Complete Again (TomTord Mpreg)

Sixteen

"Drop the gun."

Tord couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. His head was pounding, and his body was burning.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

He jammed the gun into Tord's forehead, shoving him back a step. The gun fell from Tord's hands as he scrambled to hold his kids. He snarled in frustration, his chest heaving.

"There we go. Love to see you cooperate." He hummed warmly, glancing down at the abandoned weapon. "Come to think of it, where did you even get a gun, my friend?"

"Trof."

Jan's strained sobs got louder, pitiful wheezes pulling at his lungs. "Don't." He whimpered.

"Shut up, he tried to shoot you. He has every right to be where he put you."

"Winston," Tord said softly, gently. Praying not to get a rise out of the man. "What is this."

"This?" Winston echoed, snickering. "Tord, I'm fixing what you started. I'm ending this."

Tord could hardly focus on Winston's words - between the twins' crying and Jan's, his head was starting to pound. His entire body was shaking against his will, itching to run.

He licked over dry lips, his breath rattling in his chest. "What are you talking about?"

"I haven't been honest with you, I'm afraid, terribly sorry. I'll start fresh." He smiled, almost bowing. "Nothing but the truth now, because Tord, pardon me if I start to get upset, that's not professional of me, but you've bent my life over and fucked it to death." He adjusted his grip on the gun, never once lowering it. His brows knit together. "You remember how I got here, right?" Tord stayed silent, his lips drawing into a thin line. Winston laughed. Dry and exhausted. "I do...I-...I bet you remember too. How did it feel to fry my brain, Tord?" He paused, his brow twitching. "Did you like using me as your Pavlov's dog?"

Fuck. Tord wanted to defend himself, but taking Winston was his idea. He brainwashed him himself, just so they could use him. It was a petty war strategy, but it seemed like a wonderful idea.

"What does Jan have to do with this?" Tord asked instead, glancing at the cowering man. He looked too scared to even breathe. "Look at him, what have you been doing to him?"

"He offered his help to me." Winston said simply, watching as Jan looked up at him. "We trust each other, we know each other."

"Then why is he acting like this?"

"Tord..." Winston sighed, lowering his gun for a moment. "Tell me, my friend, where did Jan Wolkaburr come from? Who is he?"

Tord raised an eyebrow, shifting his stance. The babies were finally starting to calm down. "...He was drafted the same week I was. We were in the same troupe."

Winston laughed, making a loud "EH" noise, imitating a buzzer. "Before that, hotshot."

"I don't-...He never told me...Winston, where are you going with this?"

"I've known him since he was eighteen." Winston began, his eyes flitting between Tord and Jan. "I was twenty-one, a doctor, and he was a frequent flier in my medical wing. Seizures, panic attacks, I had no clue how he even got in the army." Winston spoke as he walked, picking up Tord's abandoned weapon. "He said I was the only one he could talk to, literally. The words couldn't come out around anyone else." He tucked the gun into his pocket, locking eyes with Tord. "Psychogenic Mutism, I found. He can talk, but only when completely calm. Brought on by his seizures."

Tord found his eyes meeting Jan's, the finnish man still trying to come down from an apparent panic attack.

"I tried to treat him, and I was so close. I even taught him sign language as means of easy communication. But do you know what happened?"