#alt prompt. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ashintheairlikesnow · 2 years

Text

Reaching Hope

CW: Self-made bandages, injured, ambushed, death threats, guns, fear of child being hurt (no child is harmed), captured

Find Marc and Beringer’s story up til now right here

For @whumptober 2022, days 11, 21, 22: self-done first aid/sloppy bandages, “Take me instead”, and alt prompt 5, “Ambushed”

“I feel so stupid,” Beringer says, groaning as he leans forward, resting his forehead in one hand. The rock he’s sitting on freezes his ass right through his heavy canvas pants, but he ignores it. Around them, the woods are beautiful, and Beringer keeps getting distracted, watching a bird flit from one branch to another, listening to a squirrel.

It’s all real.

He’s seen all of this on TV, for sure - knew it really existed, somewhere out in the world. But he - all of the WRU pets, training maintenance and daycare and the cleaning crew who works in the higher floors where employees are allowed to see them - understood that none of it would ever be real for them.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the big playroom at the daycare, he could see the parking lot, row after row of cars parked neatly with the sun glaring off their tops, and somewhere nearly out of sight, the bright green sign for the coffeeshop most of them stopped at on their way in if they didn’t use the complimentary coffee shop in the cafeteria. There were neatly spaced trees, carefully landscaped with patches of perfect almost fake-looking grass. The playground attached to the daycare had two small saplings still held in place by twine.

He had never been allowed to see anything like this.

It’s totally different. He knows what it means, now, to say it’s so cold it’s nipping at your nose. He knows how pine trees smell, and it’s like the candles and air fresheners but not like them at all. He can barely keep his eyes on the trail - there was a deer, a while back, and he had been so enraptured at the sight of the flick of its tail and its crashing speed through the woods that he’d literally tripped over his own feet.

Which is why Marc is currently using a pocketknife to cut off a strip of his own shirt to use as a bandage, because they’re idiots who didn’t bring a first aid kit for this walk through the woods, hoping the trail they’re taking is the right one.

“You’re not stupid,” Marc chides him, gently.

Beringer feels something shift in his chest, a soft flutter he shoves aside. When he swallows, he feels the safe assurance of his collar around his throat. He definitely doesn’t take the chance to glance sidelong and see the slight softness of Marc’s stomach, a hint of roundness over the muscle underneath. “You just got distracted and tripped. It happens to us all.”

“I know, but… we’re so close. And of course I manage to fall over and slice my arm open on… what, a fu-... a dang tree?”

“Dang,” intones a soft small voice, with a tone of imperious thoughtfulness.

Beringer looks over at Mallie, who is walking in a slow circle around a tree, mouth open slightly in awe as she looks at how the moss grows on one side but not the other.

“Nice catch,” Marc says with a wink. “You’re a dad through and through, huh?”

“Not really,” Beringer says, and wonders why the idea thrills him so much, that there might be children out there who will really be his, not just borrowed and handed back and disappearing into schools as they grow older, over and over and over again.

He realizes he might get to see Mallie grow up and his throat nearly closes with awe at the thought.

“When I was a kid, I read a book,” Marc says, conversational, not noticing how Beringer feels like he’s been hit by a train driven by time, finally stopping long enough to let him on and let him stop hovering in a limbo that never goes anywhere at all. He takes Beringer’s arm in his hands, and his touch is so soft and gentle that it makes the hairs on Beringer’s arm stand up, sends a spark racing up to his shoulder, his neck, to light up his mind.

“Hm, kids sometimes do that,” Beringer answers, teasing to cover up the tremble in his voice, and catches the telltale flush on Marc’s face. He blushes so easily, and Beringer wonders if he even knows it.

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious. Anyway, my point was-... Mallie, are you listening?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Mallie replies automatically, crouched down and poking one finger into a soft bed of green moss, upper teeth gnawing on her lower lip in thought. “I’m listening.”

“Okay. Because this is for you, too, honey. I read this book where this kid got lost in the woods, or… left there, or something. And he was trying to survive, right? Until he got rescued. And he said something about how moss only grows on the north sides of trees.”

Beringer blinks, leaning forward, wincing with a hiss as Marc starts to wrap up his arm and it stings.

“Sorry,” Marc says, tipping his head slightly to the side as he looks up.

Beringer very nearly leans over for a kiss, stopping himself with a reminder that he’s supposed to be telling Marc thank you and fuck off once they get to Hope.

But... maybe Marc could stay for a few days to help him adjust to life outside of the Facility. He’s never been anywhere else before this, after all… He could use the help getting up to Canada.

Rumors say if you can just cross the border, you’ll be safe to start over. He can figure out who he is once WRU can’t breathe down his neck anymore.

“No, it’s okay, just… what were you saying about moss? Does it really only grow north?”

Marc laughs. “No, but I thought it did. And when I went hiking with my dad, when I was like eight or nine, I got incredibly lost trying to follow that advice. Moss can grow anywhere it wants, who’s going to stop it, huh? It’s older than like... every other form of life, or something. I don’t know if that’s true either, actually.” He ties a knot and leans back, still crouching. “Okay, I think you’re good now. Want to start moving again?”

“Yeah, sure. How far are we, do you think?”

“I think about another hour or so of walking should get us to the perimeter.” Marc turns, looking down at the trail marked carefully through the woods. You have to know what you’re looking for, and somehow Marc does. Beringer had asked how, but all Marc had been willing to say was that some people from Hope had been caught a few years ago, and WRU knows exactly where it is and how to get there, and chooses not to.

Beringer tries not to think about WRU knowing where the only real sanctuary on this side of the border is. If he can just get to Canada, WRU can’t touch him there, if they even know he’s alive and didn’t die in the fire.

Mallie stands up, blinking as she looks deeper into the woods. “Daddy, there’s a man,” She says, curious and not immediately alarmed.

Marc looks over his shoulder at her. “What, honey?”

“There’s a man,” She says, pointing.

“There’s a man?”

“He just told me to shush and stop telling you things.” She narrows her eyes. “You’re not my dad, you don’t tell me to shush!”

There’s an exhale from somewhere nearby. “Shit,” a strange male voice says.

Marc and Beringer meet eyes.

“She’s got you there,” Someone else says, higher-pitched, clearly failing at hiding their laughter.

“Oh for fuck’s-...” The first voice sounds irritated now. “Okay, fine, listen you three - don’t move!”

Marc and Beringer turn to look in that direction.

“I said don’t move, what part of don’t move-”

“Sorry!” Marc puts his hands up, and Beringer follows suit after glancing sideways at him, eyes wide.

People step out from behind trees in every possible direction, surrounding them, a haphazard mix of shotguns, rifles, and handguns aimed at them. Mallie is a silent still figure with wide terrified eyes.

“Daddy?” Mallie’s lips wobble.

“Oh, crap, the kid’s going to cry,” Someone says. “I hate when kids cry. I used to be a-”

“Ssssshhhh!”

Mallie’s nose scrunches up - her eyes follow suit, squinting shut, and she goes red in the face as her lips start to pull back from her teeth. Beringer knows that face.

She lets out a wail, deafeningly loud, and there’s a sudden burst of movement and motion as birds take off, startled by the racket.

“Mallie!” Marc goes for her, stops short when a rifle is aimed at his head. “That’s my daughter, please let me-”

“We said don’t move!” The man holding it snaps.

“Jesus, just let him hold her,” The woman who originally laughed says. “I can’t listen to her cry this whole time, Kevin-”

“No names! Oh for fuck’s fucking sake, are you all fucking amateurs?”

“Don’t cuss in front of a kid!”

“... Don’t cuss, what are you, twelve?”

“Please,” Marc says, hands up, dropping the pocketknife and kicking it in the direction of the man aiming the rifle. “Please, that’s my daughter, please just let me hold her, God, please...”

“I-...” The man hesitates, glances sidelong to another, then back, bracing the rifle back up. “I, I said don’t move!”

“Please-”

“Daddy,” Mallie cries, “I want my daddy!” Her voice is so desperate and scared and sad.

“She’s just a kid.” Beringer stares, helpless and hurting, then comes to a decision. He feels like his arms and legs move through molasses as he starts to turn to grab her-

Marc beats him to it.

Mallie’s father throws himself forward and scoops his daughter up, then drops down to the ground, curling around her with his entire body in a movement of such pure and perfect instinct that Beringer hasn’t even finished raising one hand before it’s done.

“If you’re gonna shoot someone, just shoot me, not her!” Marc yells. “But you can’t make me not hold my little girl!”

“Oh, Christ, Kevin, just let it go,” A short man says. He looks barely adult, if that, and Beringer can see tears in his eyes, too. “He just wants to hold his kid.”

There’s a gun pressed to the back of Marc’s head, but he stays still, right where he is. Mallie’s little arms are around his neck, her face buried against him as she cries. Her sobs make Beringer’s whole body ache with the need to soothe her, but he doesn’t dare move.

“Don’t hurt her,” Marc says, voice breathless. “Please, please don’t hurt her, she’s just a little girl… She’s never hurt anyone! Please, she’s just a baby, she’s just a baby-”

“Jesus,” Someone says, and they all look uneasy then. “What do we do?”

“Kevin, go grab Brock. Tell him the alarm was two men and a little girl on the woods trail.”

“But-”

“Kevin. Put your gun away and do what I said. I’m Brock’s second, not you.”

Kevin, jaw working angrily, nods and runs back through the woods, headed in the direction of Hope.

Marc clutches Mallie to his chest. “Please,” He keeps begging, and Beringer’s heart hurts as much for him as for Mallie’s terror now. “Please, please don’t hurt my daughter, I brought a runaway, I’ve got a runaway-”

There’s a pause, the people shifting uneasily as they keep their weapons aimed. The woman, a muscular, tall woman Beringer knows was a Guard Dog once, looks over at Ber himself, eyeing him up and down with suspicion. “Name and designation,” She commands, voice sharp.

A shudder of unease ripples down Beringer’s spine. He’s always hated how the handlers demand those things.

“Beringer,” He says, and puts his own hands up, shifting from foot to foot as they all move a little closer, circling around the little group. “554897, Facility 001.” Someone gasps. Beringer closes his eyes, flinching a little at the sound. “In, um. B-Berras.”

“That’s headquarters,” Someone mutters.

“We all know that, you moron,” Someone else snaps back.

The woman looks back at Beringer. “Finish your designation.”

“I… right.” Beringer has to take a shaky breath. “Designation Facility Platonic, Child Development.” His voice is airier than he wants it to be, and he hadn’t really considered what would happen if Hope turned out to be something other than he had dreamed. Now, though, now is the time to get away from Marc for good.

To be on his own, and leave Marc behind to whatever Hope decides to do with him.

But...

Looking down at Marc holding his daughter, kneeling on the ground with his arms so tightly around her - thinking about how much Marc gave up to get him here, leaving his entire life behind in one fell swoop… Beringer steadies himself, and makes a different plan. “This is Handler Marc Sonders,” He says, to another soft exhale.

“Handler,” The youngest man repeats. “I-I thought they couldn’t come here-”

“They can’t,” The woman says, voice low. “It’s all right, Esteban.” Her entire demeanor changes as she looks at the younger man, softens visibly.

Beringer clears his throat. “And this... this is his daughter Maliyah Sonders. They-... they helped me run away.”

There’s a pause, and then someone previously behind everyone else pushes forwards. It’s a young man, willowy in build and slight, with a rounded face and close-cropped hair. He asks, voice slightly uncertain, “Handler Sonders?”

Marc closes his eyes, breathing out, and then he looks up and searches through the small crowd of heavily armed people, each and every one ready to shoot him, until he finds who he’s looking for. To Beringer’s surprise, Marc smiles in recognition. “I remember you,” He says, softly. “You were-... 098… 09844-... 5? Platonic? Companion? Sorry, the numbers are... a lot.”

“Six,” The person answers, almost shyly. “098446. And, um. Yeah, Companion.” It’s a willowy young man with a rounded face and close-cropped dark hair. He’s lowered his gun, and it points at the ground, now, not at Marc. Not that that means he’s in any less danger - there are still twelve others holding weapons, too. “I’m Rye, now.”

“Rye. I like that.” Marc’s voice is breathy, too. “You picked that name?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I picked it.”

“It’s a good one.” He shifts, and everyone tenses, but it’s just so he can move from crouching to sitting right down on the ground, on a soft bed of pine needles and leaves. “Did you... did you have any issues with the surgery afterward? You still had stitches last I saw you.”

“No, I didn’t. I was already mostly fine when I went to my prospective, but...” Rye grins, shy and soft. “Everything was perfect - about the surgery, I mean. The scars aren’t even very big.”

“Good,” Marc says, and it sounds like he means it. Marc’s arms are still tight around Mallie, who is slowly settling down and looking through her hair at Rye. “What... what went wrong?”

“Well... I didn’t last at my prospective’s,” Rye says, and steps forward. The others look at each other uneasily, but no one one stops him.

Beringer moves, too, taking each step with care, until he is next to Marc, where he slowly sits down, too, leaning against Marc’s warmth in the chilly air. “I ran away.”

“I can see that,” Marc says, and someone might even chuckle. “Was she cruel?”

“No… no. But her-... her daughter was. She kept hurting me. Hitting me and... and I didn’t want to be there any longer. I left my-... I left my-... I left Mrs. Robbins a note to say goodbye, and told her it wasn’t her fault, but that if she got another one she shouldn’t let her daughter... be mean like that. I was just tired of having to lie about bruises.”

“Then I’m glad you ran,” Marc says, with firmness. “It was the right thing to do. Heck, all of you... all of you did the right thing. Pets shouldn’t even exist.”

The circle of runaways all look at each other, eyebrows raising.

Marc sighs. “Rye... You look great.”

“I… I do?”

“Yeah. You look like you like living here. You look... really happy.”

“I do,” Rye repeats, with his shy smile widening. “I am.” He’s clearly forgotten his gun entirely, it’s all but dangling in his hand. He turns and looks around at the assembled group. “Handler Sonders was nice, um. He was nice to me. He never… touched. Like they do. He was always nice about teaching us. He never touched.”

Beringer watches Marc wince. “No. I never… God. I’m so sorry, Rye. I’m so sorry you were hurt. All of you.”

“It’s okay,” Rye says, softly. “You were nice.”

“None of them are nice,” The ex-Guard Dog says, her lips pulled back in a sneer. “They’re all handlers.”

“She’s right. We’re-... we’re all monsters. That’s why I quit.” Marc laughs, and it’s a desperate, sad sort of hysterical laughter that only makes Mallie cling to him more tightly. Beringer puts a hand to her back, and feels it rise and fall rapidly with her terrified breathing. “Or, um. I guess I sort of faked my death? I’m not sure what I did, exactly. But when the Facility burned, Ber and I ran. I don’t-... work for WRU anymore. I hated it, anyway.”

“Bull-fucking-shit.” That’s a man’s voice, somewhere behind them, deep and hostile. Kevin must be back. “Bull. Fucking. Shit. Why didn’t you quit, if you hated it so fucking much?”

“Hey, there’s a kid here,” Someone chides. “You could control your language for five minutes!”

“You think I give a shit?” The man answers, and Beringer can hear his eyeroll in the tone of his voice. “Why didn’t he quit? Huh? Why?!”

“Not a lot of them get the option,” Someone else speaks. His voice is melodic, fluid and calm, and the whole group seems to go still and quiet with some kind of respect. He steps around in front of Marc, Beringer, and Mallie, and moves into a crouch. He’s older than Marc, with salt-and-pepper hair and a five o’clock shadow, heavily muscled arms. He isn’t holding his gun - it’s still holstered, and Beringer relaxes, just a little. “They disappear, don’t they? The handlers who quit, who don’t like it. The ones who don’t do the job. They just... vanish.”

Marc is quiet, and then slowly nods. “Yeah, so... If you’re lucky,” He says, voice low, “You sign an NDA and you never speak about it again. Like Connor Manning did. Just go, and we’re all supposed to pretend you never existed. That’s… that’s the best possible option.”

“Right.” Brock nods. “And if you’re not lucky?”

“You disappear,” Marc says. His voice is low. “They bring us all in, parade us through, to see you on the Drip, too.”

One of the runaways makes a sound like a choked sob. The others are dead silent.

“And after that?”

Marc’s jaw works, and his eyes slowly. “Then they ship you off, and a few months later you’re wearing a collar, your name is a number, and they sell you off at a private auction we’re not supposed to know about.”

Beringer turns and looks at Marc sharply. “They-... you mean-”

“If you fuck up too bad as a handler,” Marc says, nearly whispering, looking over at Beringer now. Their eyes meet. “You become a pet, too, if they catch out.”

Beringer’s heart freezes in his chest. “You what?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Brock, who seems to be in charge, tips his head to one side, curiously. “You helped him escape and you didn’t tell him what happens to you if you get caught? If we send you back the way you came from, if you ran into WRU’s recapture crew out here in the wilderness, or worse, back in the city?”

“He didn’t need to know.” Marc stares the man down, jaw set. “I knew the risks when I decided to do it.”

“Marc-... if I had known-... I wouldn’t have asked for your help-”

It’s a weird, unsettling feeling as Beringer realizes he means it when he says that.

“It’s all right, Ber.” Marc turns to look at him. His voice is soft and soothing. “It’s okay. I knew there was a chance, that’s all. I put it in my will that my parents could take Mallie if anything happened to me. WRU makes it look like an accident, there’s no body to bury, but everyone says you’re dead. Mallie would’ve been safe. It’s just... Look, we made it here, didn’t we? You made it.”

“What happens to… to you, though?”

Marc looks back at the surrounding crowd with their weapons. “I guess that’s up to them,” He says, softly. “But… whatever it is… please. Just… don’t hurt Mallie. Whatever you’re going to do, just do it to me. Take me somewhere she can’t see, and… and just leave her out of it. Ber… Ber can take care of her-”

“Daddy, no,” Mallie cries, and tightens her grip on him.

“Ssssshhhh,” He whispers to her, and presses a kiss into her hair. “It’s okay, baby girl. It’s all right. Beringer can take care of you for a little while, if I can’t, okay? Just for a little bit.”

Mallie sniffs, hard. “I don’t wanna go with Beringer.”

“I know, but sometimes we have to do these things, don’t we? It’s okay. They just want to talk to Daddy for a while.”

There’s a long pause.

Brock pushes himself back up to his feet. It’s Beringer he addresses. “All right. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re not expected, you used a trail nobody is supposed to know about, and you’ve got a handler with you. The first step is interrogation, and if you don’t cooperate with that-”

“Me.” Marc looks up, and his eyes glimmer with tears, but he’s resolute. “Interrogate me. I can tell you a whole lot more than Beringer can. And I have-... in my pocket. I have something in my pocket I thought might help smooth our way, and explain why we’re on the trail. Why we know about it.”

The man stands back, nods, gestures for Marc to stand. With Beringer’s help, he makes it without ever putting Mallie down. Beringer reaches into his pocket while he keeps Mallie in his arms, pulling out the USB and holding it out.

Brock takes it, frowning as he looks at it, dangling on a little nylon lanyard. “What’s on here?”

“Everything,” Marc says. “Everything WRU knows about Hope, about you. All of you. I’m currently sort of hoping WRU thinks the lib group that set the fire killed me and used my ID to get into the system.”

The assembled group goes silent and still. Brock nods, sharply, and steps backwards. “All right. Come on. It’s a long walk back to Hope with a child in your arms.”

They end up at the center of a circle of heavily-armed runaways, walking down the trail, and Beringer realizes that, whatever happens to him next… he wants Marc with him, and Mallie, too.

“If it’s not enough,” Marc says, voice low, shifting Mallie around so she’s more comfortable to carry, “Then you take her to Canada, and you start over, okay, Ber? Get her to call you Dad. No one will know.”

“Marc-”

“No, don’t… don’t talk. Just. If I don’t get to leave with you, you take her and you go, and give her a better life than I did.”

“You love her more than I ever could, Marc. You’re a good dad. You’re the best dad-”

“I’ve been a bad person, though. I let her grow up thinking this is all normal and okay. Take her and teach her it isn’t if I-... if I don’t get the chance. Okay? Promise me you won’t leave without her.”

Beringer looks at Mallie, back to Marc. Then he smiles, just a little. “I promise I won’t leave without you,” He says, instead.

Even now, Marc blushes when he looks away and down at the ground, trying to hide a smile.

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @hackles-up @orchidscript

For whumptober: @whumpworld