Chained In Servility

3

TWs: Physical abuse, the aftermath of Tord having a breakdown, self-deprecation

It was Saturday and Tord was standing in front of the Red Army base in Norway with his two best soldiers at his side.

"Remember to take it slow, Tord," Pau muttered to the young leader.

"We're going to the barracks to unpack. Call us if you need anything at all." Pat said.

Tord nodded as he slowly made his way to his father's 'War Room' as he called it. Where he planned every future war and sent soldiers direct instructions to carry out from there.

Honestly, Tord wasn't looking forward to meeting with his father. He'll probably send him out on a battlefield immediately, and with the way his legs tensed and flared up in slight pain, Tord knew he wasn't going to be battle-ready for a long while. He couldn't even put on his robot arm until the stitches healed, so he just had a stump arm for now.

The Norsk kept his head down as he passed a few soldiers, the blood-red carpet looking as if it hadn't been washed in years since he last saw it set a bitter taste in his mouth.

Turning the last corner, Tord finally made it to the 'War Room'. The light flickered above him as he stepped up to the door, almost as if it was warning him to turn away.

He should've listened.

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Pat and Pau ran down the hall towards Tord's room. They both got a distress signal on their phones, which made them drop what they were doing. It was Pat's idea for Tord to create an app that's linked to all of their phones and used in case of emergencies. Tord thought it was stupid at the time, but created it anyway.

He never used the app until today.

Which meant something was wrong. Very wrong.

Pau slammed the door open to Tord's room. The duo stopped once they saw the mess that was Tord's room.

Tord had a system where everything went and put things in a certain order. He sometimes had 4 or 5 blueprints on his workspace, insisting he was "working on all of them." There was also a whiteboard seemingly always filled with some sort of equation or law of science on it. All his dark brown medium bookcases hold everything about robotics and inventing. Then there was his bed which he always made semi-decent. Finally, his red walls had blueprints that he was proud of and sticky notes for future projects.

But now it looked as if it was in a hurricane. His whiteboard had been erased and pushed into the corner, his medium-sized bookcases which held many books now held little to none, and a lot have been ripped off their pages and thrown around the room, his red walls held no sticky notes and no blueprints. A lot of the blueprints have been ripped to shreds, especially the ones he was most proud of.

In the middle of the room sat Tord. He was curled up in a ball, using his bed sheets as some type of shell.

"Tord...?" Pat whispered. Tord only curled in on himself tighter.

Pau softly closed the door as Pat walked up to Tord. The lights were dim, making the room feel somber.

Pat made sure there was nothing in the way before slowly sitting down next to Tord's head. He gestured for Pau to join as well.

As soon as the taller joined them, Tord croaked out, "I really am a failure, aren't I?"

Tord tilted his head up to face both of them. As soon as he did, Pau noticed the forming of a bruise on his left cheek.

"No, you're not." Pau found himself saying before Pat had a chance to speak.

Tord put his head back down, "But I am, Pau. No matter what anyone says, I can't do anything. My inventions are all a waste."

Pau tilted his head, "The giant robot wasn't a complete waste. It gave you sick scars and a cool robot arm."

Pat rolled his eyes, "Are you trying to help or make him go to therapy?"

Pau only glanced at him, before speaking to Tord, "Sure, the giant robot wasn't ready for battle since a flimsy harpoon shot through it, but that doesn't make your inventions a waste, kid. You've made tons of weapons for the army and for fun, some failing and some succeeding. So what's the point in getting so upset over what your father put in your head when you know it's not true?"

Tord was quiet for a few minutes, then muttered, "I guess this time was different."

Pau had a feeling what Tord meant when he said 'different.'

He shook his head, "You know your father will do anything to get what he wants, right?"

"I know," Tord took a deep breath, "which is why I've decided to run away soon."

Pat and Pau were surprised. They both glanced at each other and back at the red blanket burrito.

"What?" Pat questioned, making sure he heard the young leader correctly.

"I've come up with a plan to run away from the army," Tord paused before tilting his head up to look at them, "and it involves you two."

The duo looked at each other again, both sharing a yearning for something new.

Pau placed a rough hand on Tord's light brown hair, "Whether you like it or not, kid, you're never getting rid of us."

Tord smiled a bit as he quickly wiped a few tears from his eye. He slowly sat up and wrapped his arm around Pau, making him freeze. Pat grinned teasingly while also joining the hug.

Pau was feeling all kinds of emotions, which was making him nauseous.

The hug soon ended, much to Pau's relief. Tord slowly laid back down and covered himself with the blanket again.

"Thank you, guys." Tord yawned a bit and closed his eye.

"Sure you wouldn't want to move to your bed?" Pat smiled.

"Mmh... 'm fine." Tord mumbled, "Goodnight, dad. Night, pappa."

"Night, Red," Pat said before getting up.

"Yeah, g'night, kid." Pau spoke and followed after Pat.

Once they were out of the room, Pat grabbed Pau's hand.

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum...

'Verdomd, this idioot is going to give me a heart attack one day, I swear...' Pau thought as he turned to look at him, his face feeling hotter than usual.

Pat averted his gaze a bit, "Thank you, Pau."

The taller brunette was confused, "For what?"

"Oh, y'know... everything." Pat squeezed his hand a bit, "I don't know what I would do without you."

"Uh..." Pau was sweating bullets. He was pretty sure Pat could feel the warmth radiating off him at that point.

"Anyway, I have to go. Pilot... stuff." Pat cleared his throat before letting go of Pau's hand and scurrying down the hallway.

As soon as Pat's hand left his own, Pau seemed to snap out of his trance-like state. He looked around the hallway in utter confusion.

"What just happened?" He asked himself.

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Dutch =
Verdomd - Damn
Idioot - Idiot

(Translations brought to you by Google Translate)