Chapter Text
limbo
Day Six
Dan thinks about that fact all night. Or at least what he assumes must be night. He tries to picture all the places near Burgerphile, the shitty park, the library, the video rental place that somehow still exists, the sporting goods... he wonders endlessly where he is right now. Is he below one of the fancy homes in the nice part of town? Is he below some awful office building? Is Chris walking nearby?
By the time Imposter returns hours later with food, Dan doesn't want to eat anymore. There's a painful cramp in his stomach that no amount of switching positions seems to alleviate and it only gets worse and worse and worse. They don't talk. It takes Dan a while to even get up and look in the bag.
Two burgers, no cheese, thank god. A soda and fries. A small stack of papers and a few pens- he figures that's supposed to keep him entertained. After he eats the cramp only gets worse so he distracts himself by making a calendar. It was the tenth when he disappeared but he can't remember how many nights it would've been now. At least three, he knows that much. maybe five? His memory is fuzzy. He crosses off the days he knows for sure and elects to cross one off every time it feels like a day has passed - however vague that system may be it's better than nothing.
The food sits heavy in his stomach and he has a faint, very worrying feeling he knows why. His bladder protests faster this time. He pulls one of the diapers out and stares at it. It's not that demeaning as long as he doesn't put it on. Better than peeing himself or risking a beating if he uses the soda cup, a genuine temptation.
It feels strange pulling himself out. He never pees standing up if he can avoid it, finds it undignified and kind of ridiculous. His movement is restricted so he has to awkwardly sit on his knees on the bench, diaper between them as he tries to aim properly. The entire time he's begging the imposter not to show up now.
He thinks of rushing water, of fountains, and still all his body does is clam up even harder. And if he pushes then his bowels begin to protest, a horrifying thing he cannot possibly risk. So he gives up, tucks himself back in and tosses the diaper back in the bag. He curls up on the cot and tries very hard to just sleep.
He startles awake sleep drunk and barely there, wondering what woke him up until he feels the high pitched stinging pain in his bladder. Drunkenly, in the dim lighting, he fishes for the plastic bag and tries to position himself at a lightning pace. Immediately his bladder releases and he hears the steady pitter patter against the diaper. He sighs very deeply, eyes shutting again. It's like he pees for an eternity. By the time he's done he's already half asleep again, nudging the diaper off the bench and flopping back down to sleep.
Day 7
Dan wakes up and immediately scratches out the 14th on his little calendar. He feels pretty good all things considered, his strength returning since he hasn't been drugged in a while, and he decides to finally check out that locked dresser. The locks are all comically large, the kind you'd put on a suitcase, but he wonders if they're really that tough. They're not the combination lock kind either so if he had something thin he could maybe...
The imposter clears his throat, inches behind him. Dan flinches so hard he almost falls over, whirling around in wide eyed panic. He hadn't even heard the creep approach. "Curious about what's in those?" he asks with a tight smile.
"...No," Dan tries, very lamely. "Just... bored."
"Ah but I dont believe you. And guess what? Today's your lucky day. But first..." He holds out a glass of foggy water. Drugged.
Dan knows better than to refuse so he takes it and obediently chugs it. "Blegh," he mutters as he hands it back.
"Now go back to your bed," the imposter orders. "I'm going to- oh?" His eyes catch on whats right next to the cot - the used diaper. Dan's entire body begins to burn with shame. "Couldn't hold it through the night?" he asks with mock sympathy. "Poor baby. Good thing I left you those, wouldn't want you to make another mess, huh?"
Dan burns even harder but he manages to keep his mouth shut.
"Good boy. Now c'mon, on your cot..."
"Why are you doing this?" Dan asks as he sits down and, upon gestured instruction, lies flat on his back. "All of this."
The imposter goes silent and Dan thinks he might have been caught off guard but can't see his face to confirm. "I..." He swallows audibly. "I've just always wanted to. Isn't there stuff you've always wanted to do? That strange... need."
Dan thinks about Chris' wedding. "Maybe," he offers very quietly. He thinks of himself tearing up his best man speech begging Chris to reconsider, of flushing it down the toilet, of getting tears on his suit - the first time he'd cried in years. He thinks about the constant reminders of Elise. For five whole years. An entire half to Chris' world that he wanted so badly to hate.
"Chris?" the imposter asks and it sounds sympathetic. "Yeah, I thought so." He sounds almost sad, or at least Dan would think he does if it didn't seem so ridiculous. "I read your diary. It was... depressing to say the least. Do you ever want to hurt him?"
Dan stares at the dark ceiling - the dim lighting affords barely any visuals to any part of the room unless he's right in front of it. "I do hurt him."
"I'm sure getting punched by you feels like a kitten slapping you," Imposter chuckles. "I mean really hurt."
"...Sometimes," Dan confesses. "But I want to hurt everybody."
"This is that, then. You're my Chris if you will. And I want to hurt you." Something glints in the corner of Dan's eye and he turns his head, straining to see. He's pretty sure it's a knife. His instincts are screaming at him to get up and run but he knows there isn't anywhere to go and if he moves it's just gonna hurt way, way more. So he forces his entire body to go ramrod straight, small tremors running through him from the sheer amount of panicked energy being contained. "Do you want to hurt me?"
"Yes," Dan chokes out like a love confession. "Yes."
His smile is audible. "I'm glad to have met such a strange, pathetic, sad little kindred spirit. It keeps me humble to know how alike we are."
Without warning Dan is being sliced into.
Dan yowls and jerks his entire body away from the knife. He takes a sharp inhale and grits his teeth, refusing to give the man any more of what he wants. He's not gonna put on a show. He'll make this boring and the imposter will give up and leave.
"Y'know," Imposter begins casually, rattling around in a drawer. Dan counts his own breaths. "I did consider, after I get bored of you... I could dress up as you properly this time, prosthetics and all, and kill Chris as you. It'd be a fitting end to such a lap dog..."
Dan's teeth feel like they're going to shatter any moment now. He has to fight with himself, knows better than to say anything while his irrational body wants so badly to yell at him, to tell him he doesn't get to hurt Chris over this stupid feud. That that's not fair. This is about me, he wants to yell, about me and not him. You don't get to touch him too.
"I wondered if I could confess to him as you first... because that is what this is all about, right? You trailing after him. Your hatred for Elise."
"Confess?" Dan slips up and lets the word escape his mouth. He closes his eyes in self directed anger. He'd wanted to give him nothing. The blade is replaced by cool silicone. He tries to crane his neck to see - it's phallic. and pink. His breathing speeds up and he stops functioning, breaks in half, nothing left. He hears nothing but a very faint ringing, thinks maybe he's moving or maybe he isn't. His vision whites out or maybe his eyes are just closed. Nothing beneath him. Falling. Nothing, not for a long long time.
The first thing he hears is a scream and it takes him a minute to realise it's his own scratchy dry voice. He's on the floor and his back is erupting in a fountain of tiny stabbing pains. He doesn't feel his lower body. Is that good?
"C'mon," someone says and he's being lifted up onto something soft. His body shakes violently and he thinks he's drooling or crying or both - the answer is both, with his torso convulsing he feels liquid drip down his face and into his hand. He feels like he's vomiting translucent slime. "You're okay."
Dan blinks up at the imposter. Only now does he realise he didn't once begin to hope he'd been saved, however irrational it would've been, because he's given up. Maybe that's the better option. He wonders if there's a way the imposter could teach him to just dissociate and accept everything and not have to experience this horrible wounded animal panic every time.
"Now, I'm torn between two answers here. Either you're just that homophobic..." he drawls with a half smirk. Dan shudders again, coughs up more spit. "Or something happened. Hm? Did something happen?"
"No," Dan lies but then immediately wonders who this lie is meant to benefit. The man clearly knows already anyway, not like he can do much worse. "Yes." Through blurred vision he sees the two small cuts on his abdomen drip pretty blood. "My dad thought I was gay. So."
"So you proved it to him?" the imposter jokes.
"So he fucked me."
"Ah." A moment of quiet. "I see. To...?"
"To show me that it's awful. To be that way. To be... a..."
"For someone so assholeish you're not exactly jumping at the chance to say faggot."
Dan doesn't flinch but he does move imperceptibly slightly downwards. It's not exactly a word he doesn't hear often, not with his height, though being in California does help. Still every time all he can hear is his dad's voice. "No," he answers bitterly. "I'm not quite as awful as you are."
"Fair point. Though I prefer to think of it in terms of skill level. But nevermind that. That does explain your little bathroom blackout." He sighs like a long suffering wife. "Ah, that complicates things. It's all a bit... well no offence, but a lot for my tastes. I could always get Chris..."
Dan sits up straight immediately. "No. No no, you don't- have to- I can learn."
"Learn not to turn into a psych ward case every time you see a dildo?"
"Yes," Dan implores. "You're not gonna fucking break me. Just- you always spring it on me which is very rude and it- it- well it fucking sucks way worse that way. You could at least be honest about it!"
The imposter snorts. "What, tell you hey heads up you're about to be raped?"
"It's what my dad did!" Dan says firmly. "And it worked."
The imposter's face wrinkles. "Geez, kid... alright. Sure. If it worked for your dad- whom I would love to meet, by the way."
"He owns w8y," Dan immediately volunteers. "He's pretty easy to track down."
"That eager for me to off your old man?"
"I mean I'm not- wait, kill? I thought you'd just, I don't know, beat him up a bit." Dan's face twitches. "I guess that's okay." He thinks of Chris and Elise. And the threats. "I'm more... tit for tat."
"I've noticed. Didn't get ya very far with me though, did it?"
"...No," Dan very begrudgingly admits. "Still. Eye for an eye..."
"And the whole world goes blind. Wish people left in that second half." The imposter sticks his hand in one of the drawers and pulls out the dildo from before. "Hey, did you know- oh, heads up, I'm gonna rape you," he smiles good-naturedly, "did you know blood is thicker than water also has a second half that makes it mean the opposite?"
Dan tries very hard to hold eye contact with him. He'd been right, being told beforehand at the very least keeps him conscious, though whether or not that's better is still heavily up for debate. He follows him with his eyes as the imposter begins to circle his cot.
"The blood of the covenant is thicker- you know what a covenant is, right?" He almost looks bored as he stops to push Dan flat onto his back, hesitates, then rolls him onto his stomach.
"Yes," Dan's voice is muffled against the bench. "Of course I do."
"Yeah so the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. Meaning the exact opposite as the misquoted version people always use. It's so silly, the way people forget." His voice dips lower as he tugs Dan's pants down. He wonders if his heartbeat is audible. "Not like you though, hm? Such a good boy, keeping all of that inside you... You remember everything. You remember all of it."
Dan's glad his face is hidden because his eyes begin to burn very intensely.
"Every little touch," the imposter's hand presses against the small of his back, "every little squeeze," it dips down between his cheeks. "Your body and mind are records of all of it, isn't that beautiful? A living book of pain. A living little archive. This doesn't leave this room but," he laughs hard, "but I do truly understand why you're such a hateful little man. To tell you the truth, I would be too. The problem is you're not any good at it. Not any good at anything, really. It's sort of like watching an untrained stray dog try to complete a basic obstacle course. It's... embarrassing. It's beyond pity, dips straight into hatred. You just want to kick at him, you know? Well, of course you know. You do. Chris is your mangy little stray."
Dan's in a strange in-between state and he's pretty sure it's the sedative kicking in. He doesn't feel it when the imposter penetrates him until he's being emptied and then intruded for the second time - that's when the pain hits. It's completely dry. His body feels scraped out and his bowels ache more than ever before.
"I know, bud," the imposter coos. Dan must be making noises; he hadn't noticed. "But you don't exactly deserve lubricant, now do you? You're supposed to talk back. You're supposed to fight - you're so boring down here."
"M not," Dan mumbles with his lips against the board. "I tried." He's so exhausted. The sedative makes his brain feel wet.
"It's nice though," the imposter concedes, "in a way. I get to actually talk to you - you know, up there you never listened to anybody." His phrasing is making dan think about being in hell, or maybe being buried alive. This is kind of that. "Now all you do is listen. I think we'll get along eventually, even if only nearing the- well. The end." He laughs. The dildo goes in further this time and Dan feels like it's gonna come out his throat next. He's pretty sure he's making noises but it doesn't register, he just feels his mouth move in the rhythm of constant whimpers. "I bet you're wondering why im using a hunk of silicone," he rams it in extra far with a slight groan of effort, "and not myself. It's because this way it hurts you more. I'm not gonna stick my dick in you dry, geez thatd chafe, but it's what you deserve. Plus it's kind of nice to do something so *selfless*. You know, I'm not even getting off on this."
The words have their intended effect - it's so much worse to be used not for someone's pleasure but solely for his own pain. Humiliation burns a high pitched note nestled right beneath the physical agony in his chest. Thankfully, the sedative kicks in harder. He feels himself slipping someplace different. The pain is far away now, his thoughts molasses. "I get it," he sighs into the wood. "I get it."
A hum. "Just let it happen. Sleep."
"No..." Dan tries to pull himself up but finds his arms completely slack. "You're wrong about... about... the Chris dog thing." Words are a jumbled incomprehensible mess to him but he pushes on regardless, even as he feels his lower body turn to a bloody pulp under the assault. At least it feels that way. "I... I feel... warmly towards..." He swallows and it tastes of metal. Did he bite his lip? His tongue? "Him. I dont hate him. You have to know..." He's slurring heavily now. His eyes won't open anymore. "You have to. Not hate. Not pity. Not kicking... he... I... need..." His mouth gives out. He drools warm saliva over his split lip. The world goes all fuzzy at the edges and finally in the centre.
It remains fuzzy even as he's ripped back into consciousness. For a moment he can't remember where he is but that dies a quick death when he feels the soft slap of flesh against flesh. He opens his eyes and tries to lift his head - the imposter's on top of him, not that he'd be able to see if it were anyone else. His lower body feels a strange type of burning-numb, like frostbite. But when he breathes he feels a rattle in his lungs and his chest aches with each inhale. When the imposter reels back Dan realises too late why that is - his chest is where the man has been punching him.
What a sedative, he muses as he's knocked back down flat on his back with a cracking noise. Could probably knock a tiger out.
Slap, slap, thwack. Dan tastes blood pooling in his mouth and he has to tilt to the side to let it run down. He gingerly feels around with his tongue to check if he still has all his precious teeth - he does. "Haaah..." His attempt at speech turns into a gurgling noise and he has to spit out more liquid. "Are you gonna kill me?" It comes out hoarse and wet at the same time, somehow.
"Ah, you're awake," the imposter grunts. "No. Well I don't plan on it. Would you like me to?"
Dan takes a long moment to analyse his own body. The throbbing headache, the horrible pain in his chest, the biting numb of his lower body. He thinks of Chris and Elise and Mr Mumbles but can't quite remember what they look like. "Yes," he croaks. "Please."
"That's a no then." But he sounds happy about it. "I don't think you'll need any stitches but I'd recommend not moving much once I'm done here."
"Please," Dan repeats and almost chokes on the blood. It's only now that he realises it's not internal bleeding but rather that his face is... He tries to lift a hand and lets out a shriek at the stabbing pain down his arm and into his chest. His fingers brush against his nose and are immediately drowned in wetness. Not broken, he thinks, maybe, but definitely bleeding bad. His lips feel mangled too. "Please. Please. Please."
"Shhh. Almost done here." The imposter lets out a groan as he grabs at his hips, drawing him in close for his final thrusts. Dan feels warmth inside of him and tries to block his lower body's nerves out even more. He doesn't want to feel it and so he simply doesn't. Instead his entire system focuses on pain. "Fuck, you're such a fucking tiny little thing. Everyone I've fucked is always bigger, except the kids. You're..."
Dan's head is full of water. Kids. Kids. Kids. "Kill me," he begs again. He thinks about Chris finding his body in a dumpster somewhere and gets a strange sick sort of thrill at the idea. He pictures him weeping. Pictures being cradled like he mattered, maybe in death Chris can truly pretend Dan was a good friend.
"Don't cry," the imposter coos. "I'll kill you eventually, don't worry." He pulls out of him with a wet slapping noise, fumbling with his belt. Dan hears it click into place. "I'll make sure Chris doesn't see, okay?"
"No," Dan protests wetly. "No, want him to."
"Bit of a sadistic streak?"
Dan doesn't bother trying to defend himself. "He needs to see. Want him to know. Not look forever." Every word is a herculean effort, drenched in blood and tears. "Let Mr Mumbles sniff me. She needs to know," he spits out a glob of blood, "too."
"I like you when you're like this." The imposter seems to ignore his words completely. "I think you're finally getting used to this new life. Let's see if that lasts when you've recovered, eh? I'll give you another pill and then I'll get you some blankets. Do you want a mattress too?"
Dan starts crying again at the thought. "Oh god, please."
A laugh. "Blankets and mattress it is." He pauses. "Hey, if I remove your chain, will ya try to kill me or something? Only, you're turning kinda blue there and you look pretty weak."
Dan shakes his head as hard as he can without dying. "Not gonna. Can't."
"Yeah, that seems about right. Okay, princess. Sit up and I'll be right back."
Footsteps grow fainter and a door slams. Dan tries hard to comply but finds himself immobile. The most he can muster is a soft twitching of his hands, alternating left right. His shoulders jerk once or twice and he thinks he might have moved his knee.
He can hear the imposter return but still can't move more than an inch or two.
"Good grief," comes his voice from somewhere to his left. "Did a number on you, huh? I'll help you." His grip on him is strong but not painful as he pulls him up into a sitting position. He sees the bucket on the floor and wash cloth in the mans hand. He's too tired to stop him, just lets himself be wiped clean of all the blood. His clothes stripped down and thrown in a pile.
He tries not to look down at himself as the imposter bandages his stomach wounds. He knows he looks pathetic. Instead his eyes drift shut again and he's half asleep by the time footsteps leave once more.
Imposter's groaning when he comes back, lugging the mattress down with great effort. Dan blinks at it. It looks like heaven. He drops a few blankets and a pillow on it and then holds up a non-pillow object that catches him off guard. A large stuffed bunny, with its limbs dangling freely.
Dan frowns at it, raising his eyes to look up at the imposter's face. Trying to gauge his intentions. "What's next," he croaks, "a pink frilly dress?"
"Har har," the imposter says good-naturedly. He seems in a much better mood whenever Dan's beaten down and theres something comforting about that, in a twisted sort of way. "Believe it or not, not *everything* I do is to mock you. Granted you do make mocking you rather easy. But no, I just figured since you don't have Brutus with you..."
"He's a childhood toy. It's not that I need a stuffed animal in general, he's just always been there."
"Yeah man, sure," the imposter sighs. "You don't have to take it. But it's here if you want it. Consider it an... olive branch."
Dan narrows his eyes. He wants to bite at him, only verbally of course, but beneath his anger theres something else - a tiny bit of hope. If the imposter really does get soft or at the very least trusting towards him... There's a chance. His mind races. The sedatives. They dissolve in water - his heart briefly stops, what if they're powder? But then, what if they arent? What if they're pills and he could somehow...
"Your poor mind is racing," the imposter comments fondly as he begins to arrange the blankets and pillow on the makeshift bed. He sets the bunny down next to the pillow. "I really do want you to grow to be happy here, you know. Well maybe not happy, but. It's not going to be all bad."
Dan looks down at himself and finds himself free. He can't remember being unchained. The holes in his mind nag at him. "Yeah, sure. Sure." He sounds empty because he is. Lets himself fall from the cot down onto the soft mattress, face first, sinking into it. He feels the imposter tuck him into two of the blankets and only now does he register how ice cold he'd been. He shivers violently and digs himself deeper into softness.
"I'll get you more blankets," the imposter says firmly. "More blankets. You still have the diapers, yeah? I'll get you a water bottle too. Just don't tinkle in it or there'll be hell to pay. What do you wanna eat?"
Dan has no way of processing the sudden wave of kindness. It makes him feel filthy and wrong all over. He's still bleeding, he's pretty sure. His guts feel rearranged in the worst possible way. He can't think the words, the natural conclusion to what has happened twice now. All he can think of is kitchen tiles, at fourteen, dad above him. Maybe he can name it that, he thinks deliriously and almost laughs. Being kitchen tiled. "Nothing," he groans into the pillow. "Nothing ever again."
"Burgers it is."
"Are you gonna do it again?" he asks with a quiet voice, turning his face to try and look at him. But all he sees is his leather shoes.
A small stretch of silence. "Yes."
"Okay," Dan sighs.
The shoes leave his vision and he closes his eyes.
He only realises the imposter's back when two more blankets are wrapped around him and he finally feels somewhat warm again. Blurry vision shows a big water bottle next to him and a bag of takeout. He doesn't reach for either one. He'd never eat again if it meant avoiding what's beginning to seem like an inevitable obstacle. His guts ache.
The package of diapers gets sat down on the other side of him and then he's being pulled upright. "Okay," the imposter smiles at him. "Sedative time and then you can sleep, yeah?"
"Tastes so gross," Dan complains. "And the texture of it in the water..." His heart races but he schools his features into tired fussiness. "Can't I put it under my tongue? Mom always let me do that."
Imposter laughs. "Well if mother let you... But alright, sure. Open wide, princess."
Dan opens his mouth obediently, lifts his tongue up, feels the melty tablet begin to fizz. He closes his mouth and swallows. It manages to stay put and for a terrifying moment he's sure the imposter will check. But he doesn't. Lets him lie down again and begins to walk away. Dan's trembling.
"Sleep well," the imposter singsongs and then the door clicks shut.
Dan immediately spits the pill out. It's definitely melted but not completely. A bit less than a half dose. Even without water it just tastes sugary, or maybe more like artificial sweetener. If he could put it in something sweet... But for now he has to preserve it. He looks around desperately.
The diaper package is open, with the plastic stretched and ripped up messily. He could easily take some of it and... Dan takes a deep breath and then rips off a small bit of transparent plastic, analyses the package - it still looks the same. He wraps the pill in the scrap and stuffs it into the pillow case.
Maybe two or three more halves like this and he would have enough to knock the bastard out for a while. He's smaller than Dan after all, at least weight wise. He just needs... Dan yawns. He needs some kind of shared drink. He sinks back down against the pillow, his own half dose working wonders. He'll think about it all tomorrow.
Day 8
Every part of Dan's body hurts the moment he wakes up. He struggles even just to pick up a pen and mark another presumed-day having passed on his stupid calendar. He takes a long drink from the water bottle and then crashes back onto the mattress, heaving and whimpering. It's taking his entire focus not to snap and take the precious half pill hidden away, just for some relief. Maybe a longer rest. He thinks of Mr Mumbles and stays resolute.
"I'd say it's about time for a bath," the imposter says as he sets down the tray with what Dan assumes is breakfast but may as well be dinner or lunch. "Not upstairs," he clarifies and dims the hope in Dan's eyes as swiftly as it had risen. "Stand up, step away from any fabric and I'll just sponge ya down. Okay?"
Dan shrugs. "Sure." His voice is faint and foreign. "Thank you," he adds. All he can think about is pills and shared drinks and opportunity. He even manages a tiny smile. "Will be nice not to be sticky anymore."
"Exactly!" The imposter's grin seems genuine enough and Dan feels hope return. "Anything you need today?" he guides him away from the blanket heap on the floor, closer to the sink.
Dan's stomach twists. "Actually. You said I won't be washed upstairs but... I kind of... I need..." He struggles to get the words out. "I need to go."
The imposter blinks at him, not understanding. "Don't you still have-"
"No," Dan interrupts, face burning. "The other thing."
It takes the imposter a second to catch on. "Oh," he says and laughs slightly. "Hmmm..." He looks deep in thought for a few moments. "Alright, well, you've been pretty alright for a while now. So. I suppose one trip upstairs... But."
Dan's stomach twists even harder. "But?" he presses on, slightly urgently, as the imposter strips him down.
"You'll need to earn it, yeah? I'll give you something if you give me something first."
"I don't... have..."
"What do you think I might want?" He's smiling as he dunks the sponge into soapy water.
Dan knows what he's getting at now and he feels a lump forming in his scratchy throat. He wants to yell at him and refuse and find something else but he knows his two alternatives and he's not doing either of them. And even with his plan in motion, it'll take days. Very painful and uncomfortable days full of risk. Especially when the imposter... "Fine," he chokes out. "I'll let you... do the stuff. To me."
"Ah ah," the imposter chides, "I can do that already. As we've established... No, I want you to want it. Or pretend to want it, either one."
Dan stares at him. "Seriously?"
"Get real into it. Picture I'm someone else and just... pretend you want to fuck me. Or for me to fuck you, rather."
Dan has one remaining trump card. "But with my guts already-"
"Okay, yeah, obviously not anal," the imposter laughs, undeterred. "A blowjob, then. Something new."
Dread pools in his stomach and for a few moments he genuinely considers declining this horrible, horrible deal. But then he thinks about how nice the upstairs bathroom must be. How he hasn't shaved in days now and while it's not like he can grow much more, his face is still itchy with so many tiny bits of stubble all over it. How he'd be able to see his own reflection for the first time since being kidnapped. And most importantly the goddamn stupid toilet that he managed to take for granted for twenty six years. His stomach hurts so fucking bad.
"Fine," he croaks out with his eyes glued to his feet. He feels absolutely miserable and defeated and humiliated and this alone feels like it should be enough of a price. But of course it isn't. "I've never done that before," he adds. "I won't be good at it."
"I know," the imposter responds graciously. "If I wanted a hooker with a great mouth I'd rent one. Your inexperience, your *virginity* really, is exactly what I like about you."
The unspoken truth contained in that statement, expressed in Dan's big horrified eyes and a tiny nod from the imposter, is that eventually he will no longer be virginal. Eventually he'll be used up. He has a limited shelf life down here. "Okay." He feels awful but his stomach ache, a constant pain now, keeps him grounded enough to feel somewhat able to do this. "You want me to act like I wanna do it?"
The imposter smiles. "Yes. Y'know what- let's do this upstairs. The bed will be more comfortable for me to sit on. You'll be kneeling on the floor, of course."
It's not really an of course worthy statement to Dan, whose exposure to porn begins and ends with seedy magazine covers he would occasionally see while buying sweets at weird gas stations. He doesn't fully know what people do, beyond rudimentary sex ed and the little homosexual crash course his father had given him. He knows sodomy hurts and he knows women usually don't like to be fucked. He knows blowjobs exist, that some do it for women as well, but not really what they look like. Or why they would be pleasant. Really all of it has made him nothing but uncomfortable over the years. The few genuine impulses he'd felt at fourteen had been swiftly erased when his father showed him that homosexuality feels filthy and hurts like a motherfucker. The imposter isn't exactly disputing that so far, either.
"C'mon."
Dan manages to get his feet to cooperate on the long, awkward walk slash crawl upstairs. The sheer amount of light once they exit the basement makes him whimper and cover his face, something the imposter coos at like he's an infant. His arms wrap around dan as he guides him blindly to what must be his bedroom.
Dan knows that this will hurt. That it's probably gonna hurt worse than what has happened so far. That his chances of accidentally biting him are high and the consequences could be getting knocked into a cabinet's corner and lights out, end of the line, that's all folks.
What he doesn't know is how to make it seem like he wants this. He doesn't want anything, ever.
"Pretend I'm Chris," the imposter coos at him as he gently tugs Dan's hands down. The lighting is more bearable now in here, more like the basement. Still he can see his face in a way he hadn't been able to before. He no longer looks like, well, Dan. His black hair is longer and the roots of it are lighter, it's unclear what colour he must be naturally but certainly not jet black. His blue eyes are huge and light and uncomfortable to look at directly. He's thin but it's an athletic thinness, with visible muscles when he twists his arms just the right way. It's so jarring seeing him like this that he doesn't even register his words for a full minute. "I look different, huh?" The imposter grins. "You did know my get-up was a costume, right?"
"Yes," Dan says lamely. He did. "What was that about Chris?"
"Pretend I'm him. It'll make this easier. You could even close your eyes if you want, I'll try to keep quiet. Whatever makes you more convincing. No offence but you're not a great actor."
"Why would that help?" He means for it to come out sharp and angry and cringes internally when it just sounds helpless. The imposter's grip on his wrists is starting to really hurt. He lets himself sink down onto the floor, kneeling with his legs splayed out to either side of himself. He's eye level with Imposter's crotch now, unassuming in black slacks.
"Wouldn't it?"
Against his own better judgement Dan gives that idea genuine consideration. Pictures Chris - in black slacks, a surreal thought all on it's own - sitting here like this. Elise is out, maybe having brunch with a girl friend, doesn't even know he's visiting. Doesn't know that his hands are resting against Chris' pant legs. Pictures him complaining - Elise will kill me if she finds out - and himself answering she won't and besides, she deserves it. Chris whines and whines but stops when Dan's mouth wraps around -
"Bingo," the imposter interrupts his derailing thought spiral. Dan blinks up at him and then down at himself, turning ghostly white at his own horrifying arousal. Then bright red. Then white again. "Thought so. Just keep thinking about him."
On one hand, Dan really does not want to. Doesn't want to even consider let alone explore this new aspect of himself, a strange betrayal of their twenty year friendship. Doesn't want to give the imposter the satisfaction either. But on the other much more convincing hand - this will absolutely make it bearable, more than bearable if this dazed feeling lasts throughout, and he's so tired of dissociating his way through assault after assault. Wants something in return. That, and he really does need to actually earn his bathroom trip. Can't risk losing the offer.
With a few deep breaths he keeps his eyes trained straight ahead, trying not to catch even a glimpse at who he's truly interacting with as he tugs the zipper down with shaking hands.
The imposter leans back with a sigh as Dan clumsily tugs his underwear down and to the side, shimmying his cock free. It's so *gross* somehow, like a grossness that permeates his skin and makes him feel stained inside out. He's pretty sure the imposter's much bigger than him but also doesn't really have much of a frame of reference. He just seems long and thick in his shaking hands. He wonders how he's supposed to even fit half of it in his mouth.
His breathing quickens as his eyes burn and he wants so badly to run out of the room, out of the house, scream for help but he knows he can't risk it. Knows he's weak and sore and wouldnt even get through the door. A tear drips down his nose as he heaves in and out, his hands shaking more violently now. When he tries to calm himself down with deep breaths he chokes on the air and lets out a sob.
"C'mon," the imposter chides, "think of Chris."
It's so much harder than the fucking psycho seems to think. Because thinking of Chris means remembering their fight and how he'll probably never see him again and how he's probably better off that way because Chris hates him now and has Elise anyway. She's always been Dan but less complicated.
Very abruptly his crying turns violent and he drops his hands into his lap as he heaves in and out and sobs and chokes on his own saliva and snot. He feels nausea rising and then suddenly he's fighting the urge to puke, pressing his knuckles against his lips so hard they hurt. "Hurgh," he says desperately and swallows and swallows and swallows, "hah. Ack."
"Stop." The imposter reels back and punches him in the face, hard. Dan is launched back, knocking flat into the ground with no air left in his lungs. His face erupts in searing pain. "I gave you very simple orders."
Dan gurgles and tries to get up, his vision reddish pink. He lifts up a hand and presses it gingerly against his nose. Still unbroken, thank god. But his face is bleeding and he can feel where he's pretty sure the blood's coming from, beneath his eye. He whimpers. "Yes. Yes. Just - one moment." He takes a few deep breaths again and tries to wipe off his face as much as possible. With his vision regained he begins to crawl back to the imposter's feet.
The world becomes small as he takes the cock in both hands again. He tries to imagine it's Chris but with Elise gone, or less important, or something. Maybe he's better at it than her, maybe Chris prefers him because of that. It's a fantasy with an incentive to doing well. He exhales and then wraps his bruised bloodied lips around the head. It alone fills him up just fine, like a bite of food, and he struggles to keep his teeth out of the picture. It feels very unnatural and strained. His whole body is taut like guitar strings as he tries to fit more into his surprisingly limited mouth.
"Unf," he mumbles and fights not to graze his teeth too hard against sensitive flesh. He pictures Chris moaning. Pictures his name said in a tone of awe, of fondness, of... He works his hand along the shaft, intimately aware of how little he's able to even fit into his mouth, and hopes it's enough. With his eyes squeezed shut he can almost feel Chris' leg against his free hand. His stupid cargo pants. The softness of his thighs, like girl thighs only bigger. "Haaah," he moans without even wanting to. His own dick twitches needily against his leg and he discovers if he rocks himself back and forth, slightly lifted off the ground, it rubs against the fabric of his pants and boxers in a way that's almost good enough. That rutting dictates the beat of his suckling on chris' cock. The imposters cock. But same difference to him right now.
He feels a hand in his hair and pretends it's Chris petting him because he's doing so well, so much better than Elise. That daydream shatters when the grip tightens and suddenly he's being ripped down onto the entire length of him, feeling it push past his mouth and into his throat, swallowing up his instinctive scream. He wiggles and pulls but the man is stronger, impales him, begins to rip him off and on and off on and on in a breakneck rhythm.
Still stuck in his fantasy he pictures Chris' anger and betrayal at Dan wanting him in that way, punishing him, making what he so clearly wants unappealing and violent. But it doesn't work, because it's Chris. Instead Dan's hands drop down to feverishly jerk himself off even as he's being ripped back and on and on and back. He doesn't even gag particularly badly, he's never really had issues with that, and his throat feels made for this anyway. This feels right somehow, cathartic, and he digs his nails into his own cock as he tugs himself off. Tears and saliva and blood drip down his face onto the floor. He feels Chris' anger fill him up and it feels so fucking awful and so fucking good at the same time. This is what he deserves and this is going to make it all okay again.
He doesn't know for how long Chris (the imposter) rips him back and forth, in and out, but eventually he lets Dan slide backwards, freeing his mouth. The man's hand glides down to stroke himself a few more times and then Dan's face is covered in warm slimy spunk. He coughs and sputters, at the very least grateful he wasnt forced to swallow it, and for the first time looks up through blurry eyes at the imposter. His Chris fantasy is over. It takes his brain a while to catch up and realise this is it, either he succeeded or...
"Good," Imposter declares generously. "Get up."
Dan staggers to his feet, shuddering.
"The bathroom's through here," Imposter nods at a door. "I'll give you some privacy, clean yourself up and all that. I'll wait here for when you're done."
With jelly knees and a knot in his chest Dan stumbles into the bathroom, letting the lock click comfortingly. Then he rests with his back against the door for a few deep breaths. He did it. And it wasn't as bad as he'd worried, really, not compared to sodomy. The only thing he's struggling with now is... His thoughts about...
He turns on the tap and begins to wipe himself clean. It's disgusting. He doesn't look up at himself, not until he's sure he's clean, and when he does he's met with a face that has more in common with him at ten than him at twenty five. He'd thought he would look older, weathered, but aside from sparse facial hair he looks more like a child than ever before. His eyes are rimmed with darkness and his face is bruised, blue and red and bits of purple and dark grey. There are little cuts and dried blood. His shirt is ripped at the collar and the letters are pink with layers of blood. He looks slightly gaunt.
"Hello," he croaks out at his reflection. It stares at him like this is his fault.
Dan returns to find the imposter waiting on the edge of the bed. "Alright, back downstairs, okay?"
He nods, exhausted and relieved and broken down. "Okay."
That's the only word spoken until they're back downstairs, locked away, with Dan sitting on the mattress wrapped in blankets. "Do you think Chris cares?" Dan asks before Imposter has a chance to leave. "That I'm gone. I want an honest answer."
"Hmmmm," the imposter hums and thinks. "Yes," he finally admits but it looks like he wishes he wasn't saying it. "I do think that. I think he loved you. For whatever reason..."
Dan averts his eyes. Instead he studies the blankets he's wrapped in, their frayed edges a stark contrast to the little bits he's seen of the man's otherwise immaculate home.
"What do you think?" the imposter asks. "Do you think he loved you?"
Dan hesitates. Runs his finger across a blooming hole. "He must have," he finally admits. He thinks back on Burgerphile and Chris slumped over, poisoned out of his mind, of puppeteering him into giving a love confession and then not knowing what to do with that. "Else he wouldnt have stayed. But not enough. Because Elise."
The imposter hums. "I suppose. Shame, isn't it?"
Dan chokes on the word: "Yes."
"Maybe this is for the best, then. Won't have to pine after him now that it's all over." For once the imposter doesn't sound or look like he's buying his own bullshit and it makes Dan give a slight smile. It's like his face has to remember how to do it without hurting.
Dan shrugs when Imposter doesn't follow his words up with anything. One of the blankets slides off his left shoulder and the man reaches down and tugs it back up, pats his back. Almost gentle. It makes Dan fill up with thick wet cotton, all the way up his throat and bulging behind his eyes.
He leaves.
Dan thinks this is it, that the imposter is done, and startles when the door creaks open again. In just a few quick strides the man is back at his side, crouching down. He's holding a pill in one hand, a first aid kit in another.
Enormous relief when the pill is set aside. He'll be able to keep some of it, too, smush it against the other one hidden away. Dan's heart thrums as the imposter begins cleaning and bandaging him up, little bandaid patches on his face and a full roll of gauze around his stomach. It feels incredible to not have his wounds press against fabric anymore, to feel them tucked away safely, so incredible that he doesn't even feel the sting from being cleaned with alcohol. He just feels relief and safety. So much of it that he almost forgets to keep the pill pressed into his mouth. Almost.
With his body clean and two pill halves tucked away in his pillow, Dan drifts into the first deep unaided sleep he's had in what feels like weeks - his arms wrapped tightly around Alice, the stuffed bunny named after his grandmother. She's not Brutus but, he figures, she's the only one in the world who could possibly understand what it feels like to be down here.
Sleep is mercifully dreamless.