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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 years

Text

CW: Drugging, car wreck, abduction, creepy whumper, some noncon touching and implied fade to black noncon at the end, choking, beating

Death Valley National Park, 2003

Music blared in Finn Schneider's ears through his headphones as he frowned down at the map he'd unfolded, sitting in the ground so his car could shade him from the pounding heat of the sun.

Didn't do much - the ground, dry and dusty, was hot too. But it helped a little. He could feel his hat sticking to his forehead with sweat, but everything else was wicked up by the dry desert air faster than he could really begin to process it.

No sleep, no sleep til I'm done with finding the answer, the lead singer for the Rasmus croons in his ear, a plaintive note of uncertainty in his voice. Won't stop, won't stop before I find a cure for this cancer...

He'd found a few rocks, using them to lay the map out as flat as he could get it. On it, he'd drawn his route when he was in the motel room yesterday, and double-checked his printed out MapQuest directions three times.

It should have been an easy drive, but he must have done something wrong. The road looked right, but it shouldn't be taking so long to get out of the park... should it?

Maybe he just didn't think about how big the park is. Everything about America is that way - it takes twice as long to get anywhere as it seems like it should, and Finn spent more than a day just trying to drive through one single state when he went through Texas.

At least he had canisters of extra Benzin in the trunk, so he won't run out. The idea of running out of fuel in the middle of this place sent a shiver down his back. No, gasoline and bottles of water, he hasdmore of both than he thought he would need, which he hoped would just mean he had enough.

Maybe he should just get back in the car and drive.

Finn groaned, rubbing his hands up over his face, accidentally knocking his hat, a canvas bucket-shaped thing in a khaki green, to the ground. Wind ruffled his blond hair, almost platinum at the tops and a warmer honey at the roots. He picked up his mobile and flipped it open, but no, still no signal. Stubborn lack of bars, just like it had shown since he first got to the park at all.

"Scheiße," He muttered, flicking irritatedly at a rock as he snapped his mobile shut and stashed it in the lower pocket of his loose green pants. It was too hot to think, no wonder the visitor building had had stories about people going missing or dying in the heat.

They say that I must learn to kill before I can feel safe-

Finn yanked off his headphones and hit the pause button on his little round CD player, frowning as he looked down the road the way he had come.

Was that a dust cloud? Someone coming?

He reached down and shoved his hat back on his head, a smile breaking out across his tanned face. He raised his arms above his head and waved them back and forth.

The dust cloud became a truck, small and with blue and white stripes along the sides. The driver put his hazards on and Finn exhales in relief, watching him slow and then finally come to a stop alongside Finn's own parked car.

"Well, hello there," The man said, tipping his own baseball-style cap down. He looked vaguely familiar - Finn had seen him in the visitor's center, he thought, along with a couple of families and two young women Finn's own age, college students.

"Hallo!" Finn smiled, staying a safe distance back, hands open to show he wasn't trying to trick anyone. He'd scared a woman when he surprised her back in Missouri, early in his drive. He was more careful now. "I need to ask for some help, please?"

"Help?" The man looked over at Finn's car, as if analyzing it for signs of damage or defect. Then he looked back. "You break down, son?"

"Ah, no, no. Not breaking down. I have been driving so long, it feels like I should be out of the park, but somehow I still am here. Do you know how much longer to drive before I am leaving it?"

"Oh, you've got a ways still. Do you want to-" The man stopped, looking Finn over now, with the same thoughtful analyzing gaze. Something about it made Finn feel uneasy, and one hand slipped into his pocket, feeling for his phone, before he remembered - no signal.

"What if I draw you a map?" The man offered, and the odd look was gone. Maybe it was just a trick of the sun, or Finn was thinking too much.

"Well, I have the map, but..."

"But?" The man's eyebrows raised. He gestured with one hand out the window, as if to say go on.

Finn felt himself blush, hoping the shade from his hat hid the sudden heat in his face. This man was going to think he was an amateur, when he backpacked all over Europe last spring and was nearly two weeks into his American vacation now. "The places are so far apart," He said finally, reluctantly. "I am having trouble with telling how far I need to go."

"Oh, yeah. Makes sense." The man put his truck into park and opened the door, hopping down. He was lean and wiry, in a pale blue Tshirt and jeans, older and with hair starting to gray where it stuck out from under his cap. "Let me see your map, maybe I can put on there how long you need to go, so you don't have to just try and count the miles."

Finn smiled, exhaling in relieved gratitude. "That would be perfect, thank you. My map is down here."

"Well, we'll take a look. Do you have any water,? Gotta never stop with the water when you're out here, that dry heat sneaks up on you."

"Of course, yes." He had more than enough, he didn't mind opening the trunk. He pulled out a bottle and gave it to the man, who opened it and drank almost too quickly, water escaping the corners of his mouth to soak into the neck of his Tshirt.

"Great, thank you. By the way, name's Robert Weber." The man shook Finn's hand, his palm dry and scratchy, his grip a little too tight, holding on a little too long.

"Ah, Finn Schneider," Finn said, surreptitiously opening and closing his hand as he walked Weber around to the shadow side of the car. "Nice to meeting you, too. Meet you, I mean. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it, your English is great." Finn, who knew damn well his English was better than half the Americans he'd spoken to, tried not to bristle visibly. "You're German, right? You sound German."

"Yes." Finn's smile was almost shame-faced. Something about the man's interest, despite being friendly and harmless, had him on edge. Maybe the sense that he was being judged. "I am driving America, before university."

"Nice. That's a nice idea for a vacation. What brings you to Death Valley?"

"I saw a photo of a place here," He said, with a shrug. "It was beautiful. I wanted to see it in person."

"Yeah. Yeah, it definitely is. You were out at Fall Canyon earlier, right?"

Finn blinked. "What? How do you know?"

"Saw your car." Robert patted the side of it like a man patting a horse's flanks. "I have an eye for cars, I'm a mechanic by trade, have been since I was-... Well, your age."

"You were also at Fall Canyon?"

It clicked. He didn't remember the man from the visitor's center at all, but from his brief, aborted attempt to do the Fall Canyon hike, before the growing heat had sent him back to his car. Weber had been there, too, walking from the parking lot when Finn was leaving. He'd been behind a couple of women laughing. Finn had thought he was with them at the time.

He'd seen Finn leaving - and Finn had seen him.

"Sure was." Weber shrugged. "Didn't get far. Too hot for these old bones."

"You are not old."

"Older'n you, anyway. Come on, let's look over this map. Here, I'll get you some water, you're getting pretty red in the face. You just show me how far you're looking to get and I'll tell you how long it'll take."

Finn nodded, crouching by the map and picking up the sharpie marker he was using to draw out his route. "I want to get to here," He said as Weber returned, taking the bottle of water from him with a murmured thank you. He took a drink and tapped the unopened marker against a spot on the map.

"Mojave, huh?" Weber frowned, as if he didn't like that answer. "Figured a kid like you'd be camping here. Cheaper."

"Ah, no." Finn smiled, uneasily. "I only wanted to be here for today. I am more or the hike-and-go-shower type than camping."

"Hey, that's fair." The irritation was gone, but Finn had caught it, anyway. He needed to get to his car, and get some distance between he and this man. "So, you are right about here, more or less."

Weber pointed to a spot on the map. "You're on Scotty's Castle Road, but you knew that already. And you want to get to Mojave?"

"Yes, as soon as I can." Finn checked his watch, frowning as it briefly caught sunlight and sent a glare bouncing off the plastic into his eyes. When he turned back to Weber, there were white spots in his vision, slowly fading as he blinked. "Check in is very soon."

"All right, not a problem. You're about three and a half, four hours from there. Spot on the road closer to Ridgecrest is still rocky from the flash floods a couple weeks ago, you'll take it slow through... Hereabouts."

Weber took the marker and marked a spot along the route with a little star. Finn nodded, taking another drink. Weber's odd intensity seemed to fade, and he suggested a few other stops to Find for the California part of his American adventure. Finn privately resolved to visit none of them. And to call his mother from the hotel, once he got there. She hadn't wanted him to go to Death Valley to begin with - she still remembered the family that had never come home from their own American vacation, back in the 90's.

"I think that'll about do you," Weber finally said, getting to his feet and slapping his own thighs, as if in punctuation. "Safe driving, son. You ever end up going by Rancher's Rest, you let me know and I'll buy you lunch, hm?"

"Thank you, I will," said Finn.

Once he got back into his car, watching Robert Weber drive off ahead, he looked back at his map and scanned it until he found Rancher's Rest. Then he drew a heavy black X over it and wrote vermeiden, underlined twice.

Avoid.

He started up his car, double-checking that he had everything he needed, and pulled back out into the road himself. He took it slow, sipping water now and then, hoping Robert Weber would pull far, far ahead.

Maybe it was the terrain all around him, some blend of the heat and light and pale red and yellow-brown rocks and dirt, but when he blinked, his vision blurred a little, and resisted clearing. He had to shake his head and briefly open his eyes way too wide. He honestly just felt... tired, all of a sudden.

Too much sun. He'd been out in the sun all day, really, it makes sense he'd get tired as soon as he was safely in a car with air conditioning.

He shook himself a little, both hands on the wheel, and focused on at least making it to Darwin, the closest real town where he could get some fuel for his little rental car. The sun was moving across the sky, and Finn was glad he'd decided to come in spring, before the worst, most dangerous heat became commonplace.

As he drove, his eyes grew heavier, and he had to stifle a yawn.

Finally, his chin dropped. His eyes closed - just for one second. Just for a long blink.

Finn woke up off the road, his car's engine slowly ticking to idle, the smell of gasoline in the air. Everything was tinted gold and orange around him, the sun setting spectacularly.

How long had he been out?

Had he fallen asleep?

His head swung heavy, a weight he couldn't hold. His chest hurt, burned where his seatbelt was, and one of his legs throbbed, sending agony up into his hip and his side with every beat of his heart.

He had to blink, bleary and barely conscious, to realize he must have wrecked. His airbag had gone off, slowly deflating now, a white smear before his face. He groaned, shaking his head. "Was ist gerade passiert?"

His hand fumbled for the ignition, then he froze. Staring.

There were no car keys hanging there.

"Was...?"

Finn unbuckled his seatbelt and tried to sit up, grunting with the pain as his ribs protested every attempt at a deep breath. He tried feeling around the dash, even looked at the passenger's seat, his CD book a heavy black brick. No keys.

"Wo ist es hin? Oh, Gott..."

The fumes from the fuel that must be leaking out somewhere were making him dizzy and nauseous, his head spinning. He managed to get the door open, but when he tried to stand he screamed as his leg simply buckled beneath him and sent him straight down to the dirt.

He had to crawl on his belly, pulling himself with his elbows and fingers, dragging dust up. He sneezed and then whimpered. It hurt to sneeze - was his nose injured, too?

Finn looked down and saw blood on the dirt. He raised one hand to touch the skin between nose and upper lip, and his fingers came away red.

"Might want to get that looked at," A familiar voice said, and Finn flinched in sheer surprise, rolling into his side and looking up and to his left with wide eyes.

Robert Weber was standing there - maybe had been there the whole time, silently watching Finn struggle, listening to his sounds of pain.

Smiling.

He was smiling.

Behind his head, stars began to wink into view as the light stopped blocking the sight of space.

"Was... What happened?" Finn could make it to his hands and knees, but he didn't dare try to stand again.

"Did no one ever tell you to pull over when you get real tired while driving?" Robert sighed, as if he were a parent disappointed in a child, and walked towards him, step by calm and casual step. "I've had to follow your tracks for more than two miles, you just drove off into Dreamland, did you?"

"What...?" Finn looked around.

There was no road. Only dirt and creosote and the skitter of some small creature fleeing nearby. He had gone so far off the road that he couldn't see any sign of it anymore.

"How..."

"Doesn't matter." Weber walked over to him, and Finn could see now, through the blur of whatever was wrong with his eyes, that he had something in his hand. Finn's eye went wide as he saw metal glinting in the light, a loop of metal, and he tried to scramble backwards, but as soon as he tried to get up, limping and dragging his injured leg, the world spun once again and he lost his balance, crashing hard on one shoulder as he fell. His mobile fell out of his pants pocket and scraped the ground.

He grabbed for it, fumbling with sweaty fingers before he flipped it open, looking, looking-

No signal.

Zero bars.

He let out a cry as the mobile was yanked right out of his hand, Weber winding back and throwing it as hard as he could. Finn watched it disappear into the distance. He didn't even hear where it landed.

"You won't need that anymore," Weber said, cheerfully. He dropped the loop of metal around Finn's neck, choke-chain collar and leash, and yanked hard enough that the barbs dug into soft skin, the loop cut off his air. Finn gasped, hands clawing at the chain even as Weber yanked backwards, forcing him to move that direction. Spots danced along his vision, flashes of white pinpoints, his brain's dire warning that there wasn't enough air, just in case the burning of his lungs wasn't message enough.

"Nein-... N-nein, nein-" His voice was nothing more than a rasping whisper. Weber paused, letting him follow enough to get some slack, just a little air, feeling blood trickling ticklish down his neck, to take one wheezing breath-

And then he yanked on it again. They traveled that way, Finn stumbling and crawling and coughing and bleeding, Weber moving with solid, inevitable determination, dragging his captive with him. He could never get enough of a grip to yank the chain off, never had enough time to do more than manage one quick breath, then another. Everything came down to whether or not he could get one single good hit of air. The entire world narrowed to the panic when he didn't.

Then they came to a stop and Weber let the leash go slack. Finn groaned, curling over himself, tears making tracks on the dust and dirt now ground into his face. His hands went up, shaking, to finally loosen the chain and take it off.

"Hey!" He got a swat to the back of the head and then Weber grabbed one of his hands by the wrist, yanking it down and backwards until his shoulder screamed in protest and so did he. "Keep your hand off your collar or I'll cut off your fucking head!"

The nice friendly voice from earlier was gone, replaced by a blinding, vicious, single-minded rage. Finn's hands were moved quick and fast behind him, handcuffed together with metal cuffs that dug so sharply into Finn's skin he knew there was something different about them. Sharper edges. His wrists began to bleed, too.

"Nein-... No, do not do this-" Weber looked unmoved. Finn found himself babbling, terrified of the solid expression of malicious nothing on that square-jawed narrow face. "Do not, please, please what are you doing, please-"

"Come on." Weber yanked him to his feet - or foot, his leg was a shriek when he tried to put weight on it. He had to hop one-legged as Weber walked him around to the passenger side of his truck, shoving him inside.

He tried to kick out with his good leg, catching Weber under the chin.

His triumph was short lived - Weber punched him across the face in response. The world exploded in black and white. His body went limp.

He felt duct tape over his mouth, wound around and around his head. It was pressed with a palm against his lips, along the sides of his face. He grunted, muffled, shaking his head, the only protest he could manage now.

His ankles were tied together with scratchy, cheap nylon rope, knots pulled so tight they'd have to be cut off, not untied.

"I wanted those pretty girls," Weber said, conversational again. He patted Finn on the thigh, then left his hand there, heavy and hot. Weber shifted his hand down until it was along the inside, then slowly moved it upwards, tracing the inside seam. "But... you'll do. And I like your hair."

Finn whimpered, shaking his head frantically, but as Weber buckled him in with one hand and began fondling directly between his legs with the other, there was nowhere for him to go. Nothing he could do beyond squirming, and shivering at the lick of warmth and heat and disgust, the rush of nausea and loathing within him. Weber frowned, working him harder when he didn't get hard or react.

Then he pulled back and slapped his hand down hard. Finn's neck veins bulged as he screamed behind his gag, eyes wide.

"Well. You'll learn." Weber's voice was mild as he listened to Finn sobbing. "Anyway, time to go. You just wait patiently," Weber said, giving him one good squeeze right over his zipper - enough to pull another whimper out of him as pain throbbed there now, too. He even gave a vicious twist, listening to the higher-pitched cry with a grin. "Gotta clean up," He explained, like a patient teacher. "You just sit right here and wait for me. God, you're a good lookin' young man, aren't you? Well, don't worry, they'll find your car. People go missing in Death Valley every single year. They've a great system for it now, hunting down the assholes who go off-roading or just don't know what they're in for. Sad, though, that they won't find you."

Weber turned away, closing the door with a heavy, solid thunk that made Finn jump.

He watched Robert Weber grab a broom from the back of his truck, watched him sweep away his own footprints, until the dirt showed no sign of anything but Finn's desperate crawl.

Finn wondered why he bothered sweeping, when there would be tire tracks from his truck. But even that thought came slow and sluggish, working around exhaustion and the insistent ache of just about every part of his body.

Tears welled again, and he felt them run hot down his cheeks over the duct tape, and he leaned over, beginning to sob, even as his rib flared and protested with every shake of his shoulders, every shudder of panic.

Robert came back, tossing the broom back into the truck bed, following it up by packing away Finn's case of water bottles, his extra fuel canisters, even the suitcase full of his clothes, his return flight tickets, his passport... Every easy hint towards who the car was being driven by. Each thump behind him made Finn cry harder, until he could barely breathe even through his nose and his sounds from behind the duct tape had become a trapped animal's wails.

Somewhere, off in the distance, a coyote howled, a quick barking sound followed by the longer exhalation. Another answered it.

When Weber got back in the truck, he picked up the chain leash to his newest captive's new collar, then shifted into gear, easing his truck over the bumpy terrain back towards the road.

The last thing Robert Weber had taken from Finn Schneider's car was his map, neatly folded, a trophy to keep after his successful hunt.

He listened to Finn cry, smiling, as he turned the dial on his truck radio, searching for a station that carried the news.

As they drove down the highway, the desert sunset ahead and the night sky behind, Robert's hand found its way between Finn's legs again.

"Either you focus real hard and come in your pants for me," Robert Weber said, in a low voice, "Or when we get back I'll beat the ever-loving shit out of that broken leg."

Finn looked at him with wide eyes, shaking his head. He groaned when Robert started to roll his palm over his fly again, still shaking his head. Eventually, with a tug on the chain that briefly stole his breath again, he closed his eyes, breathed as deep as he could through his nose, and nodded.

His knees shifted just a little apart, tipping his hips back.

Robert Weber grinned.

He couldn't wait to welcome his newest guest home to take his place with all the others.

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @whump-tr0pes @evermetnotforgotten @whumpiary @hackles-up @orchidscript

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