The Punishment

Cold claws of fear tore at Victor's stomach. He hugged his knees, cradling himself.

As the minutes passed, Victor found himself worrying more and more about his family. Had Matthew’s group encountered the same trouble he and Umbra had? Were they okay? The thought of anything happening to them made Victor want to throw up.

Most of all, he worried about Umbra. He had been abruptly stolen from him during a heated moment- his last words to him hadn't been good. He missed his father, and craved his reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

Pilate appeared at the doorway, carrying arm-fulls of food. His tight frown loosened when he saw Victor, both face and shoulders perking up.

“You're still here!” he cried in delight, sitting down next to Victor. “There's a little trouble, but we should be fine. I'll get you safe.”

Victor frowned, concerned by his statement. He decided not to pursue it. He already had enough to stress over.

Pilate filed through the food in his lap, handing Victor a sandwich and a bottle of water. Victor politely accepted the meal, but his hunger had been snuffed out by the sea of worry he had fallen into.

“Look!” Pilate said excitedly, reaching into his pocket, “I brought you something special.” He waved a chocolate chip cookie in front of Victor's face, “It's a cookie, see?”

Victor forced a smile, taking the treat. He was feeling slightly lightheaded, so he figured a little sugar in his system couldn't hurt. He needed to keep his health up.

Pilate shuffled beside him, a little too close for Victor's comfort. Slowly and unsure, Victor began to eat. He tried to keep his arms firmly at his sides, but he accidentally elbowed Pilate in the side.

Pilate suddenly gasped for air, reeling in pain and almost choking on his water. Victor drew back, gaping at him.

Victor grabbed his notebook, quickly scribbling, “Are you okay?”

“It's okay!” Pilate said hastily, raising up his hands, “You just hit a bruise! Or, um, maybe, some broken ribs. I'm not really sure. But you shouldn't worry, Victor! I deserved it anyway. I didn't follow my master's orders.”

Victor's stomach dropped. He...beat him?

Clumsily, Victor asked: “Does he do that a lot?”

Pilate turned his head, cheeks red. “Yeah, uh, I mean, my father only hits me when I do something to deserve it. Like, when I forget to do the laundry or whatever. That's all. It's alright.”

Pilate continued, seeing Victor's grimace, “It doesn't really even hurt that much! It's only really bad the first, like, hour or so. After that, the pain kinda dies down and I get used to it.”

His master is his father? Victor thought, a sick feeling crawling from his churning stomach to his throat. And he's hitting him for stupid reasons? Why is Pilate just tolerating this? That's not what parents are supposed to be like.

“He's only, like, super bad when he's drunk. That's what happened a couple nights ago,” Pilate rambled on, lightly touching his side, “Uh, yeah. I think they're broken.”

Pilate’s eyes finally fell across Victor, taking in his horrified expression. He squirmed on the floor, suddenly grabbing his notebook and grunting.

“I'm done talking about it,” he mumbled, “I wanna draw now.”

Victor's mouth felt dry. He leaned towards Pilate, bringing his pen to the margin of his paper. “Pilate, this isn’t right. He shouldn't treat you like that.”

Pilate shook his head, furiously scribbling on his paper. His sketch was disorganized and messy.

“Pilate, dads aren't supposed to hit you just because you messed up,” Victor urged.

Pilate growled, keeping his head down. Victor didn't notice he was shaking.

“Listen, you need to get away from him, right now! It's not safe!” Victor hit the paper for emphasis.

Pilate suddenly stood, flinging the notebook across the floor. His awkward and gentle demeanour had been lost; fiery rage contorted his face.

“Why do you even care?” he shouted, “Why do you even care about me?!” Tears began to stream down his flushed cheeks.

Victor scrambled for paper to respond with, but Pilate stomped his foot. Victor stopped dead, frightened by his rapid change in mood.

“You're just confused, sick! You have, uh,” he paused, running his fingernails down his face as he searched for the term, “Stockholm Syndrome! I kidnapped you! I'm the monster! You shouldn't care about how my master beats me!”

Victor watched Pilate break down in front of him. He swayed on his feet, covering his mouth and wailing.

Slowly, Victor extended his fingers to Pilate, begging him to take his hand. For a second, Pilate almost complied, bending his arms like he was going to embrace Victor. But he drew away, hugging his chest and stumbling back.

“No, no,” he slurred, shaking his head, “I can't-” Pilate was heaving for breath.

Victor's immediate response was fear. He didn't know what was going on with Pilate, or why he was acting so strange.

Pilate backed into the desk, the monitors catching his attention. Video feed reflected in his eyes, and he gasped.

“Oh no…” Pilate gasped, “He's coming.”

Author's Note- oh dear, im approaching that part of my planning.