Fandom: Tron: Legacy
Warnings/Triggers: Rape recovery
Kinkmeme Prompt: Sam gets captured by CLU and is rescued, but not before CLU gets to have his devious rapey ways with the boy. Cue Flynn trying his hardest to comfort and take care of his son in the aftermath.
Chapter 1 Here
Sam leans back against the headrest of the light-runner, watching the dark scenery fly by. His father is driving, following the white shape of the light-cycle ahead of them. He'd been distracted on this trip before, hyped up on too much adrenaline, in pain, confused and disoriented. Now, he can see the dark beauty of the place, highlighted by the glow of the city ahead of them. “Hey... remember that night, when you didn't come home...” he starts, his voice hesitant. “You said...”
“I said I'd show you the Grid,” Kevin interrupts, a faint smile on his face as he glances over at him. “Yeah. Should've seen this place back then. I couldn't wait to show it to you. Could not wait...”
Sam tilts his head up, watching the rain—rain, in a computer!—rolling in rivulets over the light-runner's canopy, distorting the lights as they enter the outskirts of the city. “Look at all you've accomplished,” he whispers, his eyes drawn up to the towering, gleaming structures above them.
“Sam,” Kevin's voice is choked, and his hand is warm on his arm... Sam wills himself not to flinch or pull away. This is his father, not that creature, that program. “I'd have given it all up for one more day with you.”
Sam manages a small smile, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that want to fall as he glances at the older man, so different than what his child's memory holds, yet still so much the same. He turns his gaze back to the window, watching the fantastic vista of the city fly by around them. “Must've really been something before... before Clu screwed it up,” he says with a sense of wonder, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. He's proud that he manages to say that name without choking. Maybe he'll be all right after all.
“No... no, he didn't screw it up. He's me. I screwed it up.” Kevin's voice is distant, his gaze on more than just the road ahead as he muses. “Chasing after perfection...”
Sam can't breathe. He's me. He's me. A weight is crushing his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He's me. No. No! He's suddenly pressed tight against the side of the light-runner, eyes wide and staring at nothing, arms pulled up protectively in front of him because he doesn't see his father sitting beside him anymore, no, no, he sees that man, that program, the one who only looks like Kevin Flynn, who disappeared so long ago, the one who
sneered down at him with his father's face, held him down on the cold hard bed and pushed into him over and over and over and laughed at his screams
The canopy is open now, hands are touching Sam, pulling his own hands away from his face, warm hands, cold hands, hands of a program, hands of a human, touching his hair, his back, his arms, trying to get him out of the vehicle.
“I don't know. We were just talking, he got upset. Come on, Sam, talk to me...”
He can't breathe, can't speak, can't see, rain is falling on his face and he needs to get out, get away from the touches and metal and air closing in around him. Flailing, pushing, gasping, he struggles out of the light-runner, staggering a few steps away to crash into the wall of a building. He ricochets off, stumbles again, catches himself on a corner and doubles over, retching, his stomach empty but still twisting and heaving in revulsion.
“Sam...?” Quorra's voice. A cool hand rests at the back of his neck. He shrugs her off, gagging again before he can regain control, then rests his head on his arm, staring at the alley wall as he tries to calm. Breathe. Just breathe. You're fine.
“M'okay,” he murmurs, then spits and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. Straightening, he glances over at his father and the girl, unable to quite meet the man's eyes. “M'okay now. Sorry.”
“You're not,” Kevin moves closer, reaching out toward Sam, but pulling his hand back when Sam flinches away. “Right. Quorra, stay here with him. I'll go into the club and meet this Zuse.”
Quorra turns to him, her brow furrowed. “You can't go alone. It's too dangerous, and someone will recognize you. I'll go with you.”
Kevin shakes his head. “You two will be safer together. I can handle myself.” He glances at Sam. “And I don't want him left alone.”
Sam feels his chest tightening again, his face heating as the two continue to argue over who will stay with him. He suddenly feels eight years old again, watching his grandparents bicker over what was to be done with him, sitting in the middle of the living room floor on a green shag carpet while hushed and angry voices echo around him. I'm not a helpless child. I can do this on my own. I'm... not weak. Backing away slowly, he eyes the elevator that would apparently lead them to Zuse... to the program who could help them. I'll do it myself. A sudden need to get away sweeps over him, and before he can think better of it, he turns and dashes toward the open doors.
It doesn't take Kevin long to realize Sam is gone. Instantly ceasing his argument with Quorra, he glances up and down the street, frantic, he cannot lose his son, not now, and there, there, the elevator doors are just closing. “Quorra, stop Sam...!”
Her eyes widen as she notices in the same instant, and they start toward the door in tandem. It's too late, though, and the car has already started up the side of the long building. Flynn slams his palm into the side, trying to override, trying to write new code as fast as the car is moving, but he knows he has to wait. A curse slips past his lips Not very Zen, man, and he closes his eyes and tries to calm. Sam has to be all right for a few minutes.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out what had upset Sam earlier, and Flynn has been called one many times. Could his absent-minded words, spoken in quiet conversation, have set Sam back so far?
Leaning against the wall, Flynn pulls his hood up over his head and folds his arms across his chest. Quorra stands quietly nearby, and he is grateful for her understanding his need for silence. No, Clu is not him, though he was created in his image and with his instruction. This... deviation, this desire to harm, this is not him. It can't be.
There has to be something, though, a nagging part of himself reminds. Something that is capable of this... violence. Something capable of doing that to your own son...
No! No. Flynn takes a calming breath and looks up at the elevator again, still on its ascent, a figure just barely visible through the glass doors. He is not me. Not like that.
Sam leans his forehead against the cool surface of the elevator, trying to get the pounding in his head to ease, the lights below blurring into a dizzying swirl outside the glass. He'd known as soon as the doors closed that leaving his father and Quorra was a mistake, but there's nothing to be done about it now. I can do this. I'm fine. He would get the help they needed from Zuse and return to them, strong and smiling and heroic, not broken and weak as he had been.
His head jerks up, causing a fresh wave of dizziness as the doors open, too soon, we're not at the top yet, and another program enters the elevator. She is beautiful, all in white and gray, snowy hair and dark-rimmed silver eyes. Sam's eyes widen in recognition.
“Sam Flynn. You remember me?” The familiar voice is modulated slightly, just a hint of the surreal, the computer in her.
“Yeah. You gave me some advice.” He straightens his back, tilting his chin up.
“And you followed it.” Her head quirks to one side, those piercing eyes roaming the length of his body. “But you were still hurt, I think.”
Sam clenches his teeth, wondering just how obvious his ordeal was to everyone else. “What makes you say that?”
A faint smile graces the Siren's lips. “Intuition.”
He shrugs, trying to seem casual but feeling like he's utterly failing. “Nothing I can't handle.”
She steps closer, her movements flowing and sinuous. Sam resists the urge to move back. “You're looking for someone.”
There isn't nearly enough room in this elevator as it glides inexorably upward. “Lemme guess. Intuition again?”
A gloved hand reaches out to touch his arm, and Sam just manages not to flinch away. Her touch is gentle, soft, seductive, not like...
No no no don't think about it...! He manages to fight off the memories, focusing on the entrancing way the girl... program's lips move. “I can help you, son of Flynn. Zuse is a difficult program to reach. You will need a guide.”
Sam is running out of time. The elevator is nearing the top, the glass doors showing an incredible vista of the city in front of them. He swallows, nods, and the Siren takes his arm. “Thanks. Uh...”
“Gem. My name is Gem.”
The music of the club hits him like a wave, crashing and pounding into his head, his body, through the soles of his feet and vibrating in his chest. A sea of people... programs... sway and move with the beat, sinuous, writhing, a mass to be parted or pushed through. Sam falters, hesitates, but Gem's hand is on his arm, her touch gently guiding him forward, and he plunges into the sea, barely having time to take a breath. Curious glances brush over him like fingertips, rolling over his body and flitting away, and Sam feels exposed, open, naked in the crowd. A flash of red catches his attention and he stiffens, but Gem eases him past the guards. “They're occupied,” she says airily, directing him toward a set of stairs near the bar.
A man in white holds court at the top of the stairs, cheerfully derailing a group of what appear to be resistance fighters begging an audience with Zuse. “That's Castor,” Gem explains, leaning closer. “You want to see Zuse, you go through him.” Her body brushes full-length against Sam's, and he feels an electric charge tingle through his suit. He shudders, clenches his fists, and manages only to take a half-step away.
Stop it, what's wrong with you, she's not going to hurt you, just stop already. He wonders if he's shaking or if it's just the music, and doesn't know whether to be relieved or apprehensive as Gem steps away to whisper to Castor.
The next few moments pass in a blur, and somehow Sam finds himself walking up to a private room with Castor and Gem. He falters, nearly stumbles on the hovering staircase
“Bring him to my private chambers. I have something... special in mind for him.” blackness, nothing, waking to be bound and alone with that thing with his father's face and cold cold hands
A hand on his arm steadies him, and Sam knows he's shaking now as Castor holds him up, guiding him into the room and onto a couch, and he can feel the coolness of his hand even through the layers of his clothing. He jerks away with a gasp, pressing back into the plush surface, and it's all he can do not to scramble to his feet and run away. Castor is staring down at him, arms folded, head cocked and lips pursed in an appraising manner. “I see,” the program says, nodding in finality. “Clu had a little fun with you, did he? He does enjoy... pretty things.” Castor's eyes rake over Sam's body, and Sam shudders hard, feeling the gaze like a physical touch. Does everyone know, just by looking at him? Is it written on his face, on his body somewhere?
“I'm here to see Zuse,” he says, his voice a harsh croak.
Castor stares at him a moment longer, then smiles, all white teeth and congeniality. “Of course you are. But first, my boy, it looks as though you need a drink.”
The elevator doors can't open fast enough for Flynn. He enters the club, striding purposefully forward, his hood pulled up to hide his face. It won't be enough, he knows, he'll be recognized as soon as he enters, and sure enough, a hush falls over the place despite the pounding music. He ignores the whispers the Creator, it's him, he's here, he's here and glances frantically back and forth, searching for any sign of Sam. Shadowy shapes move in a room above, cut off from the rest, and Flynn kneels, pressing his palm to the floor. Stairs rise at his command, ascending to the shielded room, and he races up, glancing to the side to see Quorra following. Someone at the bar moves to stop them, but at a glance from Flynn, shrinks back, bowing his head.
He bursts through the transparent field and freezes at the sight before him. Sam is slumped over on the white couch, a neon drink spilled on the floor by his hand, his head resting in the lap of a Siren program. His disk is missing. Time seems to freeze no no he can't be and Flynn's heart screams and nearly stops before he notices the slight rise and fall of his son's chest.
“My my, the Creator himself, come to visit me!” a cheerful voice comes from the side, and Flynn whips his head around to see a white-haired program approaching from the shadows. The being twirls a glowing cane, and has an identity disk, Sam's disk, hooked over one arm. “How very exciting. I'm all a-flutter.”
“Zuse!” Quorra gasps, stepping in front of Flynn, her disk and baton held at ready. “What have you done?”
This is Zuse? The guy we could trust? ...Guess not.
“My dear Quorra,” Zuse replies, moving across the room to stand near the couch. It's all Flynn can do not to launch himself at the program, but the Siren's hand is in Sam's hair and his son still isn't moving. Stay calm. You can do this. Sam needs you to stay calm. “You know me. Always... playing all the angles. This is the best angle for me right now.” He hops up onto the couch, walking along the cushions, behind Sam's back. “And it's such a lovely angle too, wouldn't you agree? Behold, the son of our Maker!”
Flynn finally finds his voice, and it is low and dangerous, not nearly as Zen as he'd like. “What have you done to him?”
Zuse looks at him, grinning widely. “Oh, nothing much. A little cocktail of my own design, just in case a User ever were to visit. He so needed to relax, you see. After all the poor boy's been through...” He slides down to sit behind Sam, slipping his disk back into place with a gentle click, and Flynn knows that Zuse has seen everything too. “Can't say I blame Clu, though. He is so very... pretty.” Zuse's hand strokes down Sam's back, and Kevin loses what little tenuous calm he held. He's halfway across the room before he can think, his disk in his hand, ready to derez this whole place if it will get that program's hand off his son. But as fast as he moves, Zuse is faster, and when the red haze clears from Flynn's vision, he sees the man holding Sam against himself, a glowing identity disk pressed to his neck. Sam's head lolls back against Zuse's shoulder, his eyes barely open, though little awareness shows in them.
“I wonder, do Users derez the same way here?” Zuse says conversationally, his gaze locked with Flynn's. “I've heard that they 'bleed.' I'd so like to see that.”
Flynn's teeth clench and grind, and he holds out his hand to stay Quorra, who he senses is on the very edge of darting forward. He cannot risk Sam being hurt, not again. “Let him go. I'm the one you want.”
“Flynn, no!” Quorra is at his side, her hand on his arm. “You can't...!” He smiles, trying to reassure her, and steps forward again.
“Let the boy and Quorra go. I will stay.” Flynn slides his own disk back into place on his shoulders, holding his hands out in surrender.
Zuse tilts his head to one side, seeming to consider. One hand plays absently up and down Sam's chest, and Flynn clenches his fists, seeing his barely-conscious son shudder and recoil. “Mm... no, I don't think so. Clu was very clear... he wants all of you.” His grin turns serious, and he meets Flynn's gaze levelly. “I believed in the Users, once. What can you do now, Creator?”
Explosions and screams echo from the club outside, the beat of the music changing to accent the sounds of chaos. A cry of “Resist!” rises above the rest, and Flynn turns his head to catch a glimpse of blue and green circuited programs fighting desperately against the battalion of red guards who have crashed through the ceiling.
There is no other way. We must fight.
With a glance at Quorra, he nods, almost imperceptibly. Chaos. Good news. Lowering his gaze, he focuses on Zuse again, the full force of his User power directed at him. Zuse's eyes widen, just slightly, and his grip tightens on the disk held to Sam's throat. “Now, now, F-Flynn. Wouldn't want your boy hurt, would you?”
“I'm asking you. I'm warning you. Let him go.” Flynn steps forward again, watching in his peripheral vision as Quorra circles to the side. The Siren has risen to her feet and drawn her own disk, facing off against the other as sounds of fighting draw closer to the force field by the entrance. Sam's eyes blink and open wider, and Flynn can see him struggling to focus. His lips move silently dad... dad... and Flynn can see him tensing and oh god he hopes he'll know what he needs him to do...
There, there, the moment he's been looking for, Sam brings his hands up to shove at Zuse's arm and Flynn moves, faster than has in cycles, years, decades, leaping over the table in the room, not bothering with his own disk, just diving at his son and the program holding him, knocking them both to the floor, rolling, rolling, a flash of whirling light, a gasp, blood, blood whose is it oh god Sam...! Quorra is a blur of motion and light, kicking, spinning, fighting with every trick she's ever learned and Flynn can barely spare a moment to be proud of her. There are other programs in the room now, red blue white green and Flynn slams his palms to the floor, sending out a pulse of his power, code flowing through all levels, User power feeding through the Grid to help the ones loyal to him and disorient the guard. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Zuse and the white Siren retreating into another alcove, but he can't be worried about them now, not when Sam is motionless and bleeding on the floor in front of him.
“Quorra! We're getting out!” He gathers Sam into his arms, rolling him over carefully, breathing a sigh of relief as he notes that the wound doesn't seem to be as bad as he feared: a gash running from his left shoulder to chest, not too deep, but the bleeding will need to be stopped soon. Sam groans and turns his head, still not entirely conscious, and Kevin lifts him easily, adrenaline, fear, love boosting his strength. When was the last time he carried his son? Sam feels barely heavier now...
Quorra clears a path for them through the melee, and Flynn can almost believe that they'll make it. The elevator doors are closing and he's setting Sam down gently on the floor when he feels a jerk and tug at his back, and he whips around to see a red guard drawing back a grappling hook, his identity disk on the end of it. But it's too late, there's a bomb, and the elevator is falling, falling, almost faster than he can program a fail-safe into the core code.
The doors open with a soft ding and Flynn breathes deeply, trying to regain his calm. His heart is racing, pounding in a way it hasn't in years, and he can't focus, can't meditate, can't separate himself from the emotion of the moment. Quorra is babbling behind him, apologizing, blaming herself for trusting Zuse, and he finally cuts her off with a wave of his hand. “Quorra! Be calm. Be still.” He takes a breath, then another, kneeling beside Sam, frowning as he looks over his injury. Bright red blood flows in rivulets down his chest and arm, staining the circuits red-black, making the armor slick. “We need to get him out of here.” Slipping off his own cloak, he wraps it around Sam, trying to keep pressure on his shoulder. Sam moans and flails weakly, but soon calms when Flynn touches his face and strokes his fingers lightly through his hair. “You'll be all right, kiddo. Just hang in there.” I have to get him home...
Straightening, Kevin glances up and down the street beyond the elevator, searching for inspiration. A slow smile spreads across his face as he spots just the thing they'll need: a Solar Sailor getting ready to depart, just across the walkway. “Quorra... did I ever tell you about jumping a freight train?”