The Ghost of Him |WWII Frerard AU|

-53-

"Just tell me where he is, and maybe you can walk out of here with most of your organs still intact."

The blood red twilight sky leaks through the cracks in the barn roof, drowning the room in an eerie crimson glow.  Old hay is strewn across the dirt floor, the pungent odor of dilapidated wood and acrid farm animals stinging my nostrils.  The atmosphere is rich with pure terror and uncertainty, and every passing second only adds more fuel to the fire.

The Nazi boy I managed to trap is tied up against a wooden pole, his skin broken and bleeding and his blue eyes wide with unadulterated horror.  He trembles as he cowers back against the pole, fearful gaze locked on Joe.  He's scared out of his wits, but for once in my life, I don't have any remorse.

Let him be afraid for what he did to us.

He sputters something in German, his squeaky voice quivering with every word he speaks; that only earns him another hard punch to the jaw.

"Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way,"  Joe snaps.  A venom unlike any other laces his cold voice as he crouches down to the trembling boy's level.  "You can tell me where your asshole buddies took our friend, or you can keep blabbering nonsense until I knock all of your teeth out.  It's your choice."

The old barn door creaks open behind me.  Frank slips into the room, leaving the door ever so slightly ajar and allowing more crimson light to leak onto the floor.  His hazel eyes are wide with uncertainty as he glances at the Nazi boy, and then up at me.  "Josh is talking with Armstrong,"  he says with a sigh, arms crossed over his stomach.  "They're trying to put together a plan."

A sickening yelp rings into the stifling air as Joe kicks the boy in the ribs.  He grabs the boy's shirt, forcefully yanks him to his feet, shakes him until his terrified eyes open again.

"Do you think this is a fucking joke?!"  Joe shrieks.  "Where is he?!  Where did you take him?!"

Again, the palpitating boy only stutters something we can't understand, flinching away from Joe's harsh words.  We're getting nowhere with this conversation, and the longer we sit here and torture this boy, the more danger that Pete could be in.

We need to find him, and we need to find him fast.

"He clearly doesn't speak English, Joe,"  Frank says, brows knitted in concern.  "Leave him be for a minute.  We're not gonna make any progress by screaming at him."

"Then what's your bright idea?"  Joe questions, his tone even harsher than before as he lets go of the boy's shirt and sends him collapsing back to the dirt floor.  "There are hundreds of Nazi bases out there.   What, do you wanna go Trick-or-Treating at every single base, just hoping that we'll find the right one in time?  Pete's life could be in danger, Iero, and you just wanna ignore the only suspect we have?"

"That's not what I'm saying,"  Frank counters, but he remains stoically calm, his hard gaze locked on Joe.  "What I'm saying is that he's completely useless to us in this condition.  He can't speak English.  We can't speak German.  Now, if we just told Patrick about--"

"No,"  Joe cuts him off, tone icy and sharp and eyes glinting with indignation.  "No one is telling Patrick about this."

"And why the hell not?"  Now Frank raises his voice, dropping his arms to his sides.  "He's the only one in our company who knows German, and besides, I think I'd like to know if my best friend got kidnapped.  Why keep him in the dark like this?"

"Because he's still recovering,"  Joe retaliates.  "He's in no condition to hear that his closest friend was abducted by psychotic Nazis.  We'll have him back before tomorrow, anyway.  Patrick doesn't need to know."