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The Collective

Summary:

Malcolm, Gil and JT are brainwashed and imprinted with new identities as part of a sinister mind control experiment to test just how much they will endure for the ones they love. Follow what happens when Malcolm begins to remember, and has to figure out how to convince his husbands to escape, while maintaining his new life.

Whump abounds, but not before a bit of domestic bliss for the boys.

Alternative tag line: The Harrises begin a fresh start in Juno, but dreams of another life disrupt the peace. Will their relationship stand up to the strain?

BTHB Compelling Voice- Chapter 4
BTHB Painful Wound Cleaning- Chapter 7
BTHB Made a Lab Rat- Chapter 8
BTHB Arm in a Sling- Chapter 9

BHTB Chapters to be updated when they post.

Notes:

Hi Everyone! The conceit for this story relies on you remembering the new identities that Malcolm, Gil and JT have in this story. To recap:
JT is DB Harris
Gil is Phil Harris
Malcolm is Michael Harris

Chapter 1 is dedicated to Sabbean, my fellow CTWK. Happy Whump Day.
Chapter 2 is dedicated to AShortWalkToDelinquency, for your original OT3

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The sunlight peeks through the slit in the curtain, teasing the promise of a new day that has already begun. DB waits for his synapses to start firing before sitting upright, rubbing his face as he yawns one final time. As he prepares to launch himself off the bed a hand lands on his lower back, sliding around to his abdomen and pulling him back down onto the mattress.

“Stay.” The sleepy voice behind him begs.

“Can’t Michael, you know that. First day and all, wouldn’t want to be late.” Despite his reply, DB makes no attempt to sit back up. The touch of his spouse is something he will never tire of. Glancing at the clock, he figures they can steal a quick few minutes before time becomes a problem.

“Mmmhmm…” Michael mumbles into DB’s chest, perfectly content. The pair stay cuddled together until a third body starts to ruffle the covers on the other side of Michael.

An olive hand stretches out from under the quilt to check the time on his watch, then rolls over to face the two men next to him. His arm reaches over Michael and finds DB’s hand, the three of them bound together for a moment. “If you two make us late for our first day you’ll both be in separate bedrooms tonight.” He warns.

“Such a spoil sport, Phil.” Michael pouts. Despite his protesting, both men heed the warning of their spouse and shuffle to the end of the bed before rolling off it.

The Harris husbands are all set to begin their new jobs at The Collective today, three days after arriving in the Juno community. They had been exceptionally lucky that they had found a company that would pay for their relocation from Brooklyn, and though the décor in their fully furnished house doesn’t quite gel with their own sense of taste, it was suitable enough for the time being.

They were still figuring out the kinks in the morning routine- who needed the bathroom and when (more like how DB and Phil managed to squeeze in around Michael’s hogging of the shower) and how to use the coffee machine. The blend this morning wasn’t as bitter as yesterday, which made breakfast all the more enjoyable.

Michael and Phil were wearing their navy blue Collective polo shirts, while DB was wearing his crisp white button down. The husbands made small talk while they sorted out their breakfast (Michael was only drinking coffee, food didn’t always agree with him since they had moved) and once they were settled Michael admired his spouses while they crunched their way through toast and bacon.

“You’re not going to believe what I dreamt about last night.” Michael starts.

“We never do babe, so save us the guessing and just tell us.” DB suggests, not taking his eyes off the crisp bacon on his plate.

Michael wiggles in his seat slightly, eyes shining with mischief. “I dreamt that we were all police officers. Detectives, actually. We were all standing around this guy who’d been killed, behind that fancy crime scene tape. My coat was nicer than yours, and we were talking about cause of death and everything!”

Phil lifts his eyes from his plate, his expression one of amusement. “You. Me. And DB. All standing around a dead body like it’s something we see every day?”

“Yeah, it’s crazy right?! It just felt so real though. We even had different names.” Michael closes his eyes to retrieve the memory. “My name was Bright, yours was Tarmel, DB, and you-“ Michael grabs Phil’s hand fondly, “were called Gil.”

“Gil? As in what a fish breathes through?” DB jokes.

“Shhh, and” Michael continues, “you were definitely in charge Phil.”

Phil’s grin stretches across his whole face. “There you go, it’s nice to hear some things are consistent, whether you’re conscious or not.”

“Hey look, I’m just telling you what I remember. Don’t hold it against me!” Michael glances across at DB, hoping he’s not offended by his random dream. He need not have worried. DB’s shoulders are bouncing up and down to smother the laugh that is threatening to burst forth from his chest.

“Good to know some things will never change. My watch says we got ten minutes before we need to get in the car, let’s move.”

“Absolutely, Detective.” Michael accents the last word in jest and earns a strip of bacon sailing past his head a moment later. The men busy themselves with the tail end of their morning routines before meeting back in the lounge room, ready to head to work. Michael smiles and laughs at the jokes Phil keeps making about cats in the front seat, but his mind is elsewhere. The dream he’d had last night felt different to his usual ones, more vivid. He spoke with such conviction about knowing the killer’s need to mutilate the victim laying prone beneath them, it couldn’t have been something his mind just made up.  

Why did it all feel so familiar?

He had to cast it aside for the moment, and focus on their new jobs. They needed to make a good impression, to prove the investment in their relocation was worth it. By the time Phil pulls the Volkswagen Toureg into the employee parking lot the images of a bloody corpse were as distant a memory as he could make them.

He would prove to The Collective that they were all worthy. They all would.

The squat building was unassuming as they entered the double doors, DB leading the way with a level of clout that Michael and Phil haven’t earned just yet. DB was headhunted for the position, and the company offered Michael and Phil positions in their PCA department. The reception desk is expecting them, and with a quick peck on the cheek to his spouses DB is guided towards the security wing of the building. Michael and Phil wait for the PCA manager to greet them, a diminutive and calm woman called Sheila. Her platinum blonde curls barely move as she walks, and she is effusive in her introduction. There’s no conversation as the group walk down to an uncluttered office, Michael would hazard a guess to say it’s too clean to be a real workspace.

Sheila takes her seat behind the shiny laminate desk and flicks her wrists with palms upward towards the vacant chairs placed across from her. The two partners share a look before taking their seats simultaneously, both a little nervous. Two cups of coffee stand steaming on the desk, and both men begin to drink politely as they are welcomed to their new workplace.  Michael’s ass has barely grazed the seat of the chair after picking up his coffee before Sheila is launching into a bright chatter.

“Welcome to the Person Care Attendant division at The Collective! We are honored to have you with us. We pride ourselves in providing the highest level of care to the patients in our facility. Let me just run you through the basics…” 

Their manager launches into a well-practiced welcome speech covering the basics of the job including patient to PCA ratios and the types of tasks to be performed, her mouth somehow smiling broadly with each word she utters. As Sheila’s bubbly voice continues to drabble on, Michael stops listening at some point and starts observing. The woman’s demeanour wants to come across as endearing and disarming, yet her eyes betray her. There’s a cold, clinical side to this woman, and while she is most certainly telling the truth about there being patients who need help, Michael can feel that she’s hiding something.

“Excuse me Sheila, can I ask what type of patients you have here?” Michael inquires, interrupting a not-so-fascinating point about cleaning supplies.

Sheila appears a little thrown by the question. “Uh, of course! We have a lot of clinical trials here, people with varying backgrounds. You don’t need to worry too much about those kinds of details though, do you Michael?” The smile remains, but the warmth behind it has disappeared.

He hears the question, and a part of him feels the need to agree with her, to drop the line of questioning. Another part of him, the one that reminds him of his dream last night, wants to dig deeper. Her body language is rigid and tense, she wants him to stop talking.

Phil is giving him a WTF look, almost going so far as to jerk his thumb across his neck so Michael can’t miss the signal. In the end the side that wants to please wins out. He keeps his follow up questions to himself, and shakes his head.

Sheila’s genuine smile returns. “Excellent. Let’s get those coffees finished and I’ll take you two on a tour of the wards!”

As he gulps down the last of the milky brew Michael files the interaction with Sheila away, another little piece to a puzzle that is forming in the back of mind. Why it’s forming in the first place he has no idea.

As Sheila points out the trolleys, supply closet and the rooms they will be assigned to for their shifts Michael begins to relax and feel more confident. That coffee must have had magic juice in it because he’s practically bursting with the desire to do a good job, to make his husbands proud.

The tour comes to an end in the breakroom, where Sheila happily directs their attention to the coffee machine.

“And this is one of the staff’s favourite perks! Every morning before we start our shift we come together for a drink, and start the day off right. Everyone tells me it’s the best coffee they’ve ever tasted!”

“I’d say it was pretty good. Sounds like a great idea.” Phil nods along, looking comfortable in his surroundings.

“Wonderful.” Sheila purrs. “Let’s get you set up with your trolleys, okay? You two are going to be just fine, I can tell.” Sheila bounces past the men towards the door before turning back, adding, “One more thing, gents. Just before you leave each room, I want you to wish each guest a Happy Hannukah. Can you do that for me?”

“Sure,” Michael replies, as Phil answers “absolutely” in the same moment.

“Brilliant. I just knew I’d be able to count on you.”

Michael is surprised at how quickly he agrees, especially as his mind reminds him that it’s impossible to wish someone a happy Hannukah in April. He’s not usually this impulsive, maybe it’s just nerves. Michael looks to correct his mistake.

“Sorry Sheila, I just realised it’s the wrong time of year for Hannukah. Did you mean something else?”

“No honey, I meant what I said. Just do what I ask, and you’ll do just fine, okay?” Sheila pats Michael on the upper arm, and again the desire to please surges through him.

“Okay. Fine.” Another puzzle piece is collected in his mind. He’ll ponder on why he wants to say something blatantly wrong later.

They find their way back to the trolleys and Phil and Michael start their shifts in earnest, cleaning down beds, disinfecting surfaces, assisting with patient moves when necessary. And every room they exit they wish the patient a Happy Hannukah. Just as they were asked.

**********************

“How was everyone’s first day? DB, you want to go first?” Phil starts the dinner conversation off.

DB spears an asparagus and waves it around as he answers. “The guys seem pretty nice. The tech is next level, they’ve got stuff I haven’t even seen before. Today was more about learning the ropes. I’ll dig in to what they hired me for tomorrow.”

“You had an entire shift and that’s all you have to say? There must have been something memorable.”

“Hmm…the coffee is really good. Apparently, the whole team starts the day with one.”

Phil nods and smile creeps on to his face. “yeah, we had some as well. The PCA’s have the same routine, must be a company-wide thing.”

“Must be.” DB glances over at Michael, who can only bring himself to push his own asparagus from one side of the plate to the other. “What’s up with you? You weren’t a fan of the coffee thing?”

Michael raises his head, blurting out a rushed “Mmm? I’m fine.” and it’s abundantly clear he wasn’t listening to the conversation.

DB recognises the signs in his husband and reaches out to place his hand on top of Michael’s trembling one. “Talk to us. What’s going on?”

Michael rearranges his expression into a tight smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Work was fine, just something that happened that felt a little off. I’m sure it was just a mistake, it’ll be better tomorrow. I don’t want to embarrass you.”

“You could never do that, babe.” DB leans over to kiss Michael, a small moment of reassurance that settles the nausea in Michael’s stomach. This time the small smile that plays on Michael’s lips is genuine, and he feels well enough to attempt to eat the eye fillet waiting for him on the plate.

The spouses enjoy the rest of the meal discussing everything from the Yankee’s latest injury list to weaponry of the romantic era (with some time spent drooling over filigree designs on flintlock pistol), yet all the while Michael can’t entirely squash out the uncertainty gnawing at his stomach. After dinner they relocate to the lounge room sofa and fall into the olive-green cushions with a sigh. It’s DB’s turn to pick the entertainment tonight, and soon the orchestral swell of the Star Wars theme song starts up as The Mandalorian begins to play. DB has prime position in the center of the sofa, Phil to his right and Michael resting against him on his left. Try as he might Michael can’t focus on the names of all the people and places, instead his dream from the night before returns to the front of his mind. After a character takes a swig of some unnatural blue liquid that turns his stomach Michael has had enough.

“I’m gonna turn in for the night. Maybe get some reading done.”

DB and Phil don’t contain their shock particularly well.

“Everything okay? You never go to bed this early.” Phil’s brow furrows in concern.

Michael waves his concern away. “It’s nothing, I promise. You stay and watch the Mandagorian finish.”

“It’s Mandalorian.” DB corrects.

“Exactly. What I just said.” Michael wanders up the stairs to their bedroom and decides a shower might settle his nerves a little. The water pressure in their new shower is excellent, and in minutes Michael is luxuriating in his lime scented body wash, the hot water pounding the stress from the day away. When the temperature changes from scalding to tepid he shuts the taps off and towels himself dry, sliding on a fresh pair of boxer briefs.

Expecting an empty bed Michael can’t help but express his delight at finding his husbands waiting for him in.

“I thought you were watching the space thing?” he asks as he climbs on to the bed and slides between them.

“It’s not as much fun without you. Plus, Phil over here wanted to make sure you hadn’t passed out in the shower. You realise we have to pay for the water, right?”

DB’s sense of humor never fails to make Michael smile, and rewards him with a deep kiss. Not one to play favourites he leans back to impart a kiss on Phil as well, their hands sliding over each other promising what’s to come.

“Mmmm…you drive me crazy kid.” Phil moans. In that moment a spark ignites in Michael’s mind, and a vision of Phil in a turtleneck and a frustrated frown with a police station as a backdrop roars into life.  

You can’t catch this killer if you can’t walk in a straight line. Go home kid, you’re driving me crazy.”

Michael pulls away with a gasp, unsure of what to make of the scene that his mind has just created for him.  It was this Gil person again, he could feel it in his bones. But why is his brain creating these scenes while he’s awake?

“What is it Michael?” Phil’s eyes are cloudy with uncertainty, his touch had never made his husband react so negatively before.

“I’m not sure babe. I think I’m just a little tired from today. Should probably just go to sleep.”

“Sure thing. Come here. Phil guides Michael back down to the mattress and drapes an arm over the man’s chest. DB does the same, and Michael revels in the comfort that his husbands always provide him. Whether he asks for it or not. The breathing from the men either side of him even out within minutes, each one sleeping soundly while being grounded to the earth by him.

Michael gazes at the cornices on the ceiling as his mind sorts through the feelings he’s had today. He absent mindedly strokes both of the hands on his chest, the pad of his thumb tracking from index finger to pinkie, glancing their wedding rings along the way. He raises his hand in the moonlight to gaze at his own wedding band, a simple yellow gold band with an indent just off the edge of the ring. He thumbs the band, wiggling it up to his knuckle before letting it fall back down. When it falls, he notices something odd. They’ve been married for years, and yet there’s no depression in his finger where the ring sits. DB and Phil’s fingers have the weathered band on their fingers, why doesn’t he?

Does this have something to do with the dreams of his husbands as other people? Are Gil and Tarmel completely imaginary? It was his husbands, no doubt, but they were different at the same time. And it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be called Bright, and be staring at a dead body for minutes at a time. He even felt excited to be there.

Something is not right. He just can’t put his finger on what.

Michael spends most of the night staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the thoughts that keep spinning around his head like a carousel. He’ll have to settle for a cat nap before they begin another day at The Collective in the morning.