The Tables have Turned -2
Warnings: Graphic, descriptive mentions of a vivisection, heavy gore, delirious whumper turned whumpee, sickness, medical mention, needles tw, cauterization tw, stitches, fear, begging, past kidnapping tw, IV antibiotics.
Tags: @whumpwillow, @shydragonrider, @whumpsday, @purple-heart-x
Character picrews and info here.
It had to be a dream.
Kyra looked down at the horrifying scene before her, bile rising in her throat. She knew in an instant, from the dyed red hair, that the man lying cut open on the metal table was Zayne Kamren.
Under normal circumstances, she would have been anxious seeing him in the basement of the cottage, but nothing about this was normal.
“What have you done?” She repeated, looking at Harry.
Her brother looked stunned.
“Kyra- I- I thought you were out with your friends.”
“I came home.” Kyra said simply, pulling out her phone.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked, nervously.
“I’m calling 911.”
“You can’t! Do you have any idea what will happen? I’d be arrested.”
“You fucking should be.” Kyra hissed.
“Kyra, he deserved it.”
“He kept us in a basement until our parents paid our ransom, beat you up once, and fractured your knee. He did not cut your fucking guts open.”
“Kyra, wait! Wait.”
She paused, finger hovering over the call button.
“I... Fuck, I know a surgeon. One who won’t ask any questions. Don’t call the police. I can... I’ll pay him... If it will stop you.”
“Just this once.” She said coolly. “Just this once, I will agree to this, because our mother has suffered enough, and so has he.” She said, gesturing to the shivering man on the table. “You will call this surgeon, tell him where to come, and pay him. Then you will leave this place, and go far away. If you ever hurt another person, I will kill you myself.” Kyra hissed.
Harry swallowed. He may have been older, but Kyra had gone through military training.
He knew she meant it.
With a nod, he took out his own phone, dialing a number.
Kyra was only half paying attention to what he was saying, stepping closer to Zayne, shuddering as she looked down at his exposed innards, at the flaps of flesh and muscle that had been folded back over his sides.
She swallowed hard, putting on a pair of rubber gloves. Her hands shook as she gently lifted the fold, putting it back into it’s original position.
Zayne twitched under the restraints, a weak moan emitting from his throat.
Fighting nausea, Kyra repeated the process with the other fold of muscle.
“He’ll be here in thirty minutes.”
“Good. You should leave now.” Kyra said flatly.
She had to keep him warm, but she couldn’t exactly just throw a blanket over him. Not with his abdomen sliced open the way it was.
Kyra grabbed an armful of blankets from the closet anyway, covering his legs with one, and placing another under his head like a cushion.
Zayne moaned when she touched him, the sound helpless and terrified.
“I know, I know.” Kyra murmured, gently stroking his rich red hair. “Just hang on. Help is coming.”
“N-no.” He groaned. “Ple-please...” He trailed off again, shivering.
In the end, Kyra ended up grabbing the space heater, and setting it up on a chair next to the table, in the hopes it would help keep him warm.
The black-market surgeon her brother had called arrived soon after. The man was in his fifties, she would have guessed, with black hair, steely grey blue eyes, and a stern expression.
Only the faintest flicker of alarm flashed through his eyes when he saw the wound.
“I will assume, since he is restrained, that you did not actually find him abandoned by the river in such a state.”
“I thought you didn’t ask questions?” Kyra said, stepping back to allow him full access to her former kidnapper’s shaking form.
“I dislike the idea of using the resources it will take to save him simply for him to go through this again.”
“I didn’t put him through his.” Kyra snapped. “And it will never happen again.”
“Why not simply take him to the hospital? I would like to know what I’m getting into.”
“Listen, as I said, I wanted you because I was told you don’t ask questions.”
“If you wish.” The man said, removing several tools that Kyra couldn’t name if she’d wanted to.
“What I’m going to do, miss Fielding, is electro-cauterize this wound, and then stitch it up. The cauterization will prevent excess bleeding and allow the flesh to knit itself back together, with the aid of the sutures. Then, I’ll put him on antibiotics.”
Kyra sighed, sitting down, on the couch, and watching as he prepared a needle, sliding it into Zayne’s arm.
Zayne whimpered, his head lolling sideways.
Kyra said nothing as the Surgeon worked, cleaning the wounds, cauterizing and stitching it.
It took three hours before the surgeon finished. To Kyra, if felt like years.
“My brother will have transferred money to your account.” Kyra said, standing up.
“Can you... help me move him upstairs?” She asked quietly. Zayne was 6′8, there was no way she could move him by herself.
The surgeon tilted his head, then nodded once.
After they’d gotten him into the guest bedroom, the Surgeon turned to Kyra.
“His core temperature has been compromised. He will need to be kept warm. And be prepared for a fever. It’s going to be a long road to recovery for him.”
Kyra nodded, thanking him quietly, and watching him leave. Before she sank to the floor, and buried her face in her hands.
Zayne felt both hot and cold, nausea washing over him.
He was disoriented, his mind plagued by memories of terror and pain. He tried to squirm, but it was difficult, and it hurt.
Distressed, he shifted weakly with a hoarse whine.
He heard a voice, and strained to connect with it.
“Wh-what’s happen’ng... where ‘m I?” He slurred, struggling to open his eyes.
The voice continued, and Zayne squinted, unable to make out any clear shapes.
“Please.” He moaned. “D-don’t hurt m-me...”
Something touched his forehead, and he flinched, terrified.
“Please...” He whimpered again. “I-I can’t... D-don’t- nnggghh- c-cut me o-open a-again. Please...” He begged.
“No one is hurting you.”
Zayne had no choice but to hope that was true. With an exhausted sob, he slipped back into darkness.