you to torture for torture’s sake. You’ll do well, because that’s the only possible outcome, and you will be treated well during your recovery.”

Recovery, River thinks. Over the last six months, he’s been subjected to every kind of pain imaginable. He has survived them all, and he will survive this, but the way these people look at him puts him on edge.

There’s no way for him to prepare. So he builds up a wall, a strong and as high and as impenetrable as he can build it, to protect whatever fragments of himself that he can.

✥ ✥ ✥

He knows, at the point where he is laid down on his stomach, his wrists and ankles affixed tightly to a thinly padded table, that he is right to have a healthy fear of whatever awaits him. He knew when the handler at Belleview had exacted a look of pity on him with a promise of a “special treat” when he returned, he knew when the ‘doctors’ did a stress test, and he knows now, as his head is gently lifted and the pillow is removed from under it. He presses his temple into the same thin, blue pad that lies beneath the rest of him and closes his eyes.

They don’t speak to him as they prepare, but occasionally one will run an absent hand through his hair, or pat him on the back, as if to say, we give a shit about you. It’s the thing, he thinks, that allows some of them to sleep at night. It makes his skin crawl, but that, too, he has learned to ignore.

“River?” the man from earlier says, as a cold swab is rubbed across the top of his neck. “We’re going to give you something to help keep you still.”

He feels the moment the pressure on his head shifts from a caress to a restraint and braces himself against the sharp sting of a needle in his neck.

“‘Atta boy,” the man says, and the gag is removed a moment later. “You’re doing great.” To someone out of River’s sight line he says, “he’s easier to be around when he can’t speak,” and it’s followed by a small round of soft laughter.

A tear runs down River’s cheek, and River hopes no one notices, but almost immediately the woman wipes a cool, damp cloth against his face and puts her hand on the back of his neck.

“It’ll be twenty minutes, tops,” she says. Someone else puts an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, puts a few patches on his arms and hands, and somewhere distantly, he can hear the beeping of monitors coming to life. “You can close your eyes, if you’d like.”

They speak to each other as something cool is rubbed across his back, and River can both feel and hear his heart rate rising, neither of which do anything to ease the anxiety of what he expects is going to be bad.

“Alright, River,” someone behind him says. “We’re going to expose you to a series of burns, ranging in severity.” River can feel the warmth and there is a moment of clarity where he thinks, maybe, if he could speak, this would be where he would ask them to knock him out. Where he might ask them why, if they do not seek to torture him, he is to remain conscious through this.

He can’t speak though, and he can’t move. He can only suffer. He closes his eyes, drowning out the words of those who surround him, and prepares himself to do just that.

✥ ✥ ✥

At the moment that the first scalding iron is pressed against the worker’s lower back, she expects a flinch. She expects, perhaps, a blood-curdling scream. She expects, maybe, the choice words that this worker seems to reserve specifically for her, but she is met with nothing but the smell of burning flesh, and the quickly increasing beeps of the monitors attached to him.

“Release it,” Anderson says, and the iron is removed, leaving a horrifying patch of burned skin in its wake. They all look at the information feed about River’s internal state, but Kate, instead, makes the mistake of looking at his face. His eyes are shut, and sweat beads down his forehead. Otherwise, he is still.

“Beautiful,” someone says.

Several more times, the iron is pressed into this worker’s, this boy’s, flesh. It isn’t until the third time that tears begin falling from his eyes onto the padding beneath his head, and it isn’t until the fifth, when he is gasping for each breath, that he makes any sound at all. The noise that comes out of him is a hoarse, choked off sob, that he immediately locks up, his eyes squeezing tighter.

“He’s crying,” one of the nurses says evenly. “Wasn’t the pain exposure meant to be minimal?”

Kate takes the rag from the tray of supplies, dampens it, and brushes it across River’s forehead, then his cheeks, wiping away the moisture, then his neck, which is steadily reddening. The tears continue to flow freely.

“It’s likely just a reflex,” Anderson says calmly, but Kate believes they all know this is a lie. “One more,” he says then. She isn’t certain who he’s speaking to.

In the last spot, the iron is pressed and held, longer than any of the others. River’s heart rate is through the roof, his body temperature dangerously high. “Good, River,”Anderson says, and then finally, the iron is released. Six rectangular burns line 80% of his back. They take photographs, and they prod at him like it’s nothing. Like he’s nothing.

There’s a casual dissonance between the way they speak and the crisis unfolding on the table. Anderson explains the treatment process into a recording device while River vomits. The nurse reads his vitals out loud while blood trickles from his nose. His wrists are released from the restraints and as he struggles futilely to get his hands under himself, to, what, stand? To hide? Does he even know what he attempts to accomplish? Every movement has to be agonizing. His muscles spasm and he drops his weight, then tries again. He doesn’t make a sound, he doesn’t open his eyes. He swallows, he vomits again, he pulls his arms under himself again.

“Temp’s still climbing,” one of the nurses says, but Kate remains at River’s head, petting through his hair, encouraging him to hold still. She doesn’t attend to what the others are saying or doing.

“Be still, River,” she whispers. This is the hardest part of the job, but she tells herself that she’s part of something bigger. That the world will be better. That this will help so many people, and that River has done something to deserve this treatment, regardless. He’s hurt people, and now he will help them. She tells herself it makes it easier, but this part never is. “Easy,” she says, as his weight drops again. He gasps, he chokes. His jaw, locked tight, trembles. He doesn’t hear her. She’s almost positive of that.

His heart rate keeps climbing.

“Alright,” Anderson says, approaching the table with a vial full of liquid and an empty syringe. “Keep him still.”

Something snaps inside of him as the needle contacts his skin, and Kate wants to help him understand, to tell him it’s for the pain, to tell him it’ll help, but it’s all instantaneous, and without warning, River begins panicking, and then River is forcefully rolling to his side, and he screams out at the movement, and something inside of him is breaking, his fingers tangle tightly into his own hair and he buries his face under his arm, and somewhere, the tray is kicked over as he arches and twists against the pain that all the movement certainly ignites–

“Easy t– what’s his name?” Anderson says to Kate, a gloved hand prying River’s fingers out of his hair, then forcefully, but casually, returning his hand to his side. The movement is met with a choked-off sob and his eyes open, meeting hers, as tears soak his flushed skin.

“River,” she says, although she isn’t sure if she’s speaking to him or Anderson. She looks away, down to the ground, to anywhere other than his eyes. She’s going to be sick, she thinks, the feeling so sudden that she doesn’t know what to do with it. “Excuse me,” she whispers then.

“Just try to focus on breathing, River,” she hears distantly.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he tries to pull away, and is this time met with a sharp command to restrain him, followed by twelve gloved hands forcing him back to his stomach. The last thing Kate hears as she makes for the exit is his piercing wail, before finally, mercifully, he goes still.

✥ ✥ ✥

All said, what was initially predicted to be a two-week stay was extended, and extended again, and extended again, until Ben Harris, promoted to head researcher midway through this trial, lost track of the days.

The sick pattern that’s developed seems to be, mostly, a comfort in its predictability to the worker, River.

Pills are forced down his throat. Then water. They remove the bandages, they treat the wounds with the fancy new machine that promises to revolutionize burn treatment (for those who can afford it). He screams. Sometimes, he begs them to stop. Sometimes the pain is too much and he passes out.

Every morning, they count how many ounces of the puree he can make himself swallow, and the rest is supplemented with a tube.

And every evening, after he’s given them some approximation of a description of what it feels like, after he's told them to eat shit, after he’s eventually caved, his body totally spent, he turns into calm, easy River, and Ben wipes down his body and puts his head in his lap and tells him about how many people he's helping. It is only at this point, when River’s eyes are so heavy and the bags are so dark and his lips are so dry and his voice is so hoarse that he doesn't tell Ben to eat shit, and instead eases his way into a fitful sleep, where Ben can start to see the other side of his ward, just barely an adult, who tenses at every sound, who whimpers when he's scared.

This side of River changes Ben; it urges him to spend more of his energy trying to comfort the otherwise inconsolable boy. Usually, River can only handle it on the bad days, the ones where he is soaked in sweat and shaking and cannot open his eyes. On those days, Ben takes a seat in the armchair next to River and reads to him, or tells him stories, or watches TV with him. On others, when he’s more feisty, Ben settles for checking in on him briefly, which is usually met with open hostility.

He handles himself as well as anyone can expect him to, but every day, things get easier, physically, at least. With each phase of the treatment, River grows stronger, but retreats further into himself. Long gone are the days where he fights back, swearing and spitting and clawing through his restraints. He’s replaced by a withdrawn, quiet River, who by week six, refuses to speak at all. Ben starts a countdown for him, greeting him each morning with an update on his progress, and a promise of an end to this. The harsh reality, though, is that it never ends for River. If not this, it will be something else. If not Ben, someone else. He wonders idly, sometimes, how River landed here, and if he deserves to be here, after all.

By the end of the eight-week trial, far longer than anyone anticipated or could ethically justify, the burns have faded to almost nothing, and so, Ben worries, has River.

When they pack him up and put him in the van, he curls his arms around his stomach and keeps his eyes straight ahead. Ben feels an immediate stab of loss. His first time overseeing a patient, he thinks proudly. His name will be in the research archives for his work on this study, and he might even be issued an award. River’s might, too, and he has the thought that maybe someone should show him, if it comes to be.

He waves River off with something akin to pride, and he hopes, somewhere deep down, River feels it, too.

✥ ✥ ✥

“You miss us, baby?” Jake says, one hand locking tightly around River’s arm as he hoists him out of the transport vehicle. He’s noticeably thinner, which irrationally upsets Jake but he doesn’t dwell on it. What he does dwell on are the bruises, the bags under River’s eyes, the welts around his wrists. “You look like shit, Riv,” he says, saluting the driver and turning them both on their heels.

River doesn’t respond.

“Wanna take the long way in?” Jake asks suddenly, and River pauses.

He takes one of those deep breaths and looks at the sun, then offers a nearly invisible, single nod of his head, which is more than Jake gets on his best day.

The long way is just around the back, which winds through the courtyard and then leads into the maintenance entrance. Sometimes, if one of his boys is on their best behavior, Jake will take them out for some fresh air.

River has tried to make a run for it a couple times, so the director put him on lockdown four months earlier, but since he’s already outside, it probably doesn’t matter.

Still, Jake keeps his fingers locked around River’s arm, but makes no hurry to get him inside.

“The doctor wants to look at you before you crash,” Jake says, as they near the door. River’s expression goes darker, his jaw locking. “But between you and me, everyone’s really proud of you.”

Jake taps his key card against the lock box at the door and pulls it open, ushering River inside. He stalls, just long enough for Jake to think that maybe he’s going to bolt, but then he changes his mind and steps inside. He looks like he’s been thoroughly run through, in a way that gives Jake pause.

“The director said I can bring you some Taco Bell tonight,” Jake says, as they make their way through the wing. River keeps his eyes on the floor. He’s holding in some big emotions, Jake thinks, which is not actually all that common for him. He’s seen River cry only a small handful of times, and usually it’s only because the pain has gotten unmanageable and River’s body physically can’t keep it locked down anymore. Now, though, Jake can see tears welling in his eyes and quite frankly? It freaks him out a little bit.

“Hey,” Jake says as they approach the door to River’s room. River freezes but does not look up. “Don’t be like that.” He pushes open River’s door and steps aside for River to pass him. “Whatever it was, it’s over now,” he continues. “And miracle of all miracles, they said you did good.”

River sinks down to the floor in the corner of his room and puts his head between his legs. O-kay then, Jake thinks.

“I’ll be back in a little bit,” he says. “Try not to get into too much trouble.”

✥ ✥ ✥

When he returns, no more than an hour later, River is in one of the sterile rooms, curled up on his side, with an IV in his arm. He’s snowed, his eyes open but barely, his hair matted with sweat.

“The fuck happened here?” Jake asks one of the handlers who stands outside the door. He is still writing notes into the tablet.

“Uhh,” the handler says, his focus split between what he’s typing and answering Jake’s question. “He’s been sedated, he had a massive meltdown when the team pulled him. Guess it was too much excitement for one day,” he says.

“Damn.” Jake approaches River, or, the shell of him, and turns him a little bit so he can see his back. “Gnarly.” It isn’t really, though. It actually doesn’t look like much of anything at all.

“Besides being traumatized to all hell, they think he’ll be fine.”

Jake sets the bag of Taco Bell on the counter and turns back River, running a light hand down his cheek. “You hear that, buddy?” Jake whispers, as the other handler makes his exit. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

✥ ✥ ✥

Belleview Taglist:

@pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings @light-me-on-pyre @i-eat-worlds

@taterswhump @squishablesunbeam @inpainandsuffering @distinctlywhumpthing @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@handsinmotion @whumps-and-bumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @alexmundaythrufriday @itsawhumpsideblog

@hellodecisionparalysis @scoundrelwithboba @technicallydeliciousdeer

#Absolutely love this #Just all of it where do I begin #Him crying yes #I love how you structured that spreading it over multiple pov shifts #With the actual branding it makes sense. And since this is the first Big Character Focus Chapter we assume it's natural for him to be cryin #And the focus is on the doctors Which!#I have to Assume you've likely read the article on branding I found and made a post about awhile ago because !!#That's Exactly how they were talking about branding cattle #The absolute detachment of empathy for him. Minimizing care for pain responses.#At least he asked for his name eventually #And then his I assume primary handler actually tuning in to him enough to know how much it takes to make him cry #It's probably just easier to control people when you know what buttons to press #Even the ones not on a remote #You don't effectively train a dog without rewards after all #But it spreads the exposition out too and makes you go oh. /oh/ and I love that shit.#'Hes snowed' ooh that's a good term.#Took me a fraction of a second to get it but absolutely worth it for the use of jargon which helps character voice

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