(no subject)
Title: Rabid Animal
Pairing: Michael/T-Bag, Abruzzi/T-bag
Chronology: Around the time of Episode 1:19 The Key
Word Count: 1832
Rating: R
Warnings: Cutting/self-mutilation, lots and lots of angst, language, violence, rape, incest, child abuse, sexual abuse implied
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters nor do I own them.
Author's Notes: The name of T-bags home town and mother are borrowed from Nick Cave's song "The Curse of Millhaven" from one of my favorite T-bag evoking soundtracks the ablum Murder Ballads.
Summary: Michael tries to connect with T-bag but it's never a good idea to extend your hand to a rabid animal.
"Maybe it was his low-latent inhibition disorder but Michael felt as if carefully maintained protective distance he kept between T-bag and himself was disappearing."
Rabid Animal
“Fluttering ‘round the flame again little moth?” T-bag greeted him as he walked into the showers.
“Sometimes it’s unavoidable,” Michael answered coolly. The older man was standing under the water, his back to Michael.
“You’re not the kind who leaves things to chance pretty. I’ve been strung along before, I know how it works.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael answered, hanging back cautiously.
“You’re stringing us all along. You give out information in bit’s and pieces, enough to keep everybody on their toes, turn on and off with the love. Sometimes you’re real friendly with those guys, you’re their best friend but they step out of line, you’re all business. Now you won’t be my friend, but every now and then you take a walk through here for my benefit, just to remind me what I’m missing.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“I not saying it isn’t working on me or the rest.” He turned, facing Michael now. His hair was slicked down flat, wet and dark accentuating the hollowness of his face, the dark circles around his eyes but all Michael saw were the red lines etched in careless x’s and crosses. “You just ought to keep in mind that I just that sooner or later people are gonna be expecting you to provide them with some kind of satisfaction.” He noticed Michael’s eyes intently reading his body. “You see somethin’ that catches your fancy pretty?”
“You’re bleeding,” Michael said. “What happened?”
Surprisingly the other man looked away, “Just workin’ out nervous tension.”
“You did that to yourself?”
“Wasn’t anyone else around to do it to.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say that the presence of John Abruzzi, even a God fearing, Christ emulating John Abruzzi doesn’t exactly put me at ease.”
“I saw the look on your face when he came back here. You’re afraid of him, aren’t you? Really afraid.”
“I’m not the cool, cerebral type like some pretty,” T-bag said. “My whole life I’ve been called an animal and maybe there’s some truth to that cuz even since Saint Abruzzi made his reappearance every nerve in my body has been screaming fight or flight. Problem is the State of Illinois has taken away the option of flight and your old pal C-Note nixed the fighting option. These little scratches, they’re just my best effort at impulse control.”
Maybe it was his low-latent inhibition disorder but Michael felt as if carefully maintained protective distance he kept between T-bag and himself was disappearing. He remembered smashing his head against the bars of his cell while Haywire protested, cutting into his arm for the pill he had given Lincoln, pounding his fist into the walls in Solitary until he drew blood, the absolute focus he had found in these acts in spite of and because of the pain they caused him.
Michael reached out, rested his hand on T-bag’s bare shoulder blade. “I think I understand,” He said. T-bag regarded Michael’s hand with skittish suspicion and perhaps a touch of awe.
“You’re touching me,” he pointed out. “You sure that’s something you want to be doing?”
“You can talk to me about this. Why are you so afraid of John?”
“Why don’t you count to 19 on all your fingers and toes darlin’, and tell me why you’re not.”
“Good point.”
“I’ve tangled with the man two times since you’ve been here, you know what happened. First time I got beaten within in inch of my life, second time would have taken that last inch if he hadn’t had some kind of road to Damascus crack-up. And those are my pleasant memories of the man.”
“If I’m not mistaken,” Michael interject, “weren’t you trying to kill me that first time?” The familiar, predatory gaze flickered in T-bag’s eyes for the first time since the subject of the cuts had come up.
“You asked me about Abruzzi, pretty. Not if I’ve always had honorable intentions towards your sweet ass.”
“You don’t make this easy.”
*
He was in the showers and there were other people around him, nothing out of the ordinary then suddenly someone had him by the hair holding his face directly under the stream of water till he couldn’t breath held him there till he started to lose consciousness then threw him to the floor. Everyone was gone, there were six men standing there fully clothed they must have paid off the guards. He was still gasping for breath when they started kicking him.
“That’s enough for now,” a voice echoed off walls an unfamiliar accent. “String him up, I want to talk to this piece of shit.”
He was dragged to his feet, his arms tied to the shower fixture over his head. One of the men came forward, a big man with greasy hair, got directly in his face.
“I’m John Abruzzi,” he said. “As of yesterday afternoon I own Fox River. I want to make sure we have a few things explicitly clear from the start. I’m a family man, I have children. The things you’ve done are absolutely unforgivable. Those six boys and girls you killed and desecrated those were someone’s children.”
“I appreciate the moral guidance from a fine family man like yourself. I don’t suppose you’ve considered that every competitor you've ever had wacked was some mother’s son.” Abruzzi punched him in the face.
“Keep your filthy mouth shut Bagwell. You disgust me. You’re a mad dog and you should have been put down like a mad dog a long time ago. You should not be alive. You’d have been shanked like any other pervert if you didn’t hadn’t connections in the Purity Alliance and I’d kill you myself right now if it wasn’t more trouble then you’re worth.
“I’m a business man, I have a business to run and I want you to stay out of my way, you and all the Illinois Nazi’s stupid enough to let some faggot tell them what to do just because he’s the most in-bred piece of white trash in Dixie. You think you do that, Teddy?”
“Yes boss, I swear you’ll get no trouble from me, you have my word.” Abruzzi held him by the throat.
“Spare me the scrapping and bowing Bagwell. And spare me your fucking lies,” he spat, undoing his belt. “There’s only one language filth like you understand. Cut him down,” he ordered. “Keep hold of him. He’s going to fight even though it’ll just make it worse, he’s too fucking stupid not to.” He did fight, did struggled while Abruzzi, hand wrapped in his belt stood solidly, smashing him across the face again and again till he was too dazed to resist.
Abruzzi pulled the belt tight across his throat, penetrated him with brutal purpose. “Does this hurt you piece of shit?” His voice betrayed no urgency, no sexual abandon, just business. “Remember this, and remember who did it to you.” Finished, he withdrew his belt, fastened it again around his waist. “Keep hold of him,” he ordered his men. “You never turn your back on someone like him even when you think he’s beat. That’s a fucking animal, a rabid animal. You have to hump him like a mongrel to let him know who’s in charge and if you look away he will be at your throat.”
*
“Men like Abruzzi.” T-bag told Michael. “The kind of who can tell you you're a faggot while he’s fucking you and kill you without it reflecting negatively on his character, there’s nothing I can do against man like that.”
“You cut his throat, you almost killed him.” Michael said but T-bag wasn’t listening.
“The man who brought me up, my uncle was like that.”
“I don’t know if this is true,” Michael struggled, trying to phrase it delicately, “I mean I’ve heard, your uncle was he your father?”
“My mother always said so. She told me so from the time I was four years old. She’d tell anyone who’d listen, doctors and nurses, all the orderlies in the place where she was staying. The place where I come from, Millhaven, it’s a small town. There was always talk. People found it a titillating possibility but I don’t think very many truly believed it. My mother, Lottie was a madwoman. When I was seven or eight, they finally burned out enough of her brain to shut her up. My uncle wasn’t like that. He was not a crazy person. He was a respectable man some would say a great man. Anyone who heard the rumors looked at him and thought they couldn’t be true but I always believed my mother because I knew what my uncle was capable of.”
“What?”
“I wasn't always trash. My uncle was a banker, a business man just like your good friend John Abruzzi. He knew how to compartmentalize, keep the parts of his life separate. He never considered that he had grown up with someone when he was foreclosing their mortgage. He used to beat me and my cousin Jimmy senseless but he’d never raise his voice with an employee or a customer. And I’m fairly certain that occasionally fucking his crazy sister didn’t make him any less of a devoted husband and father in his eyes because fucking his crazy nephew never did.”
A tremor shook his shoulders. Michael reached out instinctively, put his arms around the other man and so quickly, breathtakingly quick T-bag was melded to him, his tongue in Michael’s mouth body mashed against him, his hands digging into Michael’s ass. Something happened, he had been close and suddenly he was too close, falling into a gaping hole engulfed by need by pain.
Falling all the way through, like when he was a kid and he through that if you fell far enough you’d come out on the other side of the world, in China or Australia and everything would be upside down. Everything was upside down, twisted around. Helplessness, need, hunger justifying blind killing rage and an insatiable capacity to take, to hurt, to abuse.
Michael tried to push T-bag away but he was too tightly clenched he finally succeeded in prying the other man off shoving him away. Michael backed away, covering himself with his towel.
“Why did you have to do that?” He gasped. “I was trying to help you.” T-bag for a moment, the briefest moment seemed baffled, shaken ran his fingers through his hair and smiled with clenched teeth.
“And I was trying to help myself pretty.”
Michael was almost shaking with anger,searching for the most damaging words, “You belong here, you should be locked up. John was right about you. You are a rabid animal, there is only one language you understand.” There was distance now, he could get away.
“Abruzzi never said that to me,” T-bag snarled after Michael. “None of those things I told you ever happened. Those were lies to draw you in, you hear me boy? Nothing but lies.”
Pairing: Michael/T-Bag, Abruzzi/T-bag
Chronology: Around the time of Episode 1:19 The Key
Word Count: 1832
Rating: R
Warnings: Cutting/self-mutilation, lots and lots of angst, language, violence, rape, incest, child abuse, sexual abuse implied
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters nor do I own them.
Author's Notes: The name of T-bags home town and mother are borrowed from Nick Cave's song "The Curse of Millhaven" from one of my favorite T-bag evoking soundtracks the ablum Murder Ballads.
Summary: Michael tries to connect with T-bag but it's never a good idea to extend your hand to a rabid animal.
"Maybe it was his low-latent inhibition disorder but Michael felt as if carefully maintained protective distance he kept between T-bag and himself was disappearing."
Rabid Animal
“Fluttering ‘round the flame again little moth?” T-bag greeted him as he walked into the showers.
“Sometimes it’s unavoidable,” Michael answered coolly. The older man was standing under the water, his back to Michael.
“You’re not the kind who leaves things to chance pretty. I’ve been strung along before, I know how it works.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael answered, hanging back cautiously.
“You’re stringing us all along. You give out information in bit’s and pieces, enough to keep everybody on their toes, turn on and off with the love. Sometimes you’re real friendly with those guys, you’re their best friend but they step out of line, you’re all business. Now you won’t be my friend, but every now and then you take a walk through here for my benefit, just to remind me what I’m missing.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“I not saying it isn’t working on me or the rest.” He turned, facing Michael now. His hair was slicked down flat, wet and dark accentuating the hollowness of his face, the dark circles around his eyes but all Michael saw were the red lines etched in careless x’s and crosses. “You just ought to keep in mind that I just that sooner or later people are gonna be expecting you to provide them with some kind of satisfaction.” He noticed Michael’s eyes intently reading his body. “You see somethin’ that catches your fancy pretty?”
“You’re bleeding,” Michael said. “What happened?”
Surprisingly the other man looked away, “Just workin’ out nervous tension.”
“You did that to yourself?”
“Wasn’t anyone else around to do it to.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say that the presence of John Abruzzi, even a God fearing, Christ emulating John Abruzzi doesn’t exactly put me at ease.”
“I saw the look on your face when he came back here. You’re afraid of him, aren’t you? Really afraid.”
“I’m not the cool, cerebral type like some pretty,” T-bag said. “My whole life I’ve been called an animal and maybe there’s some truth to that cuz even since Saint Abruzzi made his reappearance every nerve in my body has been screaming fight or flight. Problem is the State of Illinois has taken away the option of flight and your old pal C-Note nixed the fighting option. These little scratches, they’re just my best effort at impulse control.”
Maybe it was his low-latent inhibition disorder but Michael felt as if carefully maintained protective distance he kept between T-bag and himself was disappearing. He remembered smashing his head against the bars of his cell while Haywire protested, cutting into his arm for the pill he had given Lincoln, pounding his fist into the walls in Solitary until he drew blood, the absolute focus he had found in these acts in spite of and because of the pain they caused him.
Michael reached out, rested his hand on T-bag’s bare shoulder blade. “I think I understand,” He said. T-bag regarded Michael’s hand with skittish suspicion and perhaps a touch of awe.
“You’re touching me,” he pointed out. “You sure that’s something you want to be doing?”
“You can talk to me about this. Why are you so afraid of John?”
“Why don’t you count to 19 on all your fingers and toes darlin’, and tell me why you’re not.”
“Good point.”
“I’ve tangled with the man two times since you’ve been here, you know what happened. First time I got beaten within in inch of my life, second time would have taken that last inch if he hadn’t had some kind of road to Damascus crack-up. And those are my pleasant memories of the man.”
“If I’m not mistaken,” Michael interject, “weren’t you trying to kill me that first time?” The familiar, predatory gaze flickered in T-bag’s eyes for the first time since the subject of the cuts had come up.
“You asked me about Abruzzi, pretty. Not if I’ve always had honorable intentions towards your sweet ass.”
“You don’t make this easy.”
*
He was in the showers and there were other people around him, nothing out of the ordinary then suddenly someone had him by the hair holding his face directly under the stream of water till he couldn’t breath held him there till he started to lose consciousness then threw him to the floor. Everyone was gone, there were six men standing there fully clothed they must have paid off the guards. He was still gasping for breath when they started kicking him.
“That’s enough for now,” a voice echoed off walls an unfamiliar accent. “String him up, I want to talk to this piece of shit.”
He was dragged to his feet, his arms tied to the shower fixture over his head. One of the men came forward, a big man with greasy hair, got directly in his face.
“I’m John Abruzzi,” he said. “As of yesterday afternoon I own Fox River. I want to make sure we have a few things explicitly clear from the start. I’m a family man, I have children. The things you’ve done are absolutely unforgivable. Those six boys and girls you killed and desecrated those were someone’s children.”
“I appreciate the moral guidance from a fine family man like yourself. I don’t suppose you’ve considered that every competitor you've ever had wacked was some mother’s son.” Abruzzi punched him in the face.
“Keep your filthy mouth shut Bagwell. You disgust me. You’re a mad dog and you should have been put down like a mad dog a long time ago. You should not be alive. You’d have been shanked like any other pervert if you didn’t hadn’t connections in the Purity Alliance and I’d kill you myself right now if it wasn’t more trouble then you’re worth.
“I’m a business man, I have a business to run and I want you to stay out of my way, you and all the Illinois Nazi’s stupid enough to let some faggot tell them what to do just because he’s the most in-bred piece of white trash in Dixie. You think you do that, Teddy?”
“Yes boss, I swear you’ll get no trouble from me, you have my word.” Abruzzi held him by the throat.
“Spare me the scrapping and bowing Bagwell. And spare me your fucking lies,” he spat, undoing his belt. “There’s only one language filth like you understand. Cut him down,” he ordered. “Keep hold of him. He’s going to fight even though it’ll just make it worse, he’s too fucking stupid not to.” He did fight, did struggled while Abruzzi, hand wrapped in his belt stood solidly, smashing him across the face again and again till he was too dazed to resist.
Abruzzi pulled the belt tight across his throat, penetrated him with brutal purpose. “Does this hurt you piece of shit?” His voice betrayed no urgency, no sexual abandon, just business. “Remember this, and remember who did it to you.” Finished, he withdrew his belt, fastened it again around his waist. “Keep hold of him,” he ordered his men. “You never turn your back on someone like him even when you think he’s beat. That’s a fucking animal, a rabid animal. You have to hump him like a mongrel to let him know who’s in charge and if you look away he will be at your throat.”
*
“Men like Abruzzi.” T-bag told Michael. “The kind of who can tell you you're a faggot while he’s fucking you and kill you without it reflecting negatively on his character, there’s nothing I can do against man like that.”
“You cut his throat, you almost killed him.” Michael said but T-bag wasn’t listening.
“The man who brought me up, my uncle was like that.”
“I don’t know if this is true,” Michael struggled, trying to phrase it delicately, “I mean I’ve heard, your uncle was he your father?”
“My mother always said so. She told me so from the time I was four years old. She’d tell anyone who’d listen, doctors and nurses, all the orderlies in the place where she was staying. The place where I come from, Millhaven, it’s a small town. There was always talk. People found it a titillating possibility but I don’t think very many truly believed it. My mother, Lottie was a madwoman. When I was seven or eight, they finally burned out enough of her brain to shut her up. My uncle wasn’t like that. He was not a crazy person. He was a respectable man some would say a great man. Anyone who heard the rumors looked at him and thought they couldn’t be true but I always believed my mother because I knew what my uncle was capable of.”
“What?”
“I wasn't always trash. My uncle was a banker, a business man just like your good friend John Abruzzi. He knew how to compartmentalize, keep the parts of his life separate. He never considered that he had grown up with someone when he was foreclosing their mortgage. He used to beat me and my cousin Jimmy senseless but he’d never raise his voice with an employee or a customer. And I’m fairly certain that occasionally fucking his crazy sister didn’t make him any less of a devoted husband and father in his eyes because fucking his crazy nephew never did.”
A tremor shook his shoulders. Michael reached out instinctively, put his arms around the other man and so quickly, breathtakingly quick T-bag was melded to him, his tongue in Michael’s mouth body mashed against him, his hands digging into Michael’s ass. Something happened, he had been close and suddenly he was too close, falling into a gaping hole engulfed by need by pain.
Falling all the way through, like when he was a kid and he through that if you fell far enough you’d come out on the other side of the world, in China or Australia and everything would be upside down. Everything was upside down, twisted around. Helplessness, need, hunger justifying blind killing rage and an insatiable capacity to take, to hurt, to abuse.
Michael tried to push T-bag away but he was too tightly clenched he finally succeeded in prying the other man off shoving him away. Michael backed away, covering himself with his towel.
“Why did you have to do that?” He gasped. “I was trying to help you.” T-bag for a moment, the briefest moment seemed baffled, shaken ran his fingers through his hair and smiled with clenched teeth.
“And I was trying to help myself pretty.”
Michael was almost shaking with anger,searching for the most damaging words, “You belong here, you should be locked up. John was right about you. You are a rabid animal, there is only one language you understand.” There was distance now, he could get away.
“Abruzzi never said that to me,” T-bag snarled after Michael. “None of those things I told you ever happened. Those were lies to draw you in, you hear me boy? Nothing but lies.”