“Keep up, doll. Don’t drag your feet!”

Baron travels ahead at an embarrassingly fast pace. Once the storm cleared out and the sun took its place, the frozen peaks started turning to slush and green, which means Baron is at an advantage now.

They move at an ungodly speed, though with Castor’s height, I’m sure he’d consider it a leisurely pace that I have to run to keep up with, only I can’t anymore. Baron’s efforts were able to keep my fingers from falling off during the storm, but the pain in my leg has only gotten worse. The throb of the hole in my thigh has turned into a searing stab that even the adrenaline can’t dull anymore, and with every stride they make on the descent, I’m limping further and further behind.

I don’t know how much time was lost or how much distance was put between us and Alastor. Even with the searing pain in my leg, I keep my mouth shut and try to keep their pace. With the ground level visible, they don’t need me anymore.

I break into a jog, biting down the pain until I catch up to the two men. I’m not about to be left behind because of a stupid bullet in my leg.

Castor slides down a small hill, offering his hand for Baron to do the same, but he crouches, balancing on the melting snow as he slides down as well.

I fumble when I try, and Baron smirks when I fall on my ass. The landing spins my head and I grasp the snow as if it would steady the rapidly rotating mountainside. It’s warm, the snow, the ground. It’s heating my body by the minute and when I clamber to my feet, my head swells and bile burns in my throat.

But they push on seconds later, taking a slower, careful pace. They make sure not to stray too far from me, measuring their steps while I feel their stares on me every few minutes.

Castor whispers something to Baron and his head whips back, looking me up and down with a calculating stare.

“You alright, doll?” He calls back to me.

My throat tightens.

“I’m fine.” I push past them, ignoring the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. “Let’s just get out of this fucking country.”

I don’t hear them follow me, but I don’t stop until Baron speaks up. “Let’s take a break. We should eat the venison before it goes bad.”

If there was a god out there, I’d fall to my knees thanking it for the relief that single sentence gave me.

We’d made it just low enough in the mountains that there were trees scattered along the path we’re traveling on. It didn’t take a lot of effort for Castor to find one and damn near ripping it out of the ground. The outer edges of the wood were too wet to light, and watching Baron curse and scream at a lump of wood while trying to light it was almost almost enough to make me forget about the fact that I’m pretty sure my leg was about to fall off.

We all eat in silence, surrounding the small fire as it flickers and cracks. They all exchange glances with each other before looking at me and back to their food.

My teeth clamp down on the meat when another bolt of pain shoots up my leg. I clench my fists as the wave moves up my body and finally dissipates, and when I open them again, Castor is watching me closely .

But again, they don’t say anything to me. He leans over to Baron and whispers in his fucking ear and I know it’s about me. Whether it’s anger or adrenaline cycling in my veins, I shoot them a glare and finally break the silence.

“If you’re going to talk shit, at least say it loud enough for me to hear.”

Castor turns to me slowly, eyes blazing in the fire. “You’re shaking”

I cross my arms, trying to will the sensation to stop. “Well what did you expect?” I snap. “We’re in the middle of the Alps!”

“Then why are you sweating?”

My hand shoots up to my face, and my pulse quickens when I find beads of sweat on my brow. Then I catch their eyes again, and I finally realize why they’ve been whispering.

I stand abruptly, gritting my teeth when it tugs painfully at my thigh.

“I appreciate your sudden and alarming concern, but I’m fine.” I gesture to myself, but they don’t seem anywhere near convinced.

Their gazes drop down to my leg when another bolt of pain shoots through me but it’s hardly noticeable when the panic builds stronger.

“We need to keep moving,” I say, flexing my leg. “We need to clear the descent before dusk.”

I need to get out of here. Out of the mountains and away from these two men. They’re fucking insane. I’d sooner take my chances alone with Alastor than trust either of them not to leave me behind, or worse.

I take a single step towards the descent when my leg finally gives out, and I crash to the floor screaming in pain.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Castor climbs over the fire and suddenly I’m pulled against him, my arms locked around his.

“What are you doing?!”

“Babysitting a toddler,” He grumbles.

My eyes widen when I’m pushed down on my back, and Baron settles between my legs. Panic claws at my chest and I drive my foot into Baron’s chest, but it barely even makes a sound. He straddles my left leg and suddenly I’m immobile. I can’t kick him with my other leg, and I try—-I really fucking try—but it’s like he’s sitting on that leg too, and an invisible weight pins it in place until he’s on me again, yanking up my pant leg before I can stop him.

Baron recoils when he lifts up the cloth. “What the fuck?”

Castor’s eyes widen when he sees it, but I don’t.

I smell it first.

The putrid odor hits me like its own bullet and nearly makes me vomit—a smell of mothballs and ammonia that even Castor recoils from. I can’t react, even when both of them are spitting and hiding their faces from whatever was left of my leg.

Baron’s eyes snap to me, his voice muffled as he covers his mouth with his sleeve. “Jesus, doll, what the hell happened?”

“What happened?” I scoff. “You shot me!”

Castor scans over my leg, his features drawn together in concern as he falls silent, like he just remembered they put a .22 in my leg a week ago.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asks.

I jerk my arms against his grip and Castor tightens it to a painful level.

“Answer me,” he growls.

“Fuck you, I don’t owe you an explanation.” I free one of my hands and manage to throw a weak punch at his leg before he grabs me again.

“I said ‘answer me’.”

They dig their hands into my skin and when Baron touches the hole in my leg, I scream in agony. I knew once I’d locked Castor in that gas chamber they’d use any means to torture me again. They found another weakness, and every twist Baron makes in my leg forces a tear down my cheek between screams.

Baron digs his hand in tighter, twisting my leg in opposite directions just around my wound, and I fight back the urge to sob.

“Do not make me ask again,” Castor warns me one last time.

“The hell does it matter to you?” I growl. “You didn’t need to know. I’ve handled worse in the field than a fucking bullet.”

They both stop and Baron releases my leg, though it doesn’t stop the burn in my thigh from spreading.

Then one of them sighs.

“It’s infected,” Baron mutters.

“No shit, sherlock.”

Baron responds instead by throwing his fist into my hair, gripping it tightly and pulling me out of Castor’s grip.

“You’re awfully fucking mouthy for someone that needs our help.”

I throw him a defiant look beneath the pain. “And what if I don’t want your help?”

His eyes narrow. “I wasn’t asking.”

They both move in a flash and suddenly, they move positions as Castor yanks my legs from under me and Baron is pinning my arms above my head.

I flinch when Castor’s rough hands move along my tender skin, and when he doesn’t stop, I raise my other foot to kick him.

“Just stop.” Castor straddles my other leg in the same way Baron did, but he’s not looking at me this time. He’s rifling through his pockets, muttering angrily to himself. “Why do you have to make helping you so fucking difficult?”

“I don’t want your help!” I thrash against Baron’s hold, if not to escape than to inconvenience them for touching me.

“Is it still in your leg?” Castor asks.

I blink. “What?”

“The bullet. Is it still in your leg?”

My brows push together and I shrug. I’d never bothered to tend the wound. Having a building dropped on someone could shift their priorities. I’d just accepted the pain in my thigh as another lingering memory of their torture.

I shift myself up just enough to glance at my leg, and I nearly faint. My entire right leg is swollen and red. Traces of purple and yellow circle the small hole in my leg, and a disgusting fluid drips out of it and onto the rock.

I understand why they’d had to stop themselves from vomiting when bile rises quickly in my throat and I turn my head to spit it from my mouth.

Castor studies my leg, and I’m not sure if I’m more freaked out by his empty stare or the sudden concern he has instead. I wish his hands reflected that same concern he has for me, but his hands feel like sandpaper gripping and turning my leg while I cry out in pain. He turns it to one side and stares at it before moving it back to place, watching me like he’s fucking dissecting me, only I have the displeasure of feeling every fucking movement, and I swear I can feel the bullet still inside me jostling with each careless movement.

Finally, he lets go.

“There’s no exit wound,” he says to Baron.

Baron follows Castor’s observation, sighing. “What do you want to do?”

“Do you have any gloves?”

I feel all the color drain from my face.

They can’t be serious. For the love god, tell me that you’re joking.

Castor reaches into his coat and brings out a small medpack, and suddenly I get feeling in my leg again.

I throw my body to the side in a panic, only just freeing my limbs from their grip before both men are on me, one hand on each limb and pulling me straight while I scream and kick.

“Sit still,” Castor grunts, wrestling for control over the new strength in my limbs. I manage to kick him once before the concern in his eyes is gone and he flips himself over, straddling my waist so I can’t kick him.

He sifts through the medpack, his voice cold and detached. “You’re lucky we raided the cabin before we left or you’d be fucked, doll.”

“Get off me!” I thrash against Baron’s grip, and his hands flex, gripping my wrists tighter. “You are not performing surgery in the middle of the fucking Alps!”

“You don’t really have a lot of options here.” Castor leans over me, pulling my jaw up until I’m forced to look at him. “Infection is just as bad as blood loss, Helena. Be smart. What happens if you don’t treat an infected bullet wound?”

There’s a gaping hole in my chest, a void where courage should be, but it’s been carved out because I know the answer and so do they.

“Sepsis.”

He nods.

“If you’re lucky, you’d be necrotic and lose your leg. If not…” His hand drops from my face and when his other appears, I start to tremble.

In his hands is a small curved needle.

“Wait, wait.” I push back against Baron’s chest, trying to slide my leg from under Castor’s weight but it doesn’t budge. “I’m sure it’s fine. Just clean it.”

He threads the needle with a thin black string.

“Normally, I’d agree, but this level of infection needs debriding and closing.” He lifts his hips, sliding off his belt and wrapping it around my leg.

My mind goes blank and their voices become muffled. I can’t think, and the void in my chest is now a weight that forces my breaths out shorter and shorter. He’s going to kill me. No, it’s worse. He’s going to perform fucking surgery with no anesthetic in the mountains.

“W-wait. Castor, I’m sorry. We aren’t far from the city. I’ll be fine.” I can barely speak, the words coming out strained and muffled under the tears turning my throat raw.

Castor yanks the belt tight.

“You have two choices here, doll.” Baron pushes my head down to the rock and Castor disappears from my line of vision. “You can suck it up and let us work, or you can die.”

I crane my neck to watch Castor but just as I catch a glimpse of the sharp needle glinting in the light, my head is pushed down again and forcing my pulse into overdrive.

My chest constricts and my breaths feel like gasps for air that don’t quite reach my lungs. I’m falling, the sky swirling in my vision, tunneling until I can only see that image in my head of Castor preparing to stab me without so much of a glimpse of remorse on his face.

When I jolt again as Castor touches my leg, he pulls away, glancing back at me with irritation.

“Why are you scared?” he asks. “You said you had much worse in the field.”

I can’t hear him. I can’t hear anything. I can’t hear my own thoughts. I can’t hear anything above the bounding pulse in my ears, my hands, my chest. They’re going to kill me. I’m dying. I can’t breathe. The sky is dimming. Oh my god, he’s going to kill me. Fuck, I don’t want to die. I can’t die. I can’t breathe.

“Please!” I try to speak, but the words are rasps, and I’m sucking in breaths between each word. “...sorry.”

Another gasp.

“Please don’t.”

Another gasp.

“Can’t…breathe.”

Tears fall between my pleas. I don’t care about that stupid word anymore. I can’t breathe. I don’t want to die here.

Baron groans in annoyance, forcing my head still as I start trembling.

“You’re such a fucking baby. Stay still,” he says, rolling his eyes before he flashes a grin. “I’d hate for him to go too deep. He might hit an artery.”

“Baron!”

His eyes lift when Castor shouts and seconds later, he’s released me.

I bolt up instantly, scrambling to sit up, though Castor still has my legs pinned. I find the needle again, still in Castor’s gloved hands. There’s voices calling, muddled amongst the pounding in my ears, but I can’t look away. I can feel the pain of it sinking into my leg slowly, while both of them laugh and mock me when I scream.

I flinch when his hand moves, but he doesn’t stab me with it. He sets the needle down, placing a gloved hand on my cheek.

“Hey,” he says gently. His thumb caresses my cheek. “Look at me.”

My eyes flick up to meet his, barely visible through the tears brimming. I swallow down a sob with a plea stuck in my throat, and a tear slides down my cheek.

His eyes soften, and he leans back to give me space. He holds up the needle in his other hand. “Is this what you’re scared of?”

His hand moves to my shoulder, giving me a reassuring squeeze but I shake him off.

He sighs. “Doll—”

“Don’t!” I shove his hands off me, throwing a teary glare at him. I don’t need his pity. I don’t want it, and I certainly don’t want him fucking stabbing me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What difference does it make!” I shout through the tears. “Just leave me alone! I’m fine!”

Castor reaches out for me again but Baron cuts him off with a harsh, derisive laugh.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Needles? Seriously?” He yanks the needle from Castor’s hand, flashing it in front of me and I flinch. “You can handle electrocution, gunshot wounds and having a star carved into your fucking chest but two stitches is where you draw the line?”

I don’t answer. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of trying to explain myself, even as my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Pain is different to everyone, and watching any kind of piercing video makes me want to vomit. I can hardly even get my blood drawn without passing out. I’d rather lose a finger than be a pincushion for these men, especially one who would stab me just to laugh in my face.

Baron’s face darkens with anger when I don’t answer him and he jabs the needle in front of my face again before Castor rips it from his grip.

“Leave her alone, Arik!” He barks. He thumbs the needle in his hands before he sighs. “I get it, doll. We’re all scared of something.” His eyes lift to mine, and I almost think the look in his eyes is pity or something to mirror Baron’s sick fascination, but it’s warmer.

“You won’t make it down the mountain, not like that.” He pinches the needle between his fingers and I flinch again, expecting him to jab it into my leg. He doesn’t though, pointing it down against his skin. “I used to be a medic. I’ve done this plenty of times before, and I know the more you freak about it, the worse it’s going to feel.” He pierces the thick skin of his forearm, pulling it out before I have a chance to recoil. “See?” He smiles, wiping the blood clean. “Two seconds.”

I stare at the two tiny holes in his skin, beading with blood like a snakebite.

“Helena,” he says, drawing my attention back to him. “If it hurts, I’ll stop, but we have to treat your leg.”

Tears spill over my eyes. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know why the thought of him helping me hurts more than the thought of chancing sepsis in the middle of the Austrian Alps. The pain is an afterthought than the way he’s looking at me now. Maybe it’s pity because of his own PTSD, but it’s more than that and it’s sickening.

My silence isn’t enough. He wants more. He always wants more.

“Will you let me help?” he asks.

I would’ve rather them force it from me, to hold me down and laugh when I scream, to fuck me even when I say no, to use me and make me feel like I have no choice. That’s easier than saying yes.

But I nod anyway.

“Yes,” I say with a muffled sob.

Castor bows his head as he sifts through the medpack again, coming up with a tiny bottle of antiseptic. He tears off the end of his sleeve before coating it in the liquid and dabbing it on the festering wound in my leg.

He’s not gentle. He digs the rag deep into my wound, scrubbing it harshly even as I tense up and jerk from the immense pain that follows. It stings worse than his poison had, and if I hadn’t seen the bottle, I would’ve sworn he’s pouring acid down into the wound and mixing it with fucking salt.

Copper floods my tongue as I bite down on my lip, knowing that if I allow myself to speak, I’ll end up screaming.

And just as quickly as it starts, he’s finished. He tosses the bloodied cloth back into the bag along with the antiseptic before he takes the tiny needle into his hands.

The panic comes back in a tight ball in my chest, forcing my breaths to come out shallow and uneven. My eyes lock onto the metal as he runs his finger over it, hovering just above the wound in my leg. I clench my fists to hold back more tears, but one sneaks through, running down my cheek just as Castor looks up.

“Helena,” he calls out to me.

I flinch when his other hand settles across my knee.

His head cocks and that softness in his eyes is back. “Look at me, doll.”

I can’t look away, thinking if I do, the needle will disappear and drive into my skin unless I watch it. But then, he calls my name again, and I force myself to meet his gaze.

“Breathe when I tell you,” he says.

My eyes snap shut tightly, and my jaw tenses. “Just get it over with.”

I’m pulled back down seconds later, Baron settling my head into his lap to block my view of Castor as he settles back over my legs. My eyes dart around the sky, searching frantically through it for something to grab onto, some distraction to keep me from thinking about the inevitable stabbing in my leg.

“Bite down,” Baron orders.

I turn my chin up to meet his cold gaze. “On what?”

He places his arm in front of my mouth.

“Me.”

I look up at him again in question, waiting for him to mock me again or tell me that I’m being ridiculous, but his eyes—-unlike the concern in Castor’s—-are dead serious and dark, daring me to tell him no, and the smirk that’s usually on his face is gone now.

“Come on, Helena,” he chides. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to hurt me back.”

I wait another second for him to change his mind, but I know he won’t. He never will. So I take his forearm into my mouth, my tongue tasting the mixture of cotton and snow, and bite down.

Castor places a hand on my leg, holding it firm. “Breathe in.”

My breath turns into a sharp cry as I feel the needle pierce through my thigh. I brace myself on my hands, trying to push myself up, but Baron wraps a hand around my neck, forcing me back into his lap and pushing his arm harder against my mouth.

“Harder,” he demands.

I do as he says and I bite down again, focusing on the thick material of his under armour, imagining my teeth going through it and digging into his bare skin.

“Breathe out.”

I let out a harsh breath, wincing as the needle pulls through again. I bite down harder as he pulls it tight, tying it in a small knot on my skin.

Baron’s hand moves along my throat to my jaw, stroking it with his thumb while the thread is snipped and Castor moves to thread another.

“That’s it, doll,” Baron coos, stroking my cheek. “Focus on me. I want you to draw blood.”

“In,” Castor says again.

I inhale, only wincing when it pierces my skin again. Baron’s eyes soften and he strokes my hair, combing it with his fingers until my jaw slackens against his arm and my eyes flutter closed.

“Out.”

I barely register his last command, instead finding myself drawn into Baron’s arms. He keeps me close, stroking my hair and brushing it from my face while Castor finishes his work and I can hear a soft laugh come from above me. It’s unusual. I’ve never been held this way before. My dad was never affectionate and neither was my mother. They loved me in their own way, but this was entirely different, and I don’t want him to stop.

When I open my eyes again, Castor’s putting the medpack away. My eyes meet Baron’s, and I almost see that cold blue turning warmer as he watches me. That feeling pools over into me and I’m hit with another wave of that feeling I keep searching for, the one that makes me smile.

But the look only lasts a second before Baron throws me off him and stands abruptly.

“Are you going to stop bitching now? It’s cold as fuck out here.” He takes a stance next to Castor, extending a hand to pull him to his feet.

I look away, inspecting my leg that’s red and swollen, but the smell is gone and it’s been closed with two small stitches in my leg.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Castor says without looking up. He pats the dust and dirt off himself and extends a hand to me.

I take his hand and he pulls me to my feet. I take a few steps, testing out the weight I can manage on my leg and it’s surprisingly painless, in spite of the slight sting when the stitches pull my skin tight with each movement.

“Keep it covered,” Castor says as I turn and pace back towards them. “We still have a ways to go and not enough medicine.”

They lead me forward, this time keeping me in front of them as we make our way again down the trail. A tense silence falls between us and wraps around my body, coiling like a snake that’s pulling me so tight I can hardly breathe.

Why did they help me?

“We want you alive,” Castor says from behind me.

My head whips around, stopping only for a moment. Did I say that out loud?

He meets me, stopping just as the tips of his shoes hit mine. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he looks down on me, his eyes scanning over me like he was trying to read me, to peel away the edges of that rock that sits in my chest when I look at him.

Then his eyes glaze over into those black voids that I’d seen the first time we met and he pushes past me.

“Don’t read into it, doll. You’re just a job. Once we clear the mountains, you’re on your own.”

The two men continue on the trail and I have no choice but to follow, hoping I can leave that feeling behind, and lose them to the mountains.