Title: Soul Damage
Rating: R – violence, swearing, very dark, implied non-con.
Summary: Written for a prompt at comment_fic: He can still hear Murphy's screams in his sleep and knows they keep him alive, just for that.
Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from this fic or the lovely boys in it. But I am excited for the sequel!!!

So, they were good, but they weren't fucking Charlie Bronson or anything, no matter how much rope they brought with them. Therefore they had known that eventually they were going to get caught, doing what they do. Living out of hotels and vanquishing every evil man they came across. Even with the Lord's blessing, they were bound to eventually fail, to go after someone too evil with too many resources for them to get around.

That man ended up being Marcus Bascone, international gun runner and war profiteer. They had thought they were being smart. Bascone's house was heavily guarded so they had waited outside, watching the gates to make their move as soon as Bascone left the house. It should have worked fine, because really, who the fuck has undercover guards posted all the way down the block to keep an eye on the entire neighbourhood.

Marcus Bascone, that's who.

Bascone believed in people working to earn their place in the world, even family, which is why his twenty-five year old son was among the group of men sent out to bring the McManus brothers in. Unknowing of this, Connor had put a bullet between the guy's eyes just before they were both tasered and overpowered.

They woke up gagged, tied to chairs in a basement. It was a familiar setting, the last time it had happened they had lost a friend and gained a father. Their eyes met solemnly in the silence – there would be nothing gained this time.

Bascone walked in just minutes after they woke up bringing a half dozen men with him.

"The famous McManus brothers," he greeted them coldly, then looked to his boys. "Which one killed Tony?"

"That one," a brute of a man answered, pointing to Connor.

Connor sat silently, tensed and ready to take his punishment. Bascone approached Connor slowly, fury burning in his eyes along with cold appraisal. Without a word he backhanded Connor across the face. Connor gave no reaction other than to lift his head up and glare at their captor. Bascone shifted a few feet away and did the same to Murphy, striking him hard across the cheek. Connor instinctively tried to jump forward and he yelled a curse at the man to stay away from his brother but it was muffled by the gag.

Bascone smiled grimly, having received the reaction he was looking for and Connor felt his heart clench tightly at his own stupidity. Bascone motioned towards two of his men and suddenly Connor's chair was being dragged away, towards the door. Connor struggled, pulled and cursed to get free but the bonds were tight and the chair was sturdy. The men pulled him into the hallway and he watched with terrified eyes as Murph was left there alone in the middle of the room, where Bascone was smiling as he rolled up his sleeves and took the knife handed to him by one of his men.

"Take off his gag," Bascone ordered, indicating Murphy.

Just before the door closed and all sight of his brother was blocked off to him Connor met Murphy's eyes. It was sickeningly familiar, being bound and safe while his brother was placed in danger because of his god damn actions. And there it was, that same expression in Murphy's eyes – resolute, determined and showing no trace of fear. It was the same look he had given his brother when the Russian mobsters had taken him outside to shoot him. Connor had never asked if that look meant he wasn't afraid to die because God would look after him, or if it meant he knew he wasn't going to die today because his brother would come for him.

Connor prayed it was the first one because there was no escape from this situation, no cuffs they could slip off their chairs, no toilets to pull from the wall – no rescue.

Pulling and screaming Connor did not go quietly as he was dragged into the room next door. Completely ignoring his struggles they left him in the center of the room, shut off the light and locked the door. He was left in the pitch black with nothing to see, nowhere to go, forced to hear with shattering clarity everything that was happening in the next room. At first there was just grunts, pain-filled swears, curses and insults from Murphy that would have made their Ma pale. This changed immediately a few minutes later. Connor couldn't know what was happening but suddenly Murph was screaming, long and loud. Connor lost track of how long those terrible cries were wrenched from his brother's throat as he spent each minute screaming along with him through the gag stuffed in his mouth. He screamed for the men to stop whatever terrible things they were doing, he screamed for God to help them, he screamed out his rage and torment, but it changed nothing. It did nothing. Even tearing at his own bonds until his wrists and ankles were bleeding almost to the bone could not distract Connor from the terrible sounds of those screams.

This continued for hours until finally the men stopped. Connor heard their footsteps leaving, tried to scream for their release but he was ignored. In the next room the screams had been replaced by almost complete silence. He had to listen carefully but every now and then he heard a weak gasp or a moan, the only indication that his brother was still alive. He yearned to talk to him somehow, to reach for him but he was trapped in this damn room with no escape.

Hours went by and at some point Connor passed out, only to wake up when light suddenly flooded his room. He blinked weakly, exhausted from screaming and dehydration. His vision was blurry for a minute but he was fairly certain there was only one man in the room with him. If he had had any kind of plan of escape this would have been the perfect time to enact it. He really wished he had one. Instead he could only watch and glare as the man came into the room, whistling for God's sake, pulling along some kind of stick with him. Connor eventually realized it was an IV pole. He grunted and pulled when the man tried to stick the needle in his hand but the stranger just chuckled as he easily held Connor still to insert the line. Looking up Connor saw it was a clear fluid, he thought it might be drugs of some kind but he didn't feel any different. The question must have been shining in his eyes because the stranger quirked a smile.

"Not drugs, just fluids. Boss isn't gonna feed ya, but he wants you alive," the man explained maliciously. Then he made a show of adjusting himself in his pants as he leaned closer to Connor's ear, "Now I gotta go. Your brother isn't quite as pretty as he was yesterday but I think he might still be good for a couple of rounds."

Connor felt his vision go red at the comment. His body surged forward so violently that he toppled his chair over, swearing and cursing, promising the most terrible bodily harm he could imagine if the man went anywhere near his brother. But the man just backed away, smiling in amusement, turned off the light and closed the door. Connor hated that he quieted to listen to the sounds from next door. It started with a violent smack, a hiss, a few choice swear words then a brief struggle, desperation coming from one side, cruel amusement from the other. He heard objects fall, bodies collide, clothes tear and then the worst sound yet. A strangled cry from Murphy, barely audible.


It was the only time Murphy had asked for anything from these men, had made any kind of plea or request for mercy.

It was short-lived though, the screams resumed soon after.

Tears streaked down Connor's face as he lay tipped on his side in the cold, dark room.

Hours turned into days. The screams had ended a long time ago, then after that there were no more grunts or moans, then after that there was nothing. Connor was alone in the dark, left unmercifully alive with only memories of his brother and every one of those memories now consisted of screams and the terrible things his imagination told him had happened to Murphy in the room next door. The screams followed him into sleep, they echoed with each beat of his heart. He was only being kept alive to relive those screams. He was uninjured otherwise, Bascone hadn't laid a hand on him except to strip away his soul.

Prayers ended after the first few days. Murphy's screams were so loud in his head he knew they would drown out the prayers he sent up to God. He lay alone, withering, tormented. Eventually his vision began to fade, then sounds muffled, reality receded and the screams finally, finally quieted and there, at the last moment was that voice that he had last heard in torment, now light and welcoming, surrounded by brilliance and peace.

"Connor. Come home."

He did not fight.

The end.