Invincible

Title: Invincible
Chapter 2: The Proverbial Unrest
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: William Beckett/Damian Kulash.
Bands: The Academy Is... and OK Go. Crossover.
Warnings: Rape and mature themes.
Disclaimer: The following story is fiction. All fiction, all a product of my own imagination. I do not own William Beckett or Damian Kulash, but if they were really a couple, I'd love to have a hidden camera in their bedroom. Just in case it didn't come through loud and clear the first time, THIS IS FAKE. All fake, all the time. Never happened, not true, no film at 11.


Will shifted uncomfortably on the couch, trying to find a position that it didn't hurt to sit down in. The rest of the band was tiptoeing around him, not talking about what had happened, ignoring the fact that he couldn't sit down without wanting to scream in pain. He wanted to scream at them, tell them to stop trying to make him feel like nothing had happened and everything would be okay.

I was raped, his thoughts screamed in his mind, his small hands clenching into fists. And the people who raped me have Damian. I know they do. There's no telling what they'll do to him. He wanted to cry, to scream, to beat his fists against the nearest wall until they were bruised and bloody.

But that wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't help Damian, it wouldn't change what had happened, and it wouldn't bring his boyfriend back to him safely.

He shifted his body again, trying to find a comfortable position that didn't put any pressure on his ass. It was impossible, he finally decided, laying down on his side and stretching out on the couch. He couldn't help wincing as he turned onto his side; it seemed like every area of his body hurt in some way.

It was never like this with Damian, he thought bitterly, closing his eyes and trying to conjure up the feeling of the tall guitarist's hands on his skin, how Damian's lips felt against his own, how good it felt when his boyfriend was inside him.

Damian was always gentle. Damian never hurt him.

Of course he didn't. Damian had never raped him.

Will turned his face against the pillows on the couch, hot tears starting to trickle down his cheeks. He didn't know which was worse -- the constant pain in his body from the brutal violation he'd suffered through, or the pain in his heart from knowing what could be happening to Damian at this very second.

Of all the things he'd thought would happen to him, he'd never once thought about anything like this. He'd known that there were crazy fans out there, of course, but somehow, they'd never seemed all that scary to him. Even when he'd heard stories of musicians being kidnapped by psychos, he'd never thought it seemed .... well, real.

Now, it was all too real. His bruised, aching body was proof of that. And the fact that Damian wasn't here, by his side. No, his boyfriend was being held captive somewhere, maybe not even a part of this world any more.

No. Will shook his head, raising a too-thin hand to wipe the tears away from his cheeks. Damian wasn't dead. He couldn't be. He'd feel it. He'd know. They were too close for him not to sense if there was a sudden huge gap in his life, in his heart.

His eyes fasted on his cell phone, laying on the table in front of him. Right next to the land line, sitting there mutely, stubbornly refusing to ring. If these people were intent on some kind of ransom, they'd call. They'd find his phone number, they'd talk to him, they'd let him know how to get Damian back.

It was the only hope he had to hold on to. Two days now, and he'd heard nothing. Two days of waiting by the phone, something in his heart shriveling and dying with each passing hour.

He glared at each phone in turn, willing either one of them to ring. And not with a phone call from his bandmates, wanting to know how he was. Every time they'd called, he'd wanted to scream into the phone at them, rage against something he knew they couldn't control.

How do you think I am? I was raped, in my own house, in my own bed, for fuck's sake. My boyfriend's been kidnapped by the people who raped me and I don't know if he's dead or alive, or what they've done to him. Stop asking me stupid questions, goddammit!

His small hands clenched again, and Will had to take a deep breath and consciously make them uncurl. His nails had dug into his palms enough to make crescent moon marks, the pain from them only adding to the other pains in his body. Just more of the same. But at least that lets me know I'm still capable of feeling something.

The land line shrilled insistently, making him nearly jump off the couch in his haste to pick it up.

"Hello?" His voice was a thin thread of sound, the word constricting in his throat.

"Mr. Beckett. Recovering nicely, I hope?" The voice was conversational, almost friendly. "That was a lovely first meeting. I hope we'll repeat it again sometime."

"Over my dead body," he muttered, grinding his teeth. "What do you want?"

"That can be arranged, Mr. Beckett." The voice wasn't nearly so friendly now. "Or rather, over your boyfriend's dead body, if you'd prefer that. It would be very easy for us to slit his throat now and leave his body somewhere that it won't be found."

"No!" Will's voice was almost a shriek, desperation driving all other thoughts from his mind. "No, please! Don't hurt him, I'm begging you!"

"That's better." The voice switched its tone again, sounding soothing, as though the man was trying to calm him down. "Just be a good boy and cooperate, and you'll get your boyfriend back. A little used, of course, but in better shape than he'd be in if you chose to be difficult."

"Where is he?" Will whispered, the tears rising to nearly choke his voice in his throat. "Please, tell me where he is. I need to know. Please."

"He's alive, William." The voice still sounded soothing, almost pleasant. "I can't say that he's completely unharmed, but you didn't expect that, now did you?"

"What did you do to him?" Will's voice broke, his words sounding more like a sob than a question.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, William." The voice was starting to sound less friendly, more on the sneering side. "Nothing that wasn't already done to you."

"Please don't hurt him," Will begged, all semblance of calm gone. His nerves were ripped to shreds, his body now trembling as violently as his voice was. "Please. I'll do anything you want, just don't hurt him."

"You can prevent anything further happening to him, William." The sneer was sudenly gone, replaced by an oily, urbane tone. "All you have to do is cooperate with us, and he'll be returned safely."

"What? What do you want?" His voice was rising again, panicked, frantic.

"You, William." The voice had changed again; it was cold, steely, emotionless. "We want you. You, in exchange for Damian. No questions, no negotiations. Your body for his. It seems a fair bargain."

Will squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the rising tide of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He could call his bandmates; they could be there, wherever he'd have to meet these people. They could get both him and Damian out of there, they could call the police and turn it all over to them.

No. They couldn't. These men were perfectly capable of killing Damian if they didn't get what they wanted. He was sure of it.

And they wanted him.

He didn't have a choice. He'd told Damian once that he would sacrifice anything for him. He hadn't counted on having to make that sacrifice so soon -- but if it kept his love alive and safe, he'd do anything. No matter what the consequences were to himself.

"Okay," he whispered, his slender shoulders sagging with the weight of his decision. "Just don't hurt him. Promise me you won't hurt him."

"He'll be returned to you, William. Safe and in one piece." The voice was back to the original friendly tone, almost bantering, now that the person behind it had gotten their way. "You'll even be reunited, for a few moments, at least. I'll let you know the time and place."

"All right." His own voice sounded very far away, small and frightened. What was he getting himself into?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Damian would be safe.

"And William." That voice now held a tone of warning. "I'll be calling you back. Tomorrow, with the details of where you'll exchange yourself for him. If you try to bring anyone with you -- then he dies. Slowly and painfully."

Will gulped, fear freezing his voice in his throat. He had no doubts that these people were capable of doing exactly what they said they would. He wouldn't tell anybody; they knew he wouldn't. He couldn't risk it, couldn't risk losing Damian.

"I won't," he finally managed to whisper, praying that the man on the other end of the line would realize he was sincere.

"See that you don't." The line went dead, the connection severed.

Will almost dropped the phone, burying his face in his hands and letting the wrenching sobs shake his body. He'd committed himself to this. There was no turning back. But he had to do it. It was the only way he'd be sure that Damian would be all right. He had no choice, no matter what might happen to him.

He just prayed that he wasn't gambling with both of their lives.