#Like oh you never really cared enough about people suffering to fact check the bogus things being said about them

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Hilton

[Worlds collide and Griffin decides to do his damn job]

[Masterlist] [Next?]

CW: noncon drugging, stuffed in trunk, blood mention, knife mentioned (blink and you’ll miss it), mention of scars on arm 

Word count: 4,453

Griffin had double checked the address Trevor had given him, gotten in his truck, and headed out to the meeting point. He had been with the Syndicate for a few months at this point, and he had risen up the ranks quickly. He was good at his damn job, so he was patient. He never expected them to just walk him into their meeting room and explain their plan like in a monologue like the movies. No, the transition would be slow, filled with temptation and offers that he didn’t even want to refuse. Offers of power, respect, money, anything that he would ever want. They would find something that he wanted, and they would use it to keep him in check.

At least that’s how his family worked and he doubted this would be any different.

He sighed and turned the music up. The drive wasn’t too far, only about an hour, but it was long enough for him to think a bit. Trevor, the blond-haired asshole that sat down next to him at the bar that first night, wanted him to go pick up some asset. He was pretty cagey about the whole thing, telling Griffin he was chosen for his “tactical defense skills” - an obviously bogus reason - clearly setting this up as some sort of test. Hell knows what kind, so Griffin prepared himself for anything.

He was going to do his goddamn job, his real job, and get to the heart of the operation so he could take it down and keep it down.

He pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. It was no 5-star resort, but it was also no motel. He scanned the doors on the west side, looking for the number that was written on the slip of paper. 106, 106, where is, oh there.

Griffin knocked on the room door and glanced around. Not a very defensible position, but good for a quick exit. Trevor had said these people were just contractors, that they weren’t part of the syndicate, so he had to assume that was why they chose this location for the meeting.

After a moment and movement behind the sheer curtains, the door opened. A man opened it and smiled. The smile wasn’t quite genuine, more like a teenager who got caught sneaking out late. Behind him, Griffin could see bags on one of the bed. Okay, so this wasn’t just a meeting point. They were really staying there. Griffin would give them the benefit of the doubt; everything was probably done under a fake name, paid in cash.

“Hey, you’re a little early.”

Griffin’s expression might as well have been made of stone. One eyebrow raised as he glared at the man. He turned his arm to show the watch on the inside of his wrist.

“Meeting time is 21:30,” he stated flatly. The man was about 30 years old, short blond hair and crooked teeth. He was nervous, so he was trying to overcompensate with self-confidence. Griffin got the feeling that “overcompensating” was a term that could describe a lot of things in this man’s life.

“Oh, sorry. I guess my watch is running slow. I’m Tyler.” He didn’t extend a hand, so Griffin just stared at him, ignoring the fact that he clearly wasn’t wearing a watch. Be unorganized if you want, but don’t make me wait. 

He stepped into the hotel room and quickly checked the room. Two more people, another man and a woman, all around the same age. The room had two queen beds and a small table. Griffin’s eyes checked over the bags, not quite knowing what he was searching for. Briefcase? Laptop? Trevor had never told him was the asset was.

“So, how does this work? You drove, so are we going to follow you?” Griffin turned back to the trio and nodded.

“Works for me. Where is the asset? I need to get eyes on it before we leave.” Tyler gestured to the closet.

“In there. I’m going to take the bags to the car.”

Griffin eyed him suspiciously. If it was intended to be a hiding place, it was probably the most obvious one, save covering the asset with a blanket. The pair grabbed bags and left, leaving Griffin with the last man. He was sitting on the chair, ball cap over his face, arms crossed behind his head like he was sleeping.

What the hell did these people have that they were contractors with the Syndicate?

Griffin huffed and opened the closet.

Whatever he had been expecting, a briefcase, a laptop, hell, a bomb would have made more sense than this. A crumpled figure lay in the closet, wrists and ankles bound behind him with duct tape. He wasn’t moving and Griffin knelt quickly to make sure he was still breathing. He lifted the boy’s neck carefully as his head rolled. A strip of tape covered his mouth, carelessly placed as one side was so long it caught in the boy’s dark hair. The boy was far too out of it to try and read his body language. Well, Griffin still could, but all it screamed was the obvious; drugged. His light blue eyes were open, but the pupils were blown wide. He was some sort of conscious, as his eyes still jerkily tracked movement.

“What the hell?” he muttered as he brushed hair out of his eyes, seeing the bruising from a black eye.

The boy knew what was happening, even if they didn’t tell him. They were moving again; they only drugged him like this when they moved him. His mouth still tasted chalky from the pill no matter how many times he tried to swallow behind the tape. He was dehydrated. They hadn’t given him any water today, another sign they were going to move.

The boy fought the exhaustion to look at the face above him. The hand didn’t feel like Victoria’s, Vince didn’t hold him like this, and Tyler only touched him to hurt him. So, who was this? There was never anyone else. He pulled his mind out of oblivion long enough to get a good look at the face. Hard green eyes on the squarest face he had ever seen, almost buzzed short hair.

He had no clue who this was.

“What the hell?” A hand brushed hair off his forehead, away from his eyes. He was looking directly into his eyes.

Fear gripped him suddenly.

They promised. They promised that they wouldn’t sell him, that they were going to keep them. He didn’t know what being sold meant, but he couldn’t imagine it could be better than here. He knew how things worked here. He knew what to do even if he couldn’t always do it.

He was sorry, he could do better. He didn’t know how, but he would try. He was sorry he gave Vince that dirty look. They could blacken both his eyes, they could beat him into a pulp, just please don’t sell him. What would this stranger do to him?

What if they didn’t know how to make sure he got the visions right? He was sorry it automatically went to his future; he really was. He needed the voices and the pictures to get the right person. Otherwise, he would mess everything up. What if they didn’t know that and they got mad when it didn’t work? They would hurt him, and he wouldn’t be able to explain. What if they wanted more than three visions at a time? He knew he was slow, but more than that would probably kill him. His blood ran cold - what if they wanted all special requests?

I can be good, he wanted to scream, Please take the tape off. I won’t scream, I promise. I just need to explain, I need to tell you how to make the vision right. Please, I need to explain. Or just ask Tyler! Or Victoria, she knows! They know how!

Shit, if he was getting sold, then someone other than Victoria was going to be in his head. What if they were worse? What if they were so rough with him that even that hurt? What if they wanted to tear up his memories like Victoria did? There weren’t that many left; would they be jealous? Angry they couldn’t make his mind how they wanted? Would they tear up these memories? Would that be so bad?

“Woah, hey, hey, hey, you’re okay. It’s okay. Shh, slow down,” came a comforting voice. Griffin swept more hair off his forehead, trying to calm the boy. He was frozen, almost catatonic, but his eyes were screaming. Screaming panic, fear, terror. He was spiraling farther and farther down, even if his body wouldn’t respond to the terror. Griffin could see the thoughts racing in his eyes, emotions flashing so quickly he could barely read them.

“Don’t bother,” came a bored voice from the other side of the room, “He’s totally out of it. Can’t hear anything you’re saying. Probably somewhere else in his head entirely.”

Griffin glared at the man and turned back to the boy in his arms.

“Hey, can you hear me?”

Yes! Yes, I can hear you! I can be good, please. I can’t move, I can’t tell you I hear you. Please don’t hurt me, I can hear you!

Griffin furrowed his brow. He wasn’t a mind reader, but he could see the micro expressions change. It was still fear, but a different kind. Fear mixed with desperation and the desire to please. Yeah, this kid could definitely hear him.

“No, he can hear me. He’s present, just can’t move.”

“Shit, Really?” it was almost a laugh. The man took the cap away from his face and moved over to the closet. “Well, well, well. What do you know? Have you always been awake, you little shit? You eavesdropping on us?”  

Griffin glared at him sideways.

“What did you give him?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know the name of it. Tori gives it to him, something that makes him still and quiet when we move to a new place. Always assumed it totally knocked him out.” He laughed, “No wonder he hates it so fucking much.” He reached down and mussed up the boy’s hair before turning back to Griffin.

“Say, how did you know he could hear you?”

For a moment, Griffin couldn’t even process the question. The asset was a kid. This boy, somewhere in his late teens. A briefcase, a laptop, even a bomb he could deal with. This was a kid. A scared kid. A scared kid that was routinely drugged and no one knew he was suffering. They didn’t even seem to care.

Not now, later. Deal with this later.

“Griffin Marshalls,” he stated as he reached out for a handshake. The man’s eyes grew wide.

“Aw shit man, nice to meet you! You can call me Vince. Wow, they sent a Marshalls, that’s so fucking cool. Damn, you guys really are the real deal.”

Griffin ignored his admiration, his excitement. He was used to it, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He was awed and impressed because he was seeing criminal royalty, not because he had any genuine respect for the man in front of him.

He checked the boy over again. He had a black eye and a bandage on his arm, but he was alive. Functioning. For now.

The door opened, and the other two entered.

“Ready to go?”

~~~

Griffin checked his rear-view mirror again, checking to make sure the other car was still following. A part of him had wanted to put this kid in his own truck cab, keep him away from those idiots. But he didn’t. Those idiots were the ones who made the deal with Trevor, so they needed to come along. He doubted they would let the kid out of their eyes, anyways.

No, the asset. Not kid. He couldn’t start thinking like that. He needed to do his damn job. Figure out where they got their intel, dismantle it, find weakness in the organization and report back. Take it down.

But how old was he? Griffin had never spent a lot of time around kids, but he had been in high school once. He was a recruit once, and more recently had interactions with some of them. To apply for the DIFC, you had to be eighteen. Did that kid look older or younger than eighteen? Hard to tell, but he was right around there.

Griffin almost found himself relaxing at the thought. At least he’s probably at least eighteen. A sick feeling started to grow in his gut. Yeah, he was around eighteen now, but how long had he been with them?

No. Stop it. He had other things to focus on. He had to get this trip done and done right. Trevor was testing him; probably knew the asset was a human and wanted to see how Griffin would react. Although there was more respect for him in the Syndicate, there were still a rumor that he was “too nice.” This whole thing must have been because of that. He needed to show that he wasn’t “too nice.” That he would do what needed to be done.

And he would, because it was his damn job.

About thirty minutes later, Griffin pulled into the Southern Mantle, the pulse point of the Southwest Syndicate in this region.

The luxury hotel hadn’t even been on DIFC’s radar, owned by a shell company of shell companies. Made sense to Griffin; easy place to launder money, always people coming and going, secure place for members of the Syndicate to lay low. No one would notice all the valets were all 6-foot and packing heat.

Not only was it secure, it was extravagant. Fifteen stories, multiple convention halls, an atrium filled with plant life and landscaping, not to mention a shopping Centre, restaurants, spas, and multiple pools. It was where the rich came to stay when they visited the city, or where the bosses of the criminal underground held their meetings.

Griffin steered around the valet parking station and into the underground parking lot. There was a gate that needed to opened by security card access, and that’s where he was headed. He pulled over, the car behind him parking next to him. He rolled down his passenger side window when they rolled down theirs.

“Aw, we don’t get to do valet?” The woman, Victoria, looked like a child in theme park for the first time. Her eyes were wide, lost in the lightbulbs and glamor of the resort.

“Only if you want to explain to the vacationing families why you’re dragging a drugged corpse through the lobby. No, we’ll go up the service elevator.”

Griffin pulled the card from his wallet and let the car pass through. He met them on the other side next to the elevator, Victoria and Vince already out of the car. Vince held onto the side of the car and stretched his legs. Griffin sighed and got out of his car to go over to them.

Tyler was still in the driver’s seat, trying to pop the trunk. The lid opened right as Griffin got to it.

Whatever drug they had given the kid was staring to wear off. He shifted and groaned quietly in the trunk, head trying to roll away from the harsh light streaming in. Griffin’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of the blood.

They must have hit some bump in the road somewhere, and the kid, unable to brace himself, must have hit is head somewhere in the trunk. There was a cut stretching from his temple to the middle of his hair line. It didn’t look too deep, but the head bled a lot, red trickling and smearing down his face.

“Shit, you couldn’t have put him in the back seat?” Griffin muttered as he checked the cut. He was right, it wasn’t too deep, but there was also some bruising on the other side of his face as well as general dirt. They needed to clean the cut before it got infected.

“Yeah, but the trunk gets my bag dirty. And how are we supposed to explain if we get pulled over?” Victoria justified as she walked around the back of the car, blanket draped around he shoulders like a cape. Griffin had to close his eyes to try and escape the stupidity. He moved to pinch the bridge of his nose, but stopped when he remembered the blood on his hand.

“It’s harder to explain a body in the trunk than it is to explain a person sleeping in the car. Just buckle him in with a blanket and tell the cop he’s asleep.” He had tried to keep his voice steady, but his annoyance shone through clearly. Victoria shifted he weight slightly. Obviously, they hadn’t thought of that. Of course they didn’t. Idiots.

Griffin picked the kid out of the trunk and placed him on his feet. He swayed slightly, but he could stand. The kid was about average height, dwarfed a bit by Griffin, but that happened to most people. Griffin reached to his belt and pulled out his knife to cut the duct tape around his wrist and ankles, trying to ignore the flinch from the boy. He wasn’t going to carry him if he didn’t need to.

“Can you walk by yourself?”

The boy’s eyes were dazed, taking a moment to respond. A shake of the head and the nonverbals of shame. Griffin sighed softly, also ignoring the shame for now. He shouldn’t be ashamed; he had just been drugged and stuffed in a trunk for the last hour. He would have been shocked if the boy could walk after that. He slipped an arm around his shoulders, steadying him.

“Leave the bags, we’ll have a porter come down and get them later.”

The walk to the elevator was silent. The ride was silent. They were all tired and didn’t have much to say to each other. By the time the elevator made it to the top floor, they were glad for the soft chime. Griffin lead them down the hall into one of the meeting rooms. Trevor was already there, waiting for them.

“Hello! Nice to finally see you face to face!” He stepped forward and shook Tyler’s hand, customer service smile plastered on his face. He looked over to Griffin and the boy with blood running down his face.

“Oh, let’s get him cleaned up. Got to keep him in the best shape we can, don’t we? Griff, would you take him to the suite and take a look at the gnash on his head?”  

Griffin’s lip curled, and Trevor winked at him. Somewhere deep inside, it made him sick that Trevor thought they were friends. Really believed it, too. The nickname, the wink, all of it was so genuine. Griffin played along, but Trevor knew he how he felt about the whole buddy-buddy act.

“Sure, Trev.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Trevor only smiled in response.

He led the boy down the hall and into the suite that they had prepared for the contractors. It was like an apartment, with two bedrooms, a living room and a half kitchen. Griffin wondered if they would move rooms now that there was a fourth person, or would they just stick the kid in another closet here.

He led him to the bathroom and sat him down on the side of the tub. The boy still swayed slightly, so Griffin doubted he would need to tell him to stay. Doubted he would try to run even if he could.

He came back with the first aid kit, a water bottle, and some rubbing alcohol for the duct tape. He was right, the kid was in the exact same place.

“Hey, I’m gonna take a look at that cut, but I’m also gonna take the duct tape off your mouth. Are you going to try and scream?”

They boy’s eyes hadn’t left the water since he first saw it. He shook his head quickly desperate to show that he was good.

“Okay, good. Even if you did, no one that could hear you would care.” Griffin sighed and dabbed some of the rubbing alcohol on the cotton pad, easing it around the edge of the tape on his lips. He boy was confused, eyes wide.

“Internet told him this would help get it off. I’m not just gonna rip it off.” That didn’t make the boy any less confused.

Why not? That’s what always happens.

It worked a little, making it easier to peal the tape away. The end of the tape was still in the boy’s hair, but he didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes were still locked on the water. Griffin noticed and followed it.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Here.” He unscrewed the top and handed it over, focusing on trying to get the tape out of his hair. He got it free, taking as few strands with him as he could.

The boy took the bottle, draining it quickly. Griffin eyed him suspiciously. When was the last time this kid got water? He was even more surprised when the boy finished the entire thing without choking himself. He had definitely done this before.

“So, what’s your name?” Griffin asked as he prepared to tackle the cut. No response. He looked up, catching the boy’s eyes. They were wide, cautious, and a little confused.

“Not a trap, I promise. Just want to know your name,” he said lightly. The boy shook his head slightly, refusing to speak even without the tape on his mouth.

“You don’t have a name, or you don’t want to tell me?” His voice was soft, making sure his body language was open and non-threatening. Other people weren’t as consciously aware of body language, but Griffin found that manipulating his own worked wonders on other people’s subconscious.  

“I,” the voice was low, quiet. Griffin waited patiently. He didn’t want to rush the kid or scare him. Poor kid, he thought, trying so hard to make sure I’m happy.

“I d-don’t remem-ber.” God, when was the last time this kid spoke? It was clearly uncomfortable and hard for him. The syllables were stretched out wrong, cadence of the speech jumbled and messed up, voice cracked from lack of use. Griffin nodded and started to clean out the cut. The boy flinched, but didn’t try to move his head away.

“That’s… okay. Do you have a nickname? Maybe something you want to be called?”

The boy tried to think. Yes, he had a nickname, but he hated “little seer.” He had given up on his name a long time ago. It was far, far gone by now, after all of Victoria’s messing around. There was nothing in his head that Victoria didn’t want there, and she didn’t want that.

One time, when someone said a name on TV, Vince had elbowed him and pointed. Hey, that’s you! He had teased. Victoria had slapped his hand way, laughing at him. Maybe that was his name? What was it again?

There was another word, he was pretty sure it was a name, that they used to say a lot. They never said it to him, but they said it to each other a lot. He had even heard it on TV a few times. Maybe that was it?

“Hilton?” he ventured. It felt kind of right in his mouth. He looked up to the man in front of him and watched confusion and amusement pass over his face.

“Hilton?” Griffin repeated carefully, “Like the hotel chain?”

The boy’s face fell. Of course that wasn’t actually a name, or at least not a name for people. God, why did he have to be so stupid all the time? He should have known better than to try and open his mouth. All he did was embarrass himself whenever he tried. He didn’t even notice his eyes start to water.

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” Griffin noticed the way he sagged lower and looked down to the boy. He looked like he might cry.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m stupid; that’s why they do-n’t let me talk. I, I jus-t say stupid shit. You, you can call m-e whatever you w-w-ant.”

“No, no I like it. Hilton. It feels right.” Griffin held his shoulders lightly and tried to smile. What happened to this kid that he couldn’t remember his name? Didn’t know that Hilton was the name of a middle of the road hotel conglomerate? That the first full sentence he spoke was just parroting insults other people told him?

Thankfully, the cut didn’t need stitches, so Griffin used butterfly bandages to keep it closed. He wiped the blood off the boy’s, Hilton’s, face and tried to be careful around his black eye.

“Hey, Hilton, can you tell me what happened to your arm?” He used the name deliberately, making sure the kid heard it. The look on his face was almost like a punch to the gut.

Gratefulness. Complete and utter gratefulness. At using the name, at cleaning his face off, at not punishing him for speaking, Griffin couldn’t be sure. All he could be sure of was that this kid was not used to being treated kindly. No, not kindly, like a human being.  

Asset. Not kid, not “Hilton,” not human being; Asset.

Griffin pushed the thought away. No, he couldn’t go back to thinking of this as just an assignment. This kid was a victim too, one of the people that Griffin swore he would protect. He needed him more than anyone else Griffin had ever met, and he wouldn’t be another person that treated him like an object. He would use the name he chose, he would look him in the eye, he would treat him like a human. This, this right here was his real damn job.

Hilton didn’t answer him.

“I need to check and make sure its not getting infected. Honestly, I’m kind of shocked those idiots even knew to bandage something at all.”

Griffin felt himself relax when he saw Hilton’s body language relax. Good, he thought they were idiots, too. He unwrapped the bandage, grimacing at the scars layered on the skin. The cuts were deep, crossing over each other in a hatching pattern.

“What… why?” he asked the air, not really expecting Hilton to answer. He didn’t. The door to the suite opened, startling both of them.

“Hey, there you are. Trevor wants a demonstration,” Victoria said as she leaned against the bathroom doorframe.

Griffin thought Hilton was going to fall off the tub.

 ~~~

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