Wash sees her hand coming but doesn't pull back in time, and... whoops.
--
Wash is strapped to the chair he’s in and everything is blurry. Spinning slightly, or maybe just tilting, or maybe that’s because he can’t hold his head steady. He can’t tell. He isn’t sure of anything anymore… where is this? Another room, but it could be anywhere. They keep shuffling him. He doesn’t remember. He can’t keep track. His arms are heavily bandaged and still there’s cuffs around his wrists, and if he wriggles he can make it hurt…
“Agent Washington. Look at me, Agent.”.
That steady, even voice. Too calm, detached somehow. Not real. It can’t be real but it’s familiar.
“Allison?”
“No. I am the Counselor for Project Freelancer. Do you know your name, Agent?”
“Agent..? I’m… Church. Where’s Allison? Is she okay? I need to--”
“No. You are Agent Washington. May I call you David?”
“That’s not my name. I’m not...”
There’s a sliding sound, something across a tabletop. Wash struggles to lift his head from what he can see, which is still just his arms strapped down, his legs in white pants he doesn’t remember. How did he get here? There’s a table, yes, and a man across it, his hands are free. He’s in a black uniform jumpsuit, holding a tablet and scrolling down.
“Where--?”
“You were… injured. You don’t remember?”
“No. Why..?”
“I believe you may be too heavily medicated for this session, but if you are comfortable continuing, I can answer some of your questions. If I may ask my own.”
“I-- okay. Okay.”
“What is the last thing you can recall?”
It’s a struggle but he tries, he’s quiet for a moment while he tries, everything in his head feeling fragmented and sharp, the pieces grating together. It hurts. His wrists hurt. Is he moving? “The Director told me about Tex. Tex is dead because I couldn’t--”
“After that.”
Wash’s vision blurs further, the Counselor obscured until he blinks and then he realizes it was tears. He blinks again, feeling them hot on his cheeks and then he can see better, even though the stuffy feeling in his head gets worse. “There’s nothing. I’m sorry.”
He can’t do anything right. Couldn’t save them, didn’t Washington die too? How is he..? Allison…
“It’s my fault.”
“No. You did the best you could. We’ll need your help again, we need you to get better, David.”
“That’s not my name!” Sharp pain now, shooting up his arms and somehow into his neck, a stabbing at the base of his skull and deep through, all the way through. Something missing, something torn out. His memories, maybe? No, not torn out, shoved in and it broke all that he was and then they took the new self away too, and now he’s… what? Who? Who is he now? Church? David? Washington? He wants to scream at the pain but he just feels more tears, and that makes him angry. He remembers anger, that it was familiar once, it was part of him and so he tries to hold onto it, but it gets eaten by the emptiness like everything else.
“I’m sorry you’re in so much pain. Perhaps we should increase your dose, for the time being. We can do this later.”
“No-- no, don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave me alone, I need to know… what happened?”
But the Counselor is already getting up, his chair-that-he-isn’t-strapped-into scraping behind him as it’s pushed away. No. No no no no no no….
“Please!”
“Take him back to his room. Make certain he cannot harm himself again.”
And then Wash does scream, the sound raw and agonized like a sob, like someone lost who knows they will never be found. The memory fades on everything tilting again, a sharp sting in his neck before the world goes black in preparation of him waking up somewhere else, again, not sure of the journey. Or who he is at the end.
cw: torture, imprisonment, reference to suicide, and the fight with tex/the meta, please!
--
Wash is strapped to the chair he’s in and everything is blurry. Spinning slightly, or maybe just tilting, or maybe that’s because he can’t hold his head steady. He can’t tell. He isn’t sure of anything anymore… where is this? Another room, but it could be anywhere. They keep shuffling him. He doesn’t remember. He can’t keep track. His arms are heavily bandaged and still there’s cuffs around his wrists, and if he wriggles he can make it hurt…
“Agent Washington. Look at me, Agent.”.
That steady, even voice. Too calm, detached somehow. Not real. It can’t be real but it’s familiar.
“Allison?”
“No. I am the Counselor for Project Freelancer. Do you know your name, Agent?”
“Agent..? I’m… Church. Where’s Allison? Is she okay? I need to--”
“No. You are Agent Washington. May I call you David?”
“That’s not my name. I’m not...”
There’s a sliding sound, something across a tabletop. Wash struggles to lift his head from what he can see, which is still just his arms strapped down, his legs in white pants he doesn’t remember. How did he get here? There’s a table, yes, and a man across it, his hands are free. He’s in a black uniform jumpsuit, holding a tablet and scrolling down.
“Where--?”
“You were… injured. You don’t remember?”
“No. Why..?”
“I believe you may be too heavily medicated for this session, but if you are comfortable continuing, I can answer some of your questions. If I may ask my own.”
“I-- okay. Okay.”
“What is the last thing you can recall?”
It’s a struggle but he tries, he’s quiet for a moment while he tries, everything in his head feeling fragmented and sharp, the pieces grating together. It hurts. His wrists hurt. Is he moving? “The Director told me about Tex. Tex is dead because I couldn’t--”
“After that.”
Wash’s vision blurs further, the Counselor obscured until he blinks and then he realizes it was tears. He blinks again, feeling them hot on his cheeks and then he can see better, even though the stuffy feeling in his head gets worse. “There’s nothing. I’m sorry.”
He can’t do anything right. Couldn’t save them, didn’t Washington die too? How is he..? Allison…
“It’s my fault.”
“No. You did the best you could. We’ll need your help again, we need you to get better, David.”
“That’s not my name!” Sharp pain now, shooting up his arms and somehow into his neck, a stabbing at the base of his skull and deep through, all the way through. Something missing, something torn out. His memories, maybe? No, not torn out, shoved in and it broke all that he was and then they took the new self away too, and now he’s… what? Who? Who is he now? Church? David? Washington? He wants to scream at the pain but he just feels more tears, and that makes him angry. He remembers anger, that it was familiar once, it was part of him and so he tries to hold onto it, but it gets eaten by the emptiness like everything else.
“I’m sorry you’re in so much pain. Perhaps we should increase your dose, for the time being. We can do this later.”
“No-- no, don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave me alone, I need to know… what happened?”
But the Counselor is already getting up, his chair-that-he-isn’t-strapped-into scraping behind him as it’s pushed away. No. No no no no no no….
“Please!”
“Take him back to his room. Make certain he cannot harm himself again.”
And then Wash does scream, the sound raw and agonized like a sob, like someone lost who knows they will never be found. The memory fades on everything tilting again, a sharp sting in his neck before the world goes black in preparation of him waking up somewhere else, again, not sure of the journey. Or who he is at the end.
--
Did he see anything of hers?