At home, where usual comforts seemed to only agitate his nerves further–that’s where Jesse would sit. That’s where he’d lean against the door frame and give me that smile of his–Loki called the gunslinger’s phone. As many times as he needed to, he dialed, listening to it ring and ring and ring. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting. Perhaps for Jesse to answer the phone–”Hey, sugar.”–and give some long-winded explanation about how he’d been robbed but he was just fine, sorry for worrying ya, darl’. Something harmless. These thoughts, an attempts to calm his frantically beating heart, only did a portion of the job. While he struggled to cling to the hope that McCree was okay, another half screamed that nothing was at all fine.
And the phone rang and rang and rang.
Jesse did not answer.
No, the voice that greeted him on the other side belonged to a silky-toned woman, one who emphasized Loki’s name to showcase importance. Now, alongside his heart, Loki’s stomach dropped. Fear paled his features, widened his eyes, and for a moment he was too stunned to say a word. There had to be some logical explanation, right? She was a friend. She was a relative. We all know that’s not true, his conscious scolded. We saw his flat broken into.
The yells, that familiar husk, were what brought him back into the present moment. From the background, he could hear Jesse yelling his name, could hear the desperation in his voice. And when the name stopped, he heard screaming. Not the screams for attention, this was pain and fear.
In that moment, Loki felt bile rise up in his chest, crawling up his throat. The fear spread through his veins mercilessly like a plague, freezing joints, tensing muscles, making every nerve stand up and scream.
“What are you doing to him?! Stop it!” How desperate Loki sounded as he yelled. The pleading, the begging, the tears obscuring his vision. What were they doing to him? Why were they hurting him? What did they want? “Please don’t hurt him!”
In the entrance to the living room, the place Loki had been pacing frantically in for the past hour, appeared Keir. Quick on his feet, drawn by the yelling. He stood there now, eyes wide and mimicking Loki’s terrified expression. Though he remained silent throughout, Loki still turned to look at him as if the answers could be found there. Keir so often provided answers. Could he not help in this case, too? No. He couldn’t.
There was a break between the yelling as Loki shakily inhaled, a half-breath that only partially filled lungs and did nothing to help the desperate state he was in. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, filled with sadness, dismay. The tears that clouded his vision were now freely falling, leaving behind wet trail marks on his cheeks. “What do you want?!”
Was it sweat or tears that now freely streamed down his cheeks? McCree could not be entirely certain, could not even process any comprehensible mental thought when pain was all that he felt. An overwhelming, incredible agony that he screamed in absolute terror against. Never before had he experienced such torment, for not even the agony of losing his arm could compare to this torture. What sobs he would have expressed were swallowed by more screams, body seized within its binds, and twitching uncontrollably against each painful injection of electricity.
Oh, just make it stop. Just let me die, please.
At long last did the shocks dissipate, and McCree slumped against his seat with eyes wide and jaw slack. Drool slid from his mouth to collect at his beard, for he had nought the energy to even close his trembling lips.
‘Oh, he’s resilient.’ Was the words that Shanta spoke in quiet admiration, and she turned to clasp a clawed hand around McCree’s jaw to turn his head towards her. He stared wordlessly back, expression frozen in fear, and breaths coming in erratic, strangled gulps. Her gloved hand provided protection from the electricity still wrecking havoc to the gunslinger’s systems, though Shanta felt the desire to pinch her nose against the smell of burning flesh that hit her nose. ‘You should see the state of him now, Loki,’ she grinned, ‘he looks utterly miserable, how marvellous.’ Pressing her finger to her rosy lips, Shanta placed a kiss there and moved to touch McCree’s parted lips, sighing as she did. ‘I think you and I could have a little chat. I do not think Jesse can give me the answers right at this moment, he seems a little…fried. But do not worry. He is in the very best of hands.’