Fic: Seven Devils
Title: Seven Devils
Author: nieseryjna
Spoilers: None
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: extreme violence
Word count: ~580
Beta: by the one and only mam711. All remaining errors are mine.
Summary: Sometimes Neal has nightmares he never tells a soul about.
A/N: Title and inspiration from “Seven Devils” by Florence and the Machine
Fill to "Wild Card" on my h/c bingo - 'nightmares'
The surface he is lying on is narrow and hard, his legs and arms stretched and bound, making it impossible to move. It's dark, with just enough light seeping from everywhere that he can see his own body, but not more.
There'd been silence before, but now there are voices around him. Just murmurs, too low or too far away for him to understand. He calls out, to get help, but his screams die in the vast darkness surrounding him. The voices are still there, closer this time, but still only an unrecognizable murmur.
The panic sets in when something or someone touches his hand. It’s freezing cold; he can feel the blood in his veins slowing down. He can hear the beat of his own heart, going slower and slower with each beat.
Till he starts seeing something beyond the darkness.
He stares at his hand where he'd been touched, and now he can see. A hand creeps in, dark and cold in a dark blue suit. It disappears but the cold still sweep over him. He whimpers, his teeth chattering when he trembles.
Then on his other hand he feels a touch of heat. It’s blindingly hot; only a slight touch but he screams like he's never done before. This time the hand is white, manicured, elegant.
It’s like cold and hot have started a war over his body. Till another touch, and then another. Hands around his body, touching him-hands, arms, legs, torso. He tries to move, run away, but the bindings stay strong.
He’s in agony, screaming, begging for them to stop, when another hand touches his face. His eyes fly open, surprised when the touch doesn’t hurt. He sees himself looking down with concern in his eyes. His double is saying something, but he can’t hear him beyond the murmurs and his own screams. He stops but the sound resonates around.
He doesn’t know how much time passes. It could be a minute, or a day, or a week since the hands stilled.
He’s hoping it’s ended.
He’s mistaken.
When they start pulling, he is surprised to actually see them. They are no longer anonymous hands bringing pain. Now their touches themselves don’t hurt. Now they start a tug of war, fighting over him, tugging one by one. First at his left arm-Wilkes, and on the right, Adler. Like a match to see who will get more of his flesh. Then Keller and Fowler show on opposite sides, their fingers blending with his body, pulling on his flesh. They tug and pull like they would like to tear him apart ... and he can feel them succeeding.
He screams again when he feels the socket of his shoulder giving, and he doesn’t stop. He screams even louder when he sees Peter and Kramer starting on his legs, each pulling in different directions.
It doesn’t matter anymore; his screams fly around, just like his blood starts pouring from his veins and arteries. He looks forward, beyond everyone, lost in pain, tired, and out of hope-directly into the blue eyes of his father - a liar promising it will all end soon.
He wakes up on the cold floor of his apartment, sheets tangled around his body, pulling on each limb. His heart beats fast and strong; his body, clad just in boxers, glistens with sweat. He feels hot and cold at the same time. Groaning, he goes back to bed wishing he couldn’t feel anything at all.
The End