Angelo wasn't sure when the rustling started, or the whispering, but he knew it didn't belong. He was hallucinating, that was an absolute, he just didn't know why. Maybe he didn't get enough rest, which wasn't a surprise, or maybe the needle used on his thumb was drugged or something with a hallucinogen. Was there even a type of hallucinatory drug that could be given via blood? He wasn't exactly an expert on drugs, despite the dealings his father had with them.
"I never wanted this for you."
Her voice was intoxicating, like a pain killer that just whisked away all the agony he was in. Angelo still laid on the floor, curled up, hands sewn together like a doll's that a little girl had decided misbehaved. He didn't see her, but he heard her steps. Once, twice, and then a quiet rustling sounded like she knelt down.
"I never wanted you to fight their wars."
He felt her fingers trace over his cheek, and he wanted to lean in to the touch. Alas, he was too weak, and he couldn't. Angelo just laid there in pain, shivering and shaking and cold.
"You were a kind child. Hopeful. You were peace. I always cherished that…"
Her hand rested on his check, and it was like he could still smell the horchata on her breath, feel her calloused hands from cleaning too much around the house. Still see her sweet brown eyes, the smile lines on her face. Her voice was everything…
"Let someone help you." She said. "Just once."
Her hand receded when the door to the cellar opened. The light that spilled in was blinding, and he instinctively tucked his face away into the floor. A grimace spread across his face, hating that his sweet hallucination was interrupted by some random asshole he suspected was sent by his father.
The figure was in front of them, fast, and they crouched down. Angelo flinched away as the reached for him, and their hand landed on his shoulder. He immediately moved to struggle, but his hands screamed, still sewn together tightly. He wince, and the person took his other shoulder as if to still him.
"Kid – hey, it's me." Jose's voice broke the fold. "It's alright."
Angelo stopped struggling, going limp. Jose proceeded to look him over, and he cursed under his breath. Angelo didn't expect to look good, but he didn't think Jose would get worked up over it enough to be angry about it.
Jose swiped him up in his arms, and Angelo hissed between his teeth. It hurt to shift his ribs like that, but he knew Jose was trying to get him somewhere better than this hell. Jose carried him anyway despite the hiss of pain, apparently determined to remove him from this shitty situation.
Shivering and shaking in Jose's arms, Angelo was carried away. There were flashes of lights and the outside, but Angelo kept fading in and out of his consciousness. He thought maybe he was taken to the medical bay in the Kuron Estate, but by the time he was set down, an unfamiliar woman was pouring over him in frantic Spanish curses.
He barely remained awake during the process, but he remembered a burning cold in his ribs. There was a mesh of white slapped on his chest, where his broken bones were, and it felt like his entire torso was rearranged. He knew what it was: a high-tech healing supply that realigned his ribs for better healing, designed in the early 2030s.
Next, a knife was taken to his hands, breaking the stitches one by one. Pulling them out was like pulling teeth, and as much as he tried to sit still, Angelo kept squirming and flinching. He knew Jose was holding him down at one point, but it was only to get the thread out. After that, they were cleaned, stitched up, and wrapped. He could have been given something a lot better for them like the ribs, but he couldn't look like he was shucking his punishment.
He was prompted to drink water, which he was overly thankful for – it had to have been over a day since he had his last sip of water. Then painkillers were given, and he was forcibly fed broth and then some bread. Something to bite down the hunger for now, until he could fully eat something again after an entire day and two nights of starvation.
Then he was brought to sit up, and only then did he realise… he was in a home. Handmade quilts lined a bed that he sat in alone, warm curtains were at an open window, and picture frames were lowered to assumably provide privacy for whoever lived here. The woman was just leaving the room, and she barely glanced back at Angelo – but he couldn't make out her features before she disappeared into the hall.
"Can you sign?" Jose asked.
He was sitting next to him, on the bed. He looked like he was in more pain than Angelo, but he had no wounds. Maybe it was emotional, but he couldn't fathom why. Angelo raised his hands, looking over the stitches – well done, by a woman he didn't even know. He proceed to test them out; not the best flexibility, but enough to give a simple sign to Jose.
Yes.
Jose was quiet before he just said, "You did good."
Angelo glanced away. I lost, He signed.
"I didn't say you did well," His mentor gruffed. "I said you did good. That's more important."
He was silent for a moment before he just signed, albeit painfully due to it being a longer sentence, I just wanted to stop it all.
"I know." Jose said low. "You were angry. You acted irrationally."
That makes me feel so much better, Angelo signed sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
"It's not supposed to." His mentor said, softer than the words deserved. "Listen, kid. You wanna do this? You wanna tear apart your father's twisted empire from the inside out? Do it right."
Angelo glanced at him. How do I do it?
Jose looked at him and smirked. "I can't tell you everything, bud." He stood up, his expression softening. "Rest here tonight. If anyone asks, you cleaned yourself up and got yourself out of the cellar. Door wasn't locked – nobody would have suspected any different. Got it?"
Angelo nodded, and Jose huffed. "Good. You did well, Bla- …Angelo. No matter if that monsters says you failed or whatever."
Jose gave him a lingering look, but Angelo wasn't sure if he was supposed to say something or not. So his mentor left, right out the door, and Angelo leaned back against the pillows. He looked at his hands, at the bandages and black stitch silhouettes underneath the gauze. Lorenzo had said he had control of his voice… but after all he had done, he had still signed. He would find a way to get out of this, and stop the hell that was being made under his feet.