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whump-tr0pes · 8 months ago

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Another Way to Be

Many thanks to @newbornwhumperfly for being so generous in letting me put their boy Morja in Situations, and many apologies to them as well for holding onto this story for so many months while waiting for me to finish it.

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Morja is a diathésimos, one of a class of indentured servants owned by society’s elite - though some would call them slaves. He has been tasked with a mission of critical importance by his anóteros: to infiltrate a dangerous family that has taken refuge in the north, and kill the criminal that they are harboring: Gavin Stormbeck.

“It is your part to kill me, mine to die without flinching.”

— Epictetus, from Discourses (Translated by Robert Dobbin)

Contents: conditioned whumpee, implied past murder, false execution, misunderstanding whump, flashbacks, PTSD, guilt, past offscreen murder of children, forgiveness, recovery, collared whumpee, collar removal

Note: in @newbornwhumperfly's story, it is not canon that Morja has killed children.

Isaac separated Morja from the rest of the family again, a few days later, like a wolf cleaving a single sheep from the herd. Morja watched it happen - watched as Isaac suggested Gray, Vera, and Tori leave in their car to go into town. Then he watched as Finn and Ellis slipped out, encouraged by Isaac again. Sam and Gavin were harder to convince. Still, as Morja washed the dishes from the morning breakfast, scrubbed the counters that were already clean, wiped every surface in the kitchen and then wiped them all again - he could feel Isaac’s eyes on his back. He could feel the presence of Gavin Uriah on the couch next to him in the living room, too, and Sam’s in their room.

Morja’s hands shook as he worked. He wanted to ask for something else to do, but the thought of breaking the heavy silence made his stomach clench. He reached for the broom and began to sweep the already spotless kitchen floor.

“How about you go take a walk around the lake?” Isaac said gently to Gavin. “Get some fresh air. You’ve been inside all day.”

Morja froze, straining his ears for Gavin’s response. He didn’t hear one.

Not only a useless diathésimos, but an eavesdropper, too. He set the broom aside and turned toward the back door.

“Where are you going?” Isaac called after him.

Morja froze. His heart pounded. His hands balled into fists. His spine was a rod inside his body, perfectly straight, as he turned and looked at the two of them. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, throat dry. “I didn’t mean… I was just going to–”

“I’ll come with you, if you want to go outside,” Isaac said, and he got to his feet.

“No,” Gavin breathed. His hand locked on Isaac’s wrist, pulling him back.

Isaac stared down at Gavin for a long moment. Finally, he murmured, “I just want to talk to him. Alone.”

Gavin shook his head. “No.” The word was barely louder than a breath.

Isaac turned, showing Gavin his back. Morja blinked, confused, before he realized - there was no gun tucked into Isaac’s waistband. That didn’t matter, Morja knew, Isaac could have a knife concealed on him and end Morja’s life that way. Or just use his hands. Diathésimos could be deadly with anything they were given. Morja had ended enough lives with his bare hands to know that.

Isaac turned back to Gavin and knelt, holding Gavin’s face in his hands. “I swear,” he whispered, and the gesture was so intimate that Morja turned away, face flushing. “I’m not going out there to kill him. I swear, I swear, I just want to talk.” He sucked in a breath. “D-diathésimos to diathésimos.”

Gavin took in a breath, too. Morja stared at the floor.

Tactically, it was a good strategy to get Morja alone. He wondered what Isaac would say to Gavin once Morja was dead - what he would have to say to repair the trust Isaac was breaking right now.

Finally, Gavin nodded in Isaac’s hands. Isaac pressed a kiss to Gavin’s forehead and rose to his feet once again.

“Let’s go,” Isaac said flatly. He brushed past Morja and slid the back door open. Morja followed behind, silent and still.

He had already had Isaac’s gun pressed to his head once. He knew Isaac Moore would not hesitate this time.

He trailed behind Isaac as Isaac walked out over the grass behind the house, then onto the pebbly beach of the lake. Isaac walked in silence. Morja’s legs moved mechanically, bearing him along, his hands and head numb. He wondered where and when Isaac would tell him to get on his knees and execute him with quick, clean efficiency.

Isaac had hesitated before. And diathésimos never hesitate.

Diathésimos never show the enemy their back, either. But Isaac was walking only a few steps ahead of Morja, and Morja was staring at his empty waistband.

Once they were about a quarter way around the lake, Isaac stopped walking. Morja knew without looking back that they must be out of sight of the house now, or at least the rear windows.

He wanted to say goodbye to Sam.

He dropped to his knees.

Isaac wanted something else from him, last time–

Shaking, shaking, he crossed his wrists behind him.

“Get up, Morja, I’m not killing you today,” Isaac said without turning around.

Morja choked on a sob. He stared up at Isaac’s back, the pebbles digging into his knees through the soft sweatpants they had given him.

He was tired of the tricks, of the games - ah, diathésimos, I never told you to scream, I only told you to beg, now contain yourself or I’ll bring in another friend to enjoy you tonight - he was tired of the nightmares.

He was tired of never knowing when a correction was coming. Let one come now.

He held his tongue and bowed his head. His shoulder ached from holding his arms in the position they were in, but he would hold them there as long as it took.

Isaac whirled on Morja. “I said get up,” he snarled. Morja flinched minutely. The motion was hardly noticeable at all.

He flinched hard when Isaac held out a hand in front of his face. He steeled himself and braced for the correction. Heat spread through his face in anticipation of the blow. This, he knew. He closed his eyes.

The wind made a soft sound through the bushes and trees around them as Isaac stood motionless in front of Morja. The pebbles ground into his knees, but he hardly noticed it.

Other than the barn, he had not been made to kneel in so, so long.

“Please,” Isaac whispered. His voice sounded so broken that Morja’s eyes opened in shock. The hand in front of his face was still there, motionless–

Not motionless. Shaking.

“Please,” Isaac said again. “Please get up.” He opened his hand further and reached for Morja’s bicep. Morja let himself be pulled to his feet. Helped to his feet.

As he staggered upright, his hand landed on Isaac’s wrist. Isaac allowed the touch, allowed the weight. Once Morja had righted himself, he pulled away, staring at his feet. They stood together in silence, closer than they had ever been. Isaac made no move away from Morja. Morja stood stock still - gunpowder near a flame. A wrong move, and the explosion might destroy them both.

Still, Isaac didn’t seem uncomfortable with Morja so close. He tucked his hands in his pockets and looked out over the lake. The sun shimmered on its surface in the late afternoon. It looked more like a pane of glass than water.

“I’ve been thinking about what I– what happened.” Isaac said. He swallowed thickly. “About what I did. What I…” He wet his lips and stared at the ground. “What I almost did.”

“I understand it,” Morja said. “I am… I was…”

“It’s not about that,” Isaac said. “I know it. And I think you do, too.” He bent to pick a particularly smooth and flat stone from the beach. He straightened and flicked it over the surface of the lake. It skipped along the top several times before it slipped beneath the surface, sending ripples in every direction.

“But I…” Morja blinked, staring at Isaac. “I did. Try. I mean… I apologize. I did try to kill your…” He lapsed into silence.

“You’ve been… forced,” Isaac said. “And I… I know what that… means. What that’s like.”

If you return without proof of death, diathésimos, it’ll be you on the rack next.

Morja shivered and looked out over the lake with Isaac. Large white birds twisted and soared in the air currents above it. His eyes followed them for a while.

Isaac broke the silence. “It’s not just that,” he whispered, pained. “I mean, I…” He glanced back at the house. It was a brilliant white smear on the edge of the lake. “Even after Gray… found… me… I didn’t stop killing. Even when I… even when…” He drew a hand over his face. The pale scars at his wrist peeked out from his long sleeve. “Even after I knew there was… a different way. I… I killed someone on… on our side.”

Morja’s throat tightened. He said nothing, just looked at Isaac.

Isaac chewed his lip and kept going. “It was an argument that got out of hand. They were… going after Gray about a difference of opinion on how to handle a syndicate target. Gray was calm, and the other person… wasn’t. And they… they raised their hand to Gray, and I–” He let out a choked sound and sank into a squat beside Morja.

The birds whirled above them, indifferent to the tears that glittered on Isaac’s cheeks.

Isaac shot to his feet again, swiping the tears away. “Fuck,” he breathed. He glanced at Morja. Morja looked at the ground, bowing his head again. Isaac huffed out a bitter laugh. “You ever kill any kids?”

Shame clutched Morja’s heart. He swallowed, swallowed again. His hands squeezed into fists again.

They were enemies, diathésimos. An enemy is an enemy, no matter their age. Be careful, or I may suspect that you are beginning to sympathize with our enemy.

“Yes,” Morja said, more a breath than a word.

“Yeah,” Isaac responded, nodding. “Me, too.”

More tears shone on Isaac’s cheeks, now. Gooseflesh rippled on Morja’s arms. His throat tightened. His eyes prickled, and he squeezed them shut.

Sam’s body, juddering under his knife, flashed across his vision. He opened his eyes with a soft gasp.

Isaac was looking at him with curiosity. Morja’s lips trembled as he returned the look.

“Is there a way to be something other than this?” Morja said with a numb mouth.

Isaac was silent for so long that Morja thought he wasn’t going to answer. The lake made little ripples on the gravel. One bird landed on the lake and floated. It was joined by another, then a third. The wind moved through Morja’s hair.

“I don’t know,” Isaac finally said. “I’m… trying to figure that out. With Gavin. With Sam. With my family.”

“And… could I…?” Morja’s knees shook. He was ready to let them fold, if it was the wrong question.

He was always ready to kneel.

“Could I… try… as well?” he whispered.

Isaac looked at him, then out across the lake. He nodded. “Yeah,” he said. He rubbed his fingertips along the scars along his throat, the ones that marked him for what he was - or used to be. “Yeah. I think you could.” He turned to keep walking along the edge of the lake. “Want to keep moving?” he said softly.

Morja paused. “Will you…?” His hand drifted up and trailed along the edge of his own collar, still buckled tightly around his throat. “Will you help me?”

Isaac’s gaze softened as he stepped forward. Gently, slowly - so slowly - he raised his hands and loosened the buckle of the collar. Just as gently, he drew the collar through the buckle until it was just a strip of leather hanging on Morja’s shoulders. Morja held one end of the collar in a shaking hand. As he did, Isaac covered his hand with his own.

Slowly, Morja pulled the collar away until it slithered off his shoulders and hung from his fingers. He turned, resolutely, and faced the lake. Then, with perfect precision, he wound up and hurled the collar into the center of the lake, startling the birds who had decided to take their rest there.

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