Chapter Text
Whoever said dying was peaceful is full of shit.
In reality, it was a slow, grueling process that made Craig wish it would go faster, and if he were in his right mind, that thought would have scared him, but it didn't. He couldn't focus on anything, let alone string together enough brain cells to know how fucked he truly was. His teeth hurt, elongated and sharp protruding from bloodied gums, lips bitten and gnawed from trying and failing to hold back his screams. Legs shaking so fast the muscles were rigid in protest, arms cold and heavy, and wrist tore open, the blood mixing with the copious amounts of sweat as his body tried in vain to cool itself down. But nothing compared to the true pain that radiated deep in his gut, a twisting stabbing that cut him to his core. What made it worse was that it seems to jump from organ to organ, sharp needles in his kidney, stomach clenching, even his lungs felt brittle and raw. His head hurt from his screams, his throat no longer producing again more than a horse whisper, but they were forced out anyway. This wasn't a heat; there wasn't the slightest pleasure; he was soft, and what little slick there was, was completely overtaken by the smell of iron.
Heats were bad to begin with. Manifesting as a deep itch that needed to be scratched, the longing for another in the most basic ways. But it wasn't always about the sex; he wanted company, someone to be there; he spent years getting by with just cuddling up to Lui. It was enough to calm the worst of it, and he used his own hand to relieve himself when necessary, bringing himself to a lackluster orgasm. Surrounded by the smell of someone he trusted, arms wrapped tight around him helped keep him grounded but here on the cold floor, with smells of blood, fear, and death, his omega was doing laps in his head. It clawed at his conscious, instincts jolting him awake when his mind fogged for a second too long. Passing out wasn't an option, his omega howled, it wasn't safe; they were trapped in the snare of something dangerous, something that would hurt them has hurt them.
He tries not to remember large warm hands caressing him, the feel of Tyler's weight on him when he first woke up in the morning, the comforting smell he didn't know existed until a few months ago. He tries to ignore the way he craved to be back with him, the pain might still be there, but he would be safe with Tyler. It was one of the few things both he and his omega agreed on. New tears sprang forth as another deep ache formed, but this time in his chest, he did his best to curl into himself. There was no way they would find him; he didn't even know where he was. He would never see his friends again, no shitty movie night or big shared meals or Tyler. Even back before Todd, he had Brian and Lui but now. Now he had nothing. He would be nothing.
Another cramp sent him doubling over, pulling on his arms, the edge of the cuffs digging in, even more, sending what was left of the wolfsbane in his bloodstream. It was like having a cactus shoved into his veins, dragging its barbs in his arteries and pushing into his heart. It made the organ stutter over a few beats, the poison making the muscle seize and his body trying to force it back into rhythm. This time when his vision swam, he didn't have the strength to pull himself from the brink of the unconscious. Ears filling with static, pain slowly slipping away, until finally, he felt nothing at all.
-_-_-
The favors he had racketed up through the years finally became of use when calling every friend he knew in the area at 1 in the morning. His resources were limited, and if this was apart of something bigger, he wanted to make sure this wouldn't end with a "stray" bullet in the back of his head. Deep down, the little boy that looked up to police officers was long gone, wide bright eyes turned dull the further he got into his career. Not all cops were good, and not all criminals were bad; he was apart of a system built on outdated laws and skewed to favor those in power. Homelessness and addictions were treated like crimes while the actual criminals walked the streets with pockets lined with scammed money and pitting the "lower" classes against each other.
"Not that I don't love to hear from you but is this really all you can give me?" Sparing a glance to Renee, she was loading a shotgun, most likely with beanbag rounds. The years have been good to her, hair still a shocking dyed bright red, but she had more tattoos decorating her arms and frown lines that were more from her job than her age. They met back in the academy during combat training; back then, he scoffed at the human, thinking he could take her, but after she took his ass and gave it back to him wrapped up in a bow, he had nothing but respect for the other alpha.
"What more do you want?" Truthfully he didn't have much else to give. If these people didn't show or if Joe had misled them in any way, then he didn't know what else to do. He didn't have a plan B, barely had a plan A, if he were honest.
"I don't know, Max, anything. These are serious allegations you're throwing around; this is career-ending for all of us if you're wrong." Renee agreed that someone on the force helped cover this up; people don't just go missing without people's knowledge. They needed witnesses, evidence, and in this case, a warrant. If they were wrong and came knocking down the wrong door, it could tip-off the kidnappers; if they lost Joe, they lost their only witness. But what worried him the most is if they were right.
"But deviating if he's right. Either way, it's a risk Serg." Tucker hopped out the van's back with Grizz not far behind in his slim harness that was completely overtaken by a mass of black fur. He didn't know much about the other, other than his unfortunate name and being one of the few who still worked with a police dog. Still, he was one of Renee's, and that was good enough for him.
"Which is why I want to be sure, Detective." She threw an elbow at the beta, who dances away, obviously use to the gesture.
"Not that I don't mind this great reunion, but why am I here exactly? Cybercrime Max, not walking into creepy places at the ass crack of dawn." Nick was busy fixing Joe up with a tracker, fit snug in the bottom of his shoe, a small piece of sole cut out to accommodate it. They couldn't risk getting seen, anything suspicion or one wrong move, and it was all over. He could barely see the pair in the darkness of the van, the only light coming from the two laptops Nick had set up and the few distant street lamps. The van's beat-up framework hid its true nature; it was outfitted with its own monitors and tech, but the portly man regularly scoffed at them, stating time and time again they were shit.
"I need you to track Joe's signal while we tail him, you know these cameras and their blind spots. Don't act like you don't." Max thought about texting Adam, but what would say that wouldn't immediately raise his husband's suspicions? Adam told him to be good; he should be back at the house with the others safer in numbers and not suiting up behind an offensive smelling dumpster.
"Yes, I know camera's but I can't just, just, camera hack everything in the area." All eyes turned toward the man knowing it was a bunch of bullshit; the ex-hacker turned cop was notorious for being a nuisance before he was caught, rather, before he turned himself in after worming his way into the LSPD database, apparently insulted by the lack of security. They all knew he was still in the game, but they all ignored it, not that he could talk. Married to a felon, Not felon Maxxy that implies I was caught, and friends with the men formerly known as Delirious and Cartoonz with a rap sheet he knew would be a mile long each. He knew when to keep his mouth shut.
"So what? A sheriff, homicide, cybercrime, and K-9 unit walk into a bar and save the day?" Tucker checked his sidearm before taking the bulletproof vest offered by Renee, fastening it tightly before giving his dog a pet, the big fluffball puffing up from the attention.
"You can do the walking; I'm fine right here!" Nick's rhythmic keystrokes didn't slow; if anything, they landed harder, giving away this nervousness; he wasn't sure if there was a love stronger than Nick's and his technology. Fuck, he hoped he was right; this wasn't just his life he was risking. His mother would be in shambles, never liking his chosen job profession in the first place, Malcolm will never understand why he never came home would spend his days dutifully waiting for him by the door, and Adam. Max would hurt him the most, robbing them of the chance of growing old together, of living a life full of love and happiness.
"So...Montoya?"
"Shut up." They could do little but watch as the minutes ticked by, checking and double-checking their equipment, each their own trackers and armed with what they saw fit. Renee's shotgun propped against her leg, Tucker firmly set in his choice of bear mace, and Max made sure his little six-shooter was loaded. Anthony's earlier text confirmed that Luke and Tyler made it back to the house; the latter was calmer than Max had left him, for which he was glad. Steven had long ago bid him goodnight, and Max let him sleep; informing him of what was happening would only add unnecessary stress.
They prepped Joe as best they could. Don't try to extract information and do what they tell you. But there wasn't much they could do to prepare him for getting abducted. The sound of the waves breaking against the pier and the call of seagulls perfectly masked the sharp squeal of tires and the short yelp as the back door was yanked open, and Joe was pulled into the confines of the dark interior. They could do nothing but watch as it took off once again; he left a pang of guilt. They could open fire and try to take out the tires, but they gave him a tracker for a reason. Renee knew that they would probably turn on the boy; he knew too much and obviously didn't have the stomach to keep feeding them information. All it took was one a loose-lipped person with morals, and their whole operation would come crashing down.
He was thankful for the calm night; the waning moon gave them enough light to weave through the darkened streets with the help of Nick's directions in their ear. The van didn't go far; their surroundings dropped from the tourist-friendly pier with their well-lit walkways and openness to rundown warehouses and trash-strewn everywhere. The old waterways weren't really used for their intended purpose anymore; now, they were usually home to the casual fishermen and not huge ships full of cargo. The dirty buildings were either on their last leg or completely abandoned.
"They stopped. Next left." Renee peaked around the corner with Max close behind her and Tucker and Grizz in the rear, the dog free of his leash but sticking close to his handler. There is nothing out of the ordinary about this building; its darkened windows just as dusty as the surrounding buildings and no movement that they could see from the outside but sat in front was the van, the headlights dark. The engine still running through its cabin was empty. Over the cry of seagulls, the calls sharp in his ears, he could hear the muffled screams and metal thunking as, who he presumed was Joe, kicked and tried to free himself. Their approach cautious; they could assume whoever was driving the truck had gone inside the building, but the running van meant they were planning on coming back, their footfalls quiet as they made ran up to the vehicle. Glances in the windshield proven that, yes, it was empty, save for Joe with a brown bag over his head and both hands and feet zips tied to their partner. Even from the outside, Max could smell his fear peppery and strong, only lessened by the salt of panicked tears.
-=-
Someone was touching him, the sensation muddled, a barely-there caress that calmed the fire underneath Craig's skin. It felt nice. It reminded him of his mother, her face blurred a little more with each year that passed but he could remember her hands. Soft in their touch but harden from years of work, she would pet through his hair when he was sick, cup his cheek whenever they pulled away from a hug with a look of unconcealed love. He knew the look well, had seen it multiple times in Brock and Jon as they watched their children grow, anytime Marcel glanced at Scotty as the latter was telling a story, even when Lui ate Daithi's food with the same appetite of a starved man. The hands swept up his arms, and he felt them drop, his body falling forward face first into something soft. Worn cotton, soft from multiple washes and time, the faint smell of fabric softer overwhelming, but he couldn't pull away, limbs too heavy and corruptive. Something was tickling the back of his mind, but he couldn't think.
There was a noise, but he couldn't pick out the words. All he could focus on were those hands, fingers dancing up his face and into his hair, pulling on tangled strands that made him whimper when they pulled too hard. He didn't like it; the fingers were too slender with nails too long, sharp as they scratched his scalp. He whimpered again; he usually didn't have to a second time before Tyler took the hint and soften his touch; the alpha read him like a book. Tyler knew when the grab and bite and when to kiss and caress.
"Spread your legs." The voice was distant but clear, echoing like they were in a well, those words demanded obedience but he was so tired. Tyler was never this pushy; it was Craig who jumped the alpha while he slept; Tyler preferred his full and undivided attention. Those hands were more forceful, soft touches turning rough uncaring that they were hurting him. He didn't want this.
"I bet your pussy is dripping, just open your legs and I'll fuck you so good." He hated that word; he was a man omega or not. Tyler never uttered that word. Tyler would never-NotTylerNotTylerNOTTYLER. Disgust rolled in his stomach; these weren't the hands he fell in love with, weren't attached to a man with bright blue eyes and a wild mane of hair. The touch was revolting, dirty and filthy and wrong. It made him angry, a red hot burning replacing the disgust. How dare they touch him, hold him, try to wiggle their way in him. His arms were still shaky, but some feeling was coming back; his fingers twitched. They were still too heavy to lift. His legs were numb and if he didn't feel his right hand resting on his thigh he would have thought they were gone. It was fine; he didn't need them; his head moved just fine even if it made him dizzy; he didn't focus on that. Instead, he sought out where the fuckers smell was pouring out his scent gland, puffing out rotting garbage and old socks. He didn't need his arms or legs when his teeth worked just fine, warmth flooded his mouth, and screams bounced off the bare walls of his cage. Those fucking hands tried to push him away but only succeeded in helping him tear a chuck of flesh away. Craig bit again, deeper than before, uncaring of the blood coated him or the taste of it in his mouth, each time ripping away what he could. Until he met bone and even that didn't stop him, not until there was nothing left, not a scream or even a twitch. Those hands had fallen away and would never touch him again.
He was still angry, still felt the ghost of those hands but the blood felt good. It felt good to tear and rip, to hurt those who hurt him. He will hurt them.