Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.
Warnings: This is my fill response to prompt posted on LJ at the TWD_Kink meme: "Daryl/Group: Abduction/Whump: While hunting Daryl gets ambushed and taken hostage. He still displays his BAMF skills, but ultimately is outnumbered and overpowered."
Authors Note #1: *This story is set in season two while they are still on the farm: between Sophia's death and the season finale. This is a titch AU as the author is taking some creative license with the time frame, pretending that there was more time between Sophia's death and the last few episodes. *Rated for adult language, adult situations, kidnapping, violence, allusions to rape, misogyny, and some serious whump.
Sanctuary for All
He woke up with the taste of darkness on his tongue. …No, wait. That wasn't right. Something was off, different. It was almost as if someone had gone and changed all the rules. Fiddling around with all the constants, things like gravity and measuring distance. Or how one remembered how to understand the meaningless sounds and drawling syllables that were echoing through his mind with all the subtly of a nine-iron to the skull.
His head hurt, that much he knew for sure. He felt split and wrong, like someone had gone and cleaved him in two when he wasn't looking. He couldn't remember why he was so-
A cacophonous pulse of sound ebbed and flowed inside his head, the noise spluttering but constant as a strange series of vibrations coursed through his aching skin. Everything hurt. Muscles, sinews, flesh, bone, it didn't matter. He felt like he'd been compressed into a single, all encompassing bruise.
He shook his head, teeth grating together as he tried to make sense of a thousand different sensations at once. Trying and failing to recognize the hard surface rattling around underneath him as the world suddenly swerved. Tipping on it's axis as his body slammed against something curved and sharp, driving the air from his lungs like a knee to the gut as the unmistakable tang of bile rose in the back of his throat.
Shit, he was gonna, he was gonna-…
He nearly choked on his own tongue trying to swallow it back down. Head rattling around like one of those stupid bobble head dolls as the world dipped and weaved. Doing his best to ignore the hot, awkward throb that was thudding between his temples as he tried in vain to remember how moving his hands actually worked.
He must have hit his head, fallen or something. Either way he'd certainly done a number on himself that much was for sure. He felt like triple hammered shit and probably looked ten times worse if the tell-a-tale stickiness dribbling down from his temples were any indication. He groaned, the joints in his neck cracking as he tested his range of movement gingerly. Sonofabitch...
But his confusion and uncertainty only mounted the longer the moment stretched. Because every time the world seemed to go arse over tit, rocking him from one side of the hard metal siding to the other, he was nearly blinded by a few seconds of harsh, prism-shattered light. – It seemed to filter in from the corners of his vision every time the world jolted. But he just couldn't make sense of it. Hell, it could have been fucking lightening for all he knew.
Actually, come to think of it, it looked more like lightening than anything else. Splintering through the darkness with that same here and gone again signature, all zigzagged and uneven as it forked across his vision. But even then it was almost too much, searing across his retina's as his lids slammed shut, head pounding up a storm as the muted glow peeked through his closed lashes. …Blinding him from the inside out.
The rusty metal surface underneath him suddenly swerved. Sending him slamming up against the same curved protrusion he'd hit only moments before, ribs throbbing as he landed brutally. Ears ringing as the back of his skull smashed back against something hard and unyielding. - In fact he was so out of it that he barely even noticed the sharp crack that tore through the air above him. A single vicious peal that rose above all else for a few long moments before the dull, all encompassing roar was all he could hear once again.
He nearly hissed in frustration as his hands, or at least what he thought were his hands refused to budge. They were bound together so that his palms were almost touching, making it difficult to identify what was impinging his movements as he struggled to free himself. But the way he was laying was a whole other can of worms. Because hell if he could figure out why his arms were stretched out above his head, splayed out like some animal hung up for slaughter.
If he could just see what the fuck was going on…
He concentrated, trying to shake away the low buzz of static building in the back of his mind. Trying to identify his surroundings as someone alarmingly close cleared their throat then spat. He didn't understand the purpose behind the action until a few beats later when he flinched in response. Shuddering under his skin as a splattering of the disgustingly thick feeling gunk pebbled across the curve of his forearm.
What the shit?
But before he could do anything else, the world suddenly shifted, screeching to a discomforting halt as the overwhelming roar he'd first taken for inside his head spluttered to a sudden stop. – Wait, was that an engine?
He tensed as the sound of a truck door, rusty hinges and a popping left spring abruptly opened, then slammed closed. The action so close that he could actually feel the vibration through the metal underneath him. - Blunt nails scratching against the rusty metal flakes in affirmation as he finally figured out where he was. He was in the back of a truck, an old open bed Ford if the rattling purr of the engine was any guess.
He cocked his head, immediately recognizing the unmistakable scrape of boot heels crunching across loose gravel. Someone was coming, Rick or one of the others? But then why weren't they saying anything? What the fuck was going on? - He licked his cracked lips reflectively, tongue curling against the roof of his mouth as he tried to summon up enough spit to wet his painfully dry throat. Still counting each and every footstep as the person approached. Their gate confident and exaggerated, clearly making no effort to be quiet as they swaggered across the uneven gravel and clay.
The grating rasp of decaying metal screeched through the air as the truck hatch snapped forward, bouncing on its hinges as the person behind the action grunted reflectively. Still blind to whatever was happening; he recoiled when he was suddenly wrenched forward. Whoever it was entirely ignoring his writhing and struggling, as he tried and failed to kick out at his attackers. Curling in on himself reflectively as two sets of disgustingly clammy hands dug into the meat of his underarms and dragged him clear off the edge of the truck bed.
He slammed into the ground so hard he felt the impact in his bones. Unable to hold back a pained grunt as a thousand piercing pinpricks lanced through him as gravel and grit dug into his skin. Unable to use his hands to cushion his fall, he'd ended up face first on the uneven rocky drive. Spitting up a mouthful of blood and grime as a steady stream of liquid copper trickled down from his split lips, slicking his throat with red.
"Careful! The nasty little fuck is awake!" Came a sudden shrill, the exclamation piercing but decidedly masculine as it sounded off just to his right. - He lurched away on impulse, neck arching and vulnerable as a spray of dry Georgian soil scored across his cheeks in response. Almost as though whoever had spoken had also backed up quickly for good measure.
He raised his head, looking blindly towards the direction of the sound. The action instinctive and all but screaming with violence as he rolled away, tensing all his muscles at once as he used his bound hands to prop himself upright. Belly down on the ground and panting as adrenaline and panic kicked his remaining senses into overdrive.
But it was only when he rolled; deftly yanking himself out of the way of the clear scuff and swish that signaled that of an on coming kick, that he realized it wasn't darkness that was sliding across his tongue. It was the bitter tang of his own blood. And worse, that it wasn't dark outside at all, rather it was his eyes that were dark.
…He was fucking blindfolded.
A/N: Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! I am considering further parts to this story.
"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world the master calls a butterfly." - Richard Bach