Chapter Text
The muzzle was meant to humiliate him. Reigen hadn’t done anything to deserve it, in his opinion—he hadn’t even been particularly mouthy, knowing it would make things worse. But he’d tried to convince them to let Mob go, and had persisted past the point he probably should have stopped. Apparently that was enough.
It’s heavy, fastened around the back of his head and padlocked, with a metal plate in his mouth to keep his tongue pressed against his lower jaw. It hurts his teeth. It makes it hard to keep his head up, too, which is probably an intended feature.
Mob had stared, horrified, as they forced it onto him. Whatever was in that injection, it kept Mob from using his powers to intervene. He obviously wanted to, had tried; that’s where those bruises came from. Reigen remembers who hit him, because if they ever get out of this, that’s the man Reigen will kill first.
The muzzle also keeps him from trying to reassure Mob during the long march back to wherever the hell these assholes came from. Their hands are manacled in front of them, attached to long chains dragging them behind the transport. It keeps them moving at a brisk walk—not quite a jog, but fast enough to be tiring and difficult to maintain.
Mob stumbles again, gasping, and Reigen steadies him with a hand under his arm. There’s not much more he can do for him. Mob looks up at him, exhausted, and Reigen pats his arm with an encouraging hum.
He’s not sure how long they’ve been walking already; long enough for the sun to rise, beating down on them in force. Mob’s starting to look a little sunburnt. It’s not a concern now, but if they’re forced to walk through the middle of the day then heatstroke becomes an alarming possibility.
Their captors don’t look particularly concerned. Most of them are lounging on the back of the transport near where they’ve strapped in Reigen’s broken-down car. They’re playing some kind of card game, arguing with each other over the distribution of the meager contents of Reigen’s trunk.
“Shishou,” Mob wheezes, “I can’t—”
Come on, Mob, a little bit further—
A few steps later Mob falls face-first into the dirt. Reigen tries to catch him and misses, and then the chain starts to drag him along the ground.
No no no—
Reigen moves a little ahead and crouches down, struggling to lift him. He’s dead weight, completely limp—he’s passed out. Fuck. Fuck.
Their captors have noticed. He hears jeering as he folds Mob against his chest and straightens up again, stumbling forward at the insistent tug of the chain. He glares at them furiously, but they don’t make any move to help or hinder. They just watch as he shifts Mob’s weight and keeps walking.
Reigen’s not in particularly great shape, either—not enough food lately, and they’ve been relying too much on the car and Mob’s powers to drive it—but he doesn’t have much choice. Reigen doesn’t know what will happen if he falls too. Would they stop, or just drag them the rest of the way? Mob would probably survive; espers are hard to kill. But Reigen wouldn’t.
It depends on whether they’re after the bounty, and whether these bastards weigh the reward any higher than their own sadistic tendencies.
They could be with Claw. Or they could just be bandits. That would almost be worse—with Claw he knows what to expect. With bandits, it could be anything from slavery to being tortured to death for their amusement.
Mob stirs in his arms. Reigen’s been panting steadily, sweat and saliva dripping onto the front of Mob’s shirt. He doesn’t know how long Mob’s been out—maybe ten, fifteen minutes?
“Shishou,” Mob murmurs, “What happ—”
He hears Mob’s sharp intake of breath, and looks down. He’s staring at the muzzle—he must have forgotten. Reigen feels a stab of self-consciousness, but Mob mostly looks outraged. Reigen sees him trying to access his powers again. There’s still no response at all.
Reigen taps Mob’s arm with the hand under his shoulders, then pushes up a little. Mob gets the hint, bracing his arms against Reigen’s shoulder. That’s a little easier. Now that he’s no longer unconscious, Reigen should be able to carry him a little further. Actually—
He makes a humming noise, and taps Mob’s back. Mob looks at him in confusion, and Reigen jerks his head over his shoulder. It takes a couple more repetitions for him to get what Reigen’s trying to convey.
The transition is fairly seamless. He moves a little faster, so there’s some slack in the chain, and puts Mob down. Mob wobbles and loops his chained hands around Reigen’s neck, and Reigen pulls him up onto his back.
That’s a lot easier. Mob links his ankles around Reigen’s middle so he can support his legs. Reigen’s knees are shaking already, threatening to buckle—he’s running solely on adrenaline and stubbornness, now.
When they finally stop, it’s not at the citadel. It’s at a small compound, with walls made of barbed wire and sheet metal, wooden spikes sticking out haphazardly like quills. Reigen’s back stiffens when he sees it. Mob makes a questioning sound, waking up from a doze, but Reigen can’t communicate what it is that makes his breath quicken.
The transport stops just outside the walls. Reigen stumbles, slowing, and his legs collapse under him as soon as he stops moving.
“Shishou!”
Mob gets off his back. He crouches beside him, trying to pull him up, but Reigen’s legs are done. They’re limp and cramping up all along the back—he couldn’t stand if he tried.
Something bounces off his head, landing in the dirt next to him. A bullet casing.
“That’s what you get for carrying the brat,” one of them says, jumping off the back of the transport. “Shoulda just let him drag.”
Reigen looks up at him wearily. It’s the one who hurt Mob, during their capture—the one with the mohawk and the scarred face. He grins down at Reigen, nudging his face with his boot.
“Don’t,” Mob says, pulling Reigen back.
Mohawk laughs. “Kid, where he’s going, that’s the kindest he can expect from anyone.”
He detaches the end of the chains from the transport.
“You gonna carry him now, or am I dragging you both?”
“No—shishou, get up,” Mob says, pulling at his arm.
Reigen tries. He manages to struggle up onto his knees, but can’t lift himself any higher. Mohawk starts walking, and Reigen topples forward as the chain pulls on his arms.
“Please, just let him rest a bit,” Mob begs, getting shakily to his feet. He tugs on Reigen’s shoulders, lifting him so his head isn’t scraping along the ground at least.
“Nah, I don’t think I will,” Mohawk says without looking back. “He made his choice. That kind of charity bullshit is what gets you killed out here.”
He drags Reigen into the compound, Mob stumbling along beside him. It’s not as painful as it would have been being dragged behind the transport, but it is embarrassing.
He hears laughter as they head through the gates, and Reigen tries to block it out. Someone yells something pejorative, and people throw stuff, but it’s more irritating than painful. Thankfully, Reigen’s threshold for humiliation is pretty high at this point.
They’re brought to a large metal cage and thrown in. The bars are rusted, flat and welded together in a grid pattern. There’s a canvas tarp overhead blocking out the worst of the sun, but it’s still disgustingly hot. Their manacles are chained to the front bars, but there’s enough slack for them to move around the cage unimpeded.
Mob helps Reigen up into a sitting position, and Reigen pats his shoulder comfortingly. This is nothing. Reigen’s more worried about later, but those concerns can wait.
“I’m sorry, shishou,” Mob whispers, and Reigen turns his head at the guilt in his voice.
There’s nothing he can say, but he ruffles his hair with a hand. They’ll be okay. They can get out of this.
“You look like shit,” says a voice behind them, and Reigen flinches around, turning rapidly.
There’s a man huddled in the back of the cage—Reigen mistook him for a pile of rags. He’s filthy, and clearly underfed. His face is badly sunburned and looks almost skeletal in the harsh lighting.
“What’d you say to get saddled with that?” the man says, gesturing, and Reigen gives him an annoyed look. “Or d’you bite someone?” His voice is surprisingly strong, for his haggard appearance.
“He didn’t do anything,” Mob says.
“Well, whatever it was, someone didn’t like it. You’d better hope they take it off to feed you, or you’re not gonna last long.”
Reigen glares at him. Mob doesn’t need to be thinking about that right now.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“It’s Mob,” Mob says, after a slight hesitation.
“Sure it is.”
“This is Reigen,” Mob continues like he hadn’t heard.
“Cool, cool. Look, kid—Mob—do you think you can help me with something? Come closer.”
Reigen grabs onto Mob’s arm to hold him back.
“What? Come on, I’m not going to hurt him,” the man says indignantly.
Reigen makes a scathing sound, still holding onto Mob’s elbow.
“No, I see it now—even with that thing on your face, you’re still an asshole. Look, I just need—” he shifts, and holds something out. “I need you to break this.”
Reigen squints. It doesn’t look like anything special; just an engraved clay pendant on the end of a loop of wire.
“Why?” Mob asks, not moving.
“Why not? What’s it gonna cost you, huh? Come on, help a guy out.”
Mob glances over at Reigen, who shakes his head. Better not to risk it.
“Fine, whatever,” the man says, settling back with a bad-tempered scowl. “See if I ever help you.”
And that’s that. He doesn’t try to talk to them again.
They’re left alone, for the moment. Reigen watches the people go by—bandits, probably, fuck—and stretches out his legs, massaging the muscles until they feel like maybe he could use them again. They’re going to be shaky and sore as hell for a couple of days, but something tells him that’s the least of his problems.
They’d better hope that blocker injection wears off before anyone takes an interest, because he’s not going to be able to protect Mob in this state. If they’ve seen the bounty on rogue espers, they’ll just ship him off to the citadel—no bandit could turn down a number like that. They came prepared for espers, so they probably have.
That mohawk guy looked like a Scar, actually, so maybe they have some kind of deal with Claw. That might be how they found them—the stronger espers tend to be able to sense each other. They knew about Mob before he even started to fight back.
Whether they know about Reigen is another matter entirely.
If it comes down to it—
The cage door opens. It’s Mohawk again, and he’s unhitching Mob’s chain.
Reigen grabs onto Mob’s arm.
Mohawk laughs. “Sorry, it’s separation time. Come on, kid, you’re too valuable to leave in a place like this. Count yourself lucky—you get to ride in the car, this time.”
“What about shishou?” Mob asks. He doesn’t move toward the door.
“Him? He’ll be staying here. Last I heard, they’re gonna sell him off down the road. But they’ll probably hold onto him for a couple of days first.” He shoots Reigen a smirk. “The last one died before he made it to auction. They ended up selling him for parts.”
Oh, fuck you.
“I’m not leaving without him,” Mob says, voice steady.
“You don’t have a choice, kid. Either come out on your own, or I make you come out.”
He’s not bluffing, not with the way he beat Mob earlier. Reigen lets go of his arm reluctantly, but Mob makes no move to leave.
Mohawk yanks on the chain, making Mob stumble. “Let’s go, brat,” he snaps.
“Shishou—” Mob’s eyes are wide as he stares back at him, but Reigen is frozen in indecision.
Mohawk steps into the cage and pulls Mob forward. He grabs his wrist in a crushing grip, and tows him out. The cage door slamming sounds very final.
Mob digs his heels in, pulling back, until Mohawk grabs him by the hair and yanks hard.
“No, let go! Shishou—!”
And Reigen makes his choice. It’s not much of one, but hell. He can’t just sit here and watch this.
He unbuttons the top of his shirt, and pulls his collar down at the back. Mohawk doesn’t turn around when Reigen tries to get his attention. He agonizes for a moment, before turning to the man in the back of the cage.
The man gives him an unimpressed look as Reigen approaches, but his eyes widen when he sees what Reigen’s trying to show him. He stares up at him for a moment, and Reigen is terrified he won’t help, but then he calls out.
“Hey, asshole, you’re gonna want to see this,” he says, pitching his voice loud. “He’s got a brand on his neck.”
Mohawk stops, turning. His expression is incredulous.
“I’m serious. It looks like one of Claw’s.”
“If you’re fucking lying to me—” he opens the door again, coming forward, dragging Mob behind him. Mob just looks confused, and he really is out of touch with the world if he’s never heard of this. Has he really not picked up the information anywhere, with all the places they’ve been? Reigen had been going to a lot of trouble trying to hide it from him, but it looks like he needn’t have bothered.
“You know anyone who would lie about this?” the man retorts.
Mohawk grabs Reigen by the shoulder, yanking down the back of his shirt. Reigen winces as he drags a nail across the raised skin at the base of his neck.
“Well fuck,” he says eventually. “I guess you’re coming too.”
“Hey,” the other prisoner hisses as Reigen turns to go. “I helped you; you help me—come on, fair’s fair—”
He holds out the clay pendant. Reigen hesitates for a moment, but he did help. Reigen reaches back and snaps it between his fingers.
The man collapses in a heap, and Reigen startles as something travels up his arm like an electric shock.
(Thanks, sucker. That body was getting pretty boring.)
What the hell—
Reigen shakes out his hand, chain clinking frantically.
(Yeah, that’s not gonna help. You’re stuck with me now. Better get used to it.)
Great. Spirit possession. This is the last fucking thing he needed.
At least it doesn’t seem interested in taking control. For now, anyway. It’s not like it’d have anywhere to go.
“Shishou?” Mob asks as they walk through the camp. Reigen’s legs don’t hurt at all—they’re not even shaking. “What were they talking about? What’s on your neck?”
It’s not like he could explain, even if he wanted to. But he shows Mob anyway. He feels Mob press against it with a fingertip.
“Oh,” Mob says. “That looks like it hurt.”
Yeah, it did.
He buttons up his shirt as they walk, passing back through the gates.
(You’ll get maybe another few days together before you’re taken back, you realize that, right? You should’ve stayed with the bandits.)
Fuck off. If you’re going to be riding around in my head, the least you could do is shut up.
(Nope. But hey, it’s not all talk—I can keep you alive if they don’t take that thing off you.)
Reigen scowls. He didn’t agree to this.
(Yeah, well. There’s a lot of that going around.)
Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. His new passenger doesn’t offer anything further, and Mob and Reigen walk the rest of the way in silence.