For The Rats (One-Shots)

Playing Dead, Until There's Nothing Left.

The afternoon sunlight streamed in through the dusty, grimy window, casting long, jagged shadows across the cold concrete floor. In one corner of the room, a single bare bulb swung gently back and forth, casting a sickly yellow glow over the various tools of torture that lay scattered about on a plastic table folded out against the far wall. 

In the dingy corner, a man with pale, inked skin and matted brown hair knelt before a taller, more confident man with gingerish-blonde hair. Ben, on his knees, was wearing only jeans. His bare chest glistened with sweat, mixed with dirt and blood. A dark bruise crept around under his ribs, and his face was smeared in blood. 

The taller man, Danny, smiles cruelly as he runs his fingers through Ben's soft, brown locks. "Now, Ben," he purrs, his voice low and menacing, "let's see how well you remember the safe combination." 

He pauses, his breath hot against Ben's ear. "Don't forget, I'm going to be watching you very closely." 

His fingers tighten painfully in Ben's hair, yanking his head back. Ben winces, biting back a groan as Danny's grip fucking hurt. But his heart raced with a determination not to give in to the pain, rooted in a deep fear of the man. 

He closes his eyes, trying to focus on the combination to the drug safe, but the images of the tools surrounding him seem to dance before his eyes, haunting him, making it impossible to concentrate. He hesitates, genuinely struggling to remember now, as Danny's free hand reaches for one of the implements nearby. 

"Time's up," Danny drawls, a cruel glint in his eye. "I think it's time we moved on to plan B." 

He lifts the item he had chosen from the floor and brings it up, revealing a long, thin, metal rod with sharp points at one end. 

"I think we'll start with this." 

Ben whimpered, his body tensing as Danny approaches. He knew what was coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it. With a cold, detached efficiency, Danny shoves Ben forward, the older man falling harshly to concrete floor, his hands bound behind his back unable to catch him. Ben lets out a shaky breath. 

Danny grabs Ben's tied hands, forcing them up and over Ben's head so they rested above him. 

"Keep those there, don't you dare move," Danny hisses. 

Ben nods, his cheek rubbing against the cold floor. 

"Take a deep breath," Danny hissed in his ear, "because this is going to hurt." 

With that, he raised the rod high into the air, aiming it at the small of Ben's back. There was a sharp, stinging pain as it made contact, followed by a deeper, more intense ache that seemed to radiate outward from the impact site. 

Ben grits his teeth, trying to bear the pain as Danny began to methodically work his way up Ben's spine, striking him over and over again. The pain was excruciating, burning through Ben's flesh like fire. His muscles spasmed and twitched, making it difficult for him to breathe as he struggled to remain still beneath Danny's relentless assault. 

Tears well up in his eyes, streaming down his cheeks, but he refused to give Danny the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. 

As the beating continued, the room began to swim before Ben's eyes, his vision blurring from the pain and the effort it took to hold back his screams. He felt as if every nerve ending in his body was on fire, as if he were being flayed alive. His back felt raw and tender, every impact sending waves of agony coursing through him. Danny seemed to sense that he was close to breaking, and he increased the pace of his strikes, the metal rod whistling through the air as it connected with Ben's body over and over again. 

With each blow, a fresh wave of pain washed over him, making it harder and harder to stay conscious. He could feel warm blood trickling down his back, pooling on the cold concrete beneath him. As the minutes passed, Danny's breathing became labored, his movements more erratic. He was enjoying this too much, relishing the power he had over Ben's broken body.

Finally, with one last, savage strike, he pulled the rod away from Ben's back and stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Ben lay motionless on the floor, his back a bloody, raw mess. He couldn't move, couldn't even summon the strength to cry out. Tears continued to stream down his face as he struggled to catch his breath, the pain nearly unbearable as Danny stood over him, a malicious smile playing on his lips. 

"You remember now, don't you, Ben?" he asked softly. 

Ben whimpers, nodding. Snot runs down his face, his body trembling now in terror. 

"Let's see you get us into the safe now." 

He motioned to the small safe nearby, a small metal cube packed full of cocaine. Ben tried to speak through the pain, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. "I... I can." 

Danny's smile widens, and he nods in satisfaction before leaning down over Ben's body. Ben flinches, but Danny only grip's Ben's hands, untying them. 

"Okay, then," Danny said, his voice still cold and cruel. "Let's see you do it." 

He fist's Ben's hair, yanking him upwards. Ben stifles a yelp, scrambling to his knees. Danny nudges Ben with his foot, urging him forwards and in front of the small metal box that had caused so much havoc. 

Ben's arms shake, his back throbbing worse with every slight movement or breath. He forces himself to focus on the little black dial. 

Slowly, carefully, he began to turn the dial, his fingers numb with pain. The room fell silent, nothing but the sound of their unmatched breaths and the clicking of the dial until he finally heard the louder click, and the safe popped open. 

A/N: I love tf out of all of you.