Hours turned to days, days turned to weeks, weeks turned into—it did not really matter. The very essence of time seemed to no longer have an effect on the Scout. It had been far too long since he had seen the brilliant rays of the sun, too long since he had seen the faces of his friends and brothers-in-arms. He had long since given up on the thought of rescue, or anything pertaining to his old life. All he knew now was the depravation of his situation as a prisoner to the BLU team—mainly the Medic.
Day in and day out, the boy was subjected to the madman’s whims, having been made nothing more than a lab rat and a personal toy. The Scout was no longer made to be strapped to the unforgiving medical table during his many assaults, at least. Rather, his will had flickered out like that of a candle in the wind and he was merely made to sit in a confined, empty room until deemed necessary, which often meant solitude for days on end save for the occasional scrap of food tossed inside. It was not for lack of trying, however. The boy had put up a good fight in the beginning, but the effects of the experimental drugs pumped into his system continuously had rendered him nothing more than a doll for the most part. First, it was the aphrodisiacs, but the Medic soon became bored with the results and switched to newer things, not that the Scout minded since he often drifted in an out of consciousness as a result. But, the lingering effects were hard on his body and mind, especially when the doctor would deny him the medications for lengthy periods of time.
The youth would find this day no different as light pooled into his lonely prison, snapping him from his daze. The Scout no longer cowered when the Medic approached him, instead crawling on weakened knees until he was close enough to the doctor to rise up and latch onto his lab coat, and he did so with shaky hands to tug feebly at the fabric.
The Medic, in turn, would only give a satisfied grin and a petting to the boy’s head. He reveled in his captive’s dependency on him no matter how bad the neglect, especially since the Scout had been a hard person to break.
“…Meds,” the Scout murmured, his dull eyes looking up, pleading with the elder man as he licked his dry, cracked lips. Gone were the days of pride, instead replaced with a dire need to be high—anything to escape the harsh reality even if it meant begging with the very man who put him in the situation.
“Oh, does zhe Scout vant his medication?” the German teased, knowing the answer even before the younger male began nodding his head desperately. “I suppose I can indulge you in zhis request, but you know you must do somezhing for me first. Zhose are zhe rules, you know.”
As always, the boy’s fix came with a price. The Scout knew that by now, and he would release the Medic’s coat and begin yanking at his own shirt until it fell into a heap behind him, garnishing a hum out of his captor. He began fumbling with his pants until a hand clamped around his wrist.
“Come into zhe light,” the doctor persuaded, easily pulling the smaller male to his feet and leading him into the larger, well-lit room. He found a chair and sat upon it, patting his lap and ushering the Scout to perch upon him, which he did without further instruction.
There, under the fluorescent lighting, the Medic could easily admire his handiwork, gloved fingers tracing over pale skin, spotted in purples and blues from the constant use of syringes. He moved his hands across the smaller, bony body, feeling protruding ribs and went higher, taking the Scout’s chin in between a thumb and finger, an amused smirk about his face as he stared into the unmoving visage of the other. The boy’s features were lifeless, his eyes seemingly staring into the void—at least, until the doctor spoke.
“I’ve had a rough day, mein Kind,” he said in a purr as a hand moved to rub himself through his pants, “Vould you be so willing as to help me unvind?”
The Scout tilted his head to the side slightly. “An’ then I get my meds?”
With the promise of drugs now giving him life, the boy was quick to grab the Medic’s belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle until it gave way. He then made effort to unbutton and unzip the other man’s pants, exposing his already-hardened member. The Scout grabbed the heated flesh and began pumping with no care to rhythm—he just needed to get the elder man off and his precious medication would be coursing through his veins.
Of course, it would not be that easy.
“Slower, bitte. Take your time,” the Medic instructed, his hand moving over the smaller one, gliding it up and down in a timely pace.
The Scout bit his lip, but obeyed, allowing the other man to guide his hand before releasing it and allowing him to move at his own will. He did so hesitantly, wanting the ordeal to be over for the sake of getting his fix all the sooner. The boy was indifferent to the pleased grunts from the doctor as he relaxed into the back of the chair with a smug smile about his face, and even more so to the hands massaging into his backside.
What seemed like an eternity was nothing more than a few good minutes until the Medic finally grabbed the Scout’s hand, pulling it off his arousal. He need not be instructed along, for the boy knew from the many times before what was to be expected. He slipped from the elder man’s lap, resting on his knees between the doctor’s legs. Fingers grasped into the Medic’s pants at the hem, and a tongue darted out to lap at his member in slow, meticulous licks. Again, the boy paid no mind to the other’s hands as they grasped at his head, thumbs rubbing against his scalp as if he had some minute form of care in his being.
Still wanting to hurry up the process, the Scout took all of the other man into his mouth in one plunge, garnishing nothing more than a hum from the elder. Even in the throes of ecstasy, the bastard seemed to have complete control over himself. But, he did not give the boy any further instruction, allowing him to bob up and down as fast as he saw fit. And, the Scout did just that, his senses dulling to what was going on around him for the sake of completing his task. He did not register the sounds of a door swinging open or the footsteps approaching, nor did he pay attention to the shouting that soon followed.
But, the Scout snapped to reality to the sound of a gunshot as it echoed in the room, and he rose up sharply to find the Medic slumped over in his chair, blood and remnants of brain oozing from the large wound in his head. His fellow RED Soldier stood over him, shotgun firmly held in his hands.
“We’ve come for you, son.”
The Scout looked to the elder man, then stared at the unmoving corpse, then back to the Soldier again, his mouth moving as if to form words, but no sound came out. Rather, he slumped over on his backside and felt the warm sting of tears forming at the corner of his eyes. The taller male yelled something, but the boy could not hear for the sudden rush of conflictions in his mind. All the Scout could do was let out a pitiful moan as he was hauled over the Soldier’s shoulder and made to leave the room.
He had no clue how his comrade was able to maneuver through the enemy base carrying his dead weight, nor did the Scout really know how many of his teammates were there with the Soldier. Everything had been rendered a haze, a mixture of blurry faces and muffled speech and high adrenaline. As for the boy, he merely hung over the other man like a ragdoll, a muscular shoulder pressing into his ribcage painfully—it was the only thing anchoring the Scout to reality as the world seemed to be rushing around him. But, even that would not be enough to keep him awake, as the shock of the sudden events hastily shut down his mind and body and he was met with the bittersweet bliss of unconsciousness.
Again, time was lost on the Scout as he came into consciousness, squinting against the unforgiving bright light above and the irregular sound of soft beeps nearby. He groaned and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and felt a tug at his arm as he did so. Blinking into focus, the boy discovered a small, clear tube taped to his wrist, stuck in his flesh by way of a needle and a small pouch hanging over his head supplying liquid into his vein. He made an attempt to grasp the tubing, but an all-too-familiar voice interrupted abruptly.
“Don’t touch zhat.”
The Scout froze in his movements though his neck twisted towards the speaker, a sudden wave of dread filling his being as his upper half darted up from the examination table he found himself lying on. There stood a Medic before him, but he made no noticeable attempt to cause him harm. That and the boy noted the doctor wore a RED uniform and he knew that, even with a hazy mind, he saw with his own eyes the enemy Medic dead before him---it was still fresh in his memory. And, unlike his abusive captor, this man had a hint of concern about him as his brow wrinkled in concentration of the papers he held in his gloved hands. The Medic swiftly moved to the Scout’s side, a hand rising to grasp his shoulder and usher the younger male back down again.
“Relax; you are safe now,” he began, removing his hand to adjust his glasses, “But, you are not out of zhe water yet. You are badly malnourished, mein friend. Among other zhings…”
The Scout mulled the Medic’s words over in his head as he fell back against the table with a soft thud. Everything seemed too surreal to him, as if any moment, the BLU doctor would come tearing through the door to engage in more experimentation or depraved sexual acts. The thoughts made the boy cringe and his chest tightened. The faint beeping quickened its pace as he rolled on his side, bringing his legs up towards his torso. Memories came flooding back in full force, overwhelming the Scout’s mind and filling him with an intense feeling of dread. He tried to reason with himself that he was, as the doctor said, safe within his own base, but all he could see was the devious grin of the BLU Medic. He gave a choked yell, as if the very sound shredded his vocal chords, and eyes darted to the elder man as quivering hands clenched into his medical coat.
“Make it stop, man,” he begged in a hoarse whisper, beads of sweat forming on his brow, “I need meds.”
The Medic, in turn, took the Scout by the wrists in a gentle manner and pulled his clothing free before releasing the boy. He frowned, fearing his assumptions and tests to be correct---the Scout’s bloodstream was tainted with drugs, and it was a miracle he was even alive at this point.
“Nein. I cannot do zhis,” he murmured with a shaking of his head, trying to sympathize with his teammate, yet he had to be stern for the sake of the other’s health and his own professionalism.
The Scout stared blankly at the doctor for a moment before memory came into play and he rose up from his lying position and grabbed the Medic’s crotch, giving it a harsh rub.
“Scout, vhat the hell are you doing?” the doctor gasped, once again grasping at the smaller male’s wrist and taking a step backwards away from the offending hand.
“C’mon, doc, ya know I’ll do anything,” the youth cooed as he moved to rest on his knees and loomed near the Medic’s face. “Ya wanna fuck my ass? Get your cock sucked? I’ll do a damn good job and be your good little boy. Just gimme my meds.”
The German frowned as he drew back even further from the Scout, more out of sympathy than disgust. “Mein Gott, vhat have they done to you?”
“Ya never play hard-ta-get,” the boy purred as he attempted to move to his knees upon the table and rise up. The Medic was quick to make attempts to usher the Scout down again, his grip on the slugger’s wrists a bit more harsh than before. Luckily, the doctor had more strength than his patient in his weakened state, but it did nothing once the smaller male began thrashing angrily to the point of ripping the needle from his vein and sending the IV pole crashing to the floor, as well as bellowing as loud as his ravaged throat would allow.
“My meds! Ya promised me my meds!”
The base was suddenly filled with the strangest of cries as the Scout begged, pleaded, and demanded his fix. Many of the other RED members had crammed through the doorway of the infirmary upon hearing the hellacious sound, but they had come too late. Their Medic was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily while attempting to adjust his wayward hair. There beside him on the table was an unconscious Scout, the boy’s cheekbone beginning to swell and redden to match the doctor’s bruising knuckles. He slowly pushed himself off the wall and straightened his lab coat, looking to the bewildered expressions on his teammate’s faces.
“It’s time for an intervention.”