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“Philippe, I got caught. We’re at the western sewer entrance. Bring a bottle of champagne and a pair of my glasses, these thugs just broke mine. Make it quick, Philippe. You know I don’t like to wait, Philippe.”
He hung up before Philippe could answer. Or his kidnappers did. But he told him a lot with a little time.
Champagne meant local thugs. Maybe a rival gang. They roughed him up already, intending to do more, thus the glasses. They may have already broken his glasses. It was never good when someone started with taking away his vision. It meant no negotiation.
He needed him to come quickly because they were impatient. They weren’t waiting around smoking cigarettes. They must be messing with him while they waited.
And Corbeau hated mockery. Corbeau doesn’t like to wait, but reiterating that he hates waiting after saying be quick was excessive. They must be doing something he hates, and mockery was the easiest way to get in his head.
Interestingly he didn’t ask for help. He said where he was and gave the instructions to bring things. But didn’t ask for help. Philippe couldn’t decipher that. Should he not go? That would've been bad unless he was sure. And they did capture the boss after all. He had to get him out of there.
Philippe put someone in charge of the Syndicate and told them all to act business as usual unless they didn’t hear from either of them for 48 hours. After that there were procedures to look for them and pass the power on if they ended up in the river or something.
On the way to the location, he started having a panic attack. Nerves heightened, he practically ran there. He carried the items and his brass knuckles. What was he walking into right now? He knew a bit but not enough to know exactly how to handle this.
His emotions dragged him there, and he hesitated. Was he missing something because he was rushing to Corbeau?
Philippe, I got caught. We’re at the western sewer entrance. Bring a bottle of champagne and a pair of my glasses, these thugs just broke mine. Make it quick, Philippe. You know I don’t like to wait, Philippe.
He said his name three times, one at the beginning and two at the end. Was there a reason? He couldn’t think straight and his legs dragged him forward despite feeling like jelly. His heart pounded in his throat and made him want to vomit.
Once he entered the scene, he longed for that mild nausea.
A redheaded guy that Philippe decided to call Red, led him to where they held Corbeau. Red refused to say anything to him, bringing him to the spot like an assistant. Probably another guy in charge then.
They had Corbeau tied up with excessive restraints to a metal chair by his wrists and legs. Glasses gone. Shoes and socks gone. Gag in his mouth probably because he wouldn’t stop talking. It was useless to have a silver tongue if they wouldn’t listen. Two guys, including the one who brought him here. Corbeau looked up at Philippe. The absolute look of defeat he saw in him told him he probably shouldn’t have come at all.
Red offered him a chair in front of Corbeau while the other one held a knife close to his boss’s neck to make sure Philippe didn’t try anything. Philippe set down the glasses and champagne bottle and sat on the chair.
“So, there’s this safe…” One of them started.
Great, the safe. Someone stole a safe from the Rust Syndicate weeks ago. Philippe didn’t know what was in it, just that it was invaluable, and stuff was in there to protect it just in case of a fire or explosion. The safe would survive anything, keeping whatever was in it safe. Clearly they had the safe. He didn’t even need to see it; he believed them.
“Your boss already swore up and down that he won’t talk no matter what we do. And we believe him.”
Philippe glared at the one much too close to the boss, a bald guy with no outstanding features. “So you brought me here to see if I’m his weakness.”
“Oh no,” the one behind him said, “you don’t get it. We believe him. We know he tells you everything, so we thought maybe you’d like to tell us the code. You can tell us whenever you want. And as soon as you do, we’ll leave and let you both go.”
Red, the guy closest to him circled him and held out cuffs. “Wanna talk, or should we get started?”
He met Corbeau’s eyes to see how he wanted to play this. Corbeau, in the most subtle movement possible, shook his head no. Don’t tell them. You know nothing. Say nothing. Don’t do anything.
“I don’t know it.” He held up his arms and let them cuff him.
Corbeau eyed the guy closest to him who still threatened him directly. Red joined his buddy close to Corbeau and started doing the unthinkable, punishing him until Philippe gave up the combination.
They started with punches, weak ones, but to his face. Corbeau could take a punch. But when they moved out of the way to let Philippe see the damage so far, he looked so hurt already.
Corbeau got marked so easily. Too easily. And he hadn’t needed to take a hit in a while with Philippe protecting him so much. Corbeau was in decent shape, but the kid who was constantly getting into fights in the streets simply hadn’t been touched in maybe a decade.
Still his boss held himself up and kept that commanding eye contact.
Did he have a plan? Should Philippe try to fight them? His instructions were to do nothing but…
The lead punisher of the two moved on to his chest.
Philippe stirred in place and tried not to react, trying not to give them anything to use. Corbeau was just way too small for punches to the gut. Even with the gag, the small sounds escaping him made him desperate to retaliate. He could barely keep still.
“If I don’t know the combination, doing this is useless. Wouldn’t it be easier to steal something else expensive while we’re both here?”
“You’re supposed to tell us the code, not have an opinion about how we do business.”
“And there’s no way he didn’t tell you. There’s gotta be someone besides him who knows and he doesn’t trust anyone else,” The punisher explained. “What do you think? Wanna tell us?”
“I cannot divulge that which I do not know.”
More hits to the chest and face. Corbeau tried so hard to stifle any sounds behind that gag.
Philippe closed his eyes when they went to show him what he looked like now.
“Don’t wanna see? Okay, well, you can’t cover your ears.”
They must have removed his gag because he thought he heard Corbeau mumbling his name before barely containing the yell that followed.
He opened his eyes again. He needed to see so he could pay them back tenfold for whatever they did to him. They had a sleeve up and cut down his arm with that knife.
They pulled the other one up, and he watched Corbeau shut his eyes and brace.
“Boss…”
This time he held it in a little more as they cut the next arm. The blade sliced through the Gyarados tattoo on that arm, turning it a bright red.
A guy grabbed Corbeau’s hair. “Open your eyes.”
Corbeau opened them and hissed at him. He just couldn’t stop reacting. But he was trying so hard not to. Philippe stayed neutral for the both of them, not faltering in the slightest. But the flame forming in his chest could burn the city down. He killed these men a thousand times in his head. The only reason he hadn’t unleashed everything building up inside him was Corbeau’s clear command not to.
“Look at him, squirming in his chair. Tell us the code, and we’ll let him go.”
“I believe that you would, but I don’t know it.” Philippe repeated again, voice even despite everything.
It felt like an out of body experience, watching them cut off some of his hair. Cut the front of his shirt to rip it off and expose his chest, also exposing the Arbok inspired tattoo there. And the Scolipede on his back. Things only Philippe knew about from tending to past injuries.
More cuts. Nothing. Philippe wouldn’t crack. Despite seeing blood.
Then one brought over a metal rod. Corbeau showed his hand by fearfully looking at that thing.
“Ever been burned by hot iron?”
Philippe could barely compose himself. He had, and he knew it hurt. “Stop! I don’t know the combination. I can’t tell you something that I don’t know.”
“Huh, I don’t believe you.” The punisher left with the metal rod.
Philippe knew metal. He knew what hot metal did to skin. And the smell of burning skin. The permanent damage it caused. He swallowed nothing and felt so much adrenaline shoot through him with nowhere to go because of the invisible chains Corbeau put around him.
Yellow eyes met Philippe’s and told him to stay and be quiet. Was it worth it? Was whatever was in there worth the pain?
“Boss,” Philippe mouthed, nearly pleading with him. Weakness all over in his face.
Corbeau glared at him with more intensity and forbade him from talking anymore without steeling himself up.
“Why is it so important that you open this safe?” Philippe questioned Red with his firm tone once again.
“It was a safe hidden in Corbeau’s office, it’s got to have something good in it. There’s so many treasures out in the open, whatever’s in there has got to be good.”
The punisher came back with a glowing metal rod. “Pull him forward.”
Once nearly searing hot metal touched the skin on his back, Corbeau let out the loudest, blood-curdling scream he’d ever heard from him in his life.
Nothing’s worth this. No item on the planet was worth this. How could anything be so important that he’d accept this pain? Nothing was this important.
Philippe nearly stood up and fixed his position instead, fidgeting with wavering self-restraint. He rocked around in the chair, willing himself to stay while literally biting his tongue.
When they finished marking his back, they lifted his head again, and through the tears on his face Corbeau wore the same expression, the one telling him not to say anything. Trembling uncontrollably and struggling to breathe, but still demanding Philippe’s silence.
Still? Philippe kept strong eye contact in case he called it. If he even blinked to suggest that Philippe could finally jump them, he’d take it.
“Philippe, come on. Just tell us. Is it really worth it to sit there through all this?”
Philippe unintentionally glared at the punisher and had to fix his face. “It’s not worth it and you should give it up. Mr. Corbeau isn’t going to tell you, and I know nothing.”
They looked annoyed with him. Annoyed! He dug his feet into the ground and looked at Corbeau if anything to give him something stable and grounding to look at.
“I’m heating this up again. Pick a foot.” The punisher left them.
Red grabbed onto a tuft of hair still on Corbeau’s head and kept the knife near his neck. Corbeau trembled so violently, Red couldn’t hold the knife too close or he’d cut him by accident.
Philippe could take one guy. He could take this guy and get the other one before he came back. Easily.
“Okay which one?” The punisher came back and kneeled by the chair.
He grabbed Corbeau’s right ankle and pushed his foot onto the hot metal rod.
Once again Philippe sat through another hellish scream from his boss that put tears in his own eyes. How long until he passed out? Would he still be sworn to silence then? Arceus, please end this. Why allow him to endure this awake and completely aware of everything happening to him?
He saw the moment Corbeau was awake but no longer there. His eyes locked on nothing, but the fact that they still stayed open kept Philippe in place. The second those yellow slivers disappeared, it was over for everyone in this room.
“Hey, I know what’ll crack him.” Red undid Corbeau’s belt and threw it. Philippe felt all the color leave his face at the implication. “Let’s try aiming a little lower.”
The punisher seemed unsure. “Maybe after a drink.” He grabbed the champagne Philippe brought and checked out the label. “Wanna sip, Philippe? Maybe that’ll loosen your lips faster than seeing your boss naked.”
If he wasn’t out of his mind, Corbeau would be furious over this. He’d go mad beyond control at their insistence on messing with his dignity instead of just hitting him. Or maybe that was Philippe projecting because this bothered him so much. Every breath out may as well be fire with how enraged he felt.
He missed when they opened the champagne bottle over the ringing in his ears being so loud and disturbing. The moments flew by him in obscurity. They hit him on the face? They burned him? They cut him? His arms, his hair? Why? Why!?
The punisher neared Corbeau and leaned on him. He looked up. “Wanna taste?”
Philippe squinted at him for looking up. Why was he looking…
Another man jumped down from somewhere high and grabbed the bottle. He drank straight from it without a word. This guy was armed.
“Hey, he’s not gonna be the perfect shot if he’s drunk!” Red complained.
The punisher grabbed the bottle and drank as much as he could. Red took a sip last and realized he hated the taste. When they tossed the bottle, the sniper climbed back to his spot he sat previously perched where Philippe didn’t know to look.
So that was it.
There were three of them, and Corbeau didn’t want him to act rashly and get taken out by the third guy. Now that he knew, he questioned his Boss’s ability to give a new command. He could barely keep his eyes open and they probably weren’t giving him a clear picture right now anyway. Was he still obligated to stay put now that he knew?
An invisible force kept him sitting obediently still. Vines pulled his legs to the floor. Chains kept his arms from moving. His Boss’s last command to stay still lingered in his mind. He was slipping from reality from the amount of stress he shoved down inside himself, but he promised he’d stay. Corbeau always knew more than he’d say. And he hadn’t wavered so far.
The punisher returned to Corbeau, pushing his head back slightly, teasing his neck with a hand. He reached down to undo Corbeau’s pants, but he hesitated for some reason.
Philippe couldn’t see why he stopped and looked at Red for his reaction for some kind of clue.
…
The sniper dropped from where he was perched.
The punisher choked on something he couldn’t see, and he instantly fell to the ground and stopped moving.
The last man, Red, looked at Philippe with absolute horror and confusion.
“Poison,” Philippe offered as it occurred to him.
He saw the moment it hit the man. His face turned white as a ghost, he choked, and he fell. Even Red’s small sip took him out.
Corbeau poisoned the champagne.
Philippe brought it with him at his request. He hated champagne. But they were also immune to poison, so even if they had made either of them drink some, they would’ve been fine.
Too bad those thugs didn’t drink it sooner…
The moment passed fast, and Philippe jumped up right after they all fell. He tore off the cuffs that may as well have been paper. He quickly cut the ties off the chair holding Corbeau in place and caught him before he fell forward.
“Corbeau! You’re safe, they’re gone. It’s over.” He held him carefully but so close. “I got you.”
“Wait…”
Philippe looked at him curiously.
His voice sounded so hoarse and ruined, and so small. “The safe… open it… burn everything…”
A very weak hand pushed Philippe to go.
He didn’t want to leave him. He refused to leave him. “But, Boss, no one knows it’s here. You need help now.”
He made some angry sound at him and pulled at his shirt to signal him to stand up.
Philippe took the hand and debated refusing again.
“Please…” Corbeau weakly begged.
His heart stung at the plea. He couldn’t refuse this. “Okay, I’m leaving you. But I’m coming back. I promise. I’m coming back.”
Philippe ran up there and opened the safe with the code that he not only knew, but was slightly surprised that Corbeau never changed. He couldn’t help but look before performing his duties. He didn’t say Philippe couldn’t look, and he needed to know why this all happened. Why his boss insisted he not say anything and not protect him at all.
In it was his entire past.
Corbeau had a few birth certificates, pictures from when he was younger with multiple adults, including Lysandre. Different names. Corbeau. Karasuba. Different identities. Young Corbeau. Baby Beau. Teen Corbeau. Different hair, different looks. Lies entangled in truths.
Lysandre signed one certificate, tying him to Lumiose City. He signed it a year that set him at an age Philippe knew to be incorrect. Another signature that implied Corbeau was much younger than he claimed. Did he know his age? His birthday? Were any of these real?
And then, things a mother would keep: baby hair, bellybutton, little baby clothes, baby shoes… He closed his eyes and let out a devastated sigh.
When he finished the deed, he returned to Corbeau. He went to pick him up, but his ever-stubborn boss stopped him to look at him. “Did you…?”
“Yes, it’s done.”
“Didja look?”
“Did you want me to?”
“No…”
“Then I didn’t.”
“… tell me if you did.”
Philippe shook his head. “I didn’t. And now no one will.”
“I wanna go home.”
“Hospital first.”
He pulled him into his arms, and the way the contact made him cry out with a strangled breath broke his heart. He carried him out and ignored his own tears falling.
Corbeau was far gone again by then but muttering nonsense off and on, delusional and in so much pain. Dry sobbing and not much voice left in him. Still he grabbed onto him because even this out of it, he knew Philippe was helping him.
“Daddy…” He whimpered in his arms and turned to bury his face in his chest. Did he even have a parent long enough to call out to them for help?
“I know you’re in a lot of pain, just hold on, Beau.”
Finally, finally, they made it. He got him help, and eventually they were both in a room shaking from the stress and pain of what just happened. They gave Corbeau so much medicine, he’d be knocked out for a while. Good, he’d sleep like this. Philippe stayed close and kept a hand on him since he seemed to panic, even in sleep, unless he could feel him nearby.
They didn’t have a real conversation until days later when Corbeau finally got back to his head. Still in the hospital because of the injuries.
“Philippe,” Corbeau woke up in the middle of the night, whispering his name.
Philippe responded by looking at yellow eyes staring back at him.
“Philippe, you…” he tried to cough out a compliment, Philippe knew the tone, but instead he started crying.
Philippe moved closer and kissed his forehead. “Beau, what happened to you was awful. I’m sorry they hurt you—sorry I couldn’t help you.”
Corbeau struggled to rebuke that and just sort of babbled incoherently.
“I would never have disobeyed you. I just mean that the whole thing shouldn’t have happened. No one should’ve ever laid a hand on you.” He cupped his messed up face. “Try to sleep. Please? Just rest a little, I’ll stay with you. It’ll help. And nothing else will happen to you, Beau, I promise.”
Corbeau tugged his hand, asking him to come closer. Philippe wasn’t sure how to get around everything he was plugged into, but he managed. He carefully positioned himself on the bed, and Corbeau rested his head on his arm pushing up against him.
With Corbeau this close, he wanted to talk to him so badly.
“I looked in the safe.”
“I know.”
…
“Boss, why did you want me to destroy it?”
“I don’t need it. I can’t use it for anything anyway, I only kept it for sentimental reasons, and that was obviously the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
“But…”
“None of it matters. They’re all gone. Lysandre’s dead, the rest are gone or dead. It really doesn’t matter. No one remembers them like that anymore. Except you. And now you and me are the only ones who know all of that even existed. And I’m fine with that. But I never want that to happen again. I know why you looked, Philippe. You told me why: what was so worth it that you weren’t allowed to protect me? Now you know.”
“Beau…”
“Don’t make me cry again, Philippe. I don’t want to hear any more about this. You already know more than you should.”
“I had an abusive father.”
“Shut up, Philippe.”
“Yet he never touched me.”
Corbeau went quiet.
“But I had to watch him hurt my mom all the time. Pour water on her face when she passed out. Cook when she couldn’t. Clean when she wouldn’t.” Philippe turned and nuzzled what was left of his purple hair. This way, Corbeau also couldn’t see him tearing up. “I hated watching you get so beaten up, but I would’ve never disobeyed you.”
They shared an awful silence for a moment.
Corbeau’s mumble sounded almost inaudible, “What happened to them?”
“Huh?”
“Your parents. You never mentioned them before.”
“My mom hated me because I looked like him. He just didn’t care about me.”
“Yeah?”
“And then one day… exactly what you think happened, happened.”
Corbeau scoffed in disbelief. “You’re not that violent.”
“You know I am. That’s why you told me not to do anything. You know I’d do anything to help you or stop somebody from hurting you.”
“Is your mom still alive?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? Did he fight back before his father finally went too far? Or did he stop him just in time?
“Doesn’t matter. You’ll never meet her regardless. Some people can’t escape familiar pain. We could’ve run away, but we never did. Never get to that point, Beau. Never depend on someone who hurts you. Ever.”
“Why did you tell me all of that?”
“I learned about your past, it’s only fair. Now we’re the only ones who know. You have no past, you lived a million lives and now you have no one from that time. Well, neither do I.” He wrapped an arm around Corbeau and squeezed him, not bothering to be delicate this time. “But I’m never letting go of what I have now. The Syndicate is my family. And I love all of it. Especially you, Beau.”
Corbeau reached a hand over him and traced a heart over his chest where he had a tattoo of the Rust Syndicate logo.