WARNING! This story involves the subject of rape. The story contains graphic content that may be offensive to some readers. Violent portions of the story may not be suitable for younger readers or the faint of heart.
His skin was cold to the touch, smooth, like marble. The only sign of life was the almost imperceptible rising of his chest as he took a breath, and then another. Slow, shallow breaths, the lines crowding in on his eyes witness to the pain each breath caused him. The smooth skin was pale in the darkness, the golden tones faded to milk.
His skin was all that could be seen in the evening glow. There was nothing to cover him; no protection, no comfort of cloth or animal skin. Just him, alone in the darkness. Just him and his thoughts, the lines of his body curving through the cold damp air. He did not shiver, he did not move at all. He breathed in and out, in and out, reminding himself that this was life. Without the breath; however painful, however stale the air, without that there was only the void. And in the void the demons lay, waiting to consume him in their fire. He lay still, listening to the silence, straining to hear, looking into the murk in front of his eyes. Waiting to see or hear the first demon return, waiting for his own personal Tartarus to descend on him again.
But there was only silence still. Only the quiet sound of his own breath misting the air. He waited like this for a long time, an eternity. His knowledge of time passing had deserted him, there was only this. Only the dark and the cold, only his painful breathing and the stillness. There had never been anything else, there never would be anything else. And the demons, the demons with the faces of men, they were a fantasy, a dream. A shiver shook his body, it came from the centre of him, the part that remembered another world. The part that had felt love and joy, the part of him that knew fear now.
A sound. Quiet, almost nothing, but he heard it. A foot placed on earthen floor, then another step, getting closer. One of the demons had returned. The blond haired man turned his head slightly to face the door, his blue eyes wide in the darkness. He waited, feeling himself begin to tremble, unable to control the fear that was coursing through his body.
After an eternity of waiting the door opened, and the demon entered. His body was that of a man, his face also. A cruel man, with a deeply lined and scarred face, whose hair ran wild from his head in a black mass. He smiled down at the small blond man laying at his feet, lust in his brown eyes, he wasn't finished with this body yet, not by a long way.
The body felt his eyes, it knew their meaning, and it continued to tremble uncontrollably. Fear lacing its way through every nerve, every muscle, every marble inch of skin. It was no good to try to remember how he had been before; before the demons had brought him to this place. It was useless, he could not conceive himself ever being that, quick, sharp, carefree, man again. He could never again succeed in a fight with one man let alone ten. He had lost this battle, the demons had done what they would to him, and he was broken.
Demon number one began to caress the marble that had once been warm honeyed skin, its hands were rough and hot on him. Rubbing at the sore places, hurting him all over again. Gentle over his abdomen, then teasing at his nipples; rubbing, pinching, pulling at their pink hardness. Re-opening the wounds that had been made by hungry teeth, blood beading his skin. Then the hand moved lower again, past his abdomen into the true pain. It began its rhythm again, harsh, painful, cruel and insistent. There was no escape in this world, so the small blond man with the once honey skin sank into his own world. A world of darkness and cold, but a world of peace, where no demons came to him, no demons pulled at his skin, no demons ripped his body in two pushing themselves inside him. He retreated to his world, and waited out the demon's attentions.
But his world was no safe haven, it would not protect him from the pain which ripped through him again. This familiar pain which had brought him such humiliation and frustrated rage the first time he had felt it. Tears had stood on his cheeks, his hands had balled into fists, but there had been no way to fight. He had been helpless to protect or defend himself. And that helplessness was something he had railed against, angered by them for doing this to him, and by himself for not being able to control his destiny. He had no control over this thing, no influence over what happened. He had tried words, he had tried fighting, he had even tried compliance to weaken their control. Nothing had worked, nothing would. These were demons, not men. They couldn't be men, no man could do this to another of his own kind, could they?
He felt the sticky residue on the inside of his legs, warm and wet, mingling with his own blood. And he fought the nausea that rose in him. Each demon took his turn, each one more terrible than the last, and the pain, surely the pain was more than any mortal man could cause. His body felt like it was being pulled in two directions, slowly tearing apart along an invisible seam.
They had left him alone then in the earthy lair, laying in his own mess and in theirs. His ribs bruised and cracked from their games, his body bloody from their hungry teeth. His mind unable to leave behind the feel of rough wetness as a mouth tugged at his nipple like a suckling baby. Only the demons hadn't been sucking on life-giving milk but on the salt of his blood. His mind still insisted to him that the torment was continuing long after it was over, he could still feel the probing fingers exploring and opening the way. Tears fell down his face unseen, unfelt. His screams had only encouraged their lust for him. His despair had only served to entice them.
And now it was not many but one, but it was as bad, perhaps worse. Because this one took his time, savoured every moment. Caressing him with rough insistent hands, entering his mouth and his body, pushing him to the edge of the void, until he felt himself falling into the black noise below him. Vertigo, dizzying heights, and then falling, forever falling. Turning this way then that, sickening lurches, but never reaching a bottom, the fall was all of it. The bottom was his salvation, an end to his pain, an end to the torment. But he never reached the bottom. He just kept falling; fast then slow, plummeting, then feather light. Slipping downward gently, then twirling and twisting through the darkness that surrounded him. Accompanied only by his pain, and by his shocked horror. Faces of demons and men rearing up in front of him as if in a nightmare. All were familiar, but none could he name.
One face though; one face came to him, smiling with twinkling eyes, and his heart leapt in his chest. He felt a warmth filling him and a sudden belief in his own salvation. He would be safe again, this man could send the demons away. This man could do it. But he didn't know what name to call out. He loved that face, but he did not remember its name. He cried tears again, hot tears of loss. He had lost himself and doing so had lost all of the people and things that he had loved. And he regretted that; in the moments that he saw that familiar smile looking down on him, he regretted the lost grip on his life.
And then he struck bottom, his fall halted in a sudden jarring crash. Pain coursed through all of his body and all of his soul for a moment and then he found the silence of the dark that he had wanted so badly. He found the place that no demon could follow. So he didn't notice when the door burst open, he didn't see the demon being torn away from him and thrown across the room. He didn't hear the anguished cry and the angry destruction. He missed being a witness to his revenge; the demons of his world battered and beaten, thrown like rag dolls against the walls, finally left broken and unmoving on the ground when anger was spent. He didn't hear the plaintive frightened voice calling his name. And when gentle hands touched him tentatively, and with frightened care lifted him from the ground and cradled him as they bore him away from that place of darkness, he knew nothing of it.
The darkness enveloped him in its silky power, it held him safe within. No demons could reach him, nothing could touch him here. He was safely cocooned within himself. The dark hiding his memories from him, hiding his identity. He did not remember what they had done, he did not remember their hot clammy hands touching him. All the pain was gone now, all the fear. But so was his name and his face and his family. He was set adrift in a sea of black; a lost soul, forever wandering through the night. But it didn't matter, he knew that he was safe here and that was everything, that was all he needed. The strange need for comfort from a smiling face could be dismissed for now.
The darkness wrapped around him in a blanket, he was safe, nothing could hurt him here. Nothing could happen. But even in this sanctuary, the walls were not impregnable. Echoes of his nightmare returned to him; vague images of faces leering into his own, the sensation of hands running over his body, pulling at him, separating him. He turned from these images, but they wouldn't leave him, they wouldn't let him rest. Insistent, they worried at him until he tired and let them in. Crying out with his loss he twisted away again and again, but the hurt was always there.
He fought this dark battle for a lifetime, for a heartbeat, for the age of the gods. It was all he knew, all he remembered. He ran from his memories, from his demons, and that was his life. There was no more. Until...until something else entered the darkness of his world. A voice, once familiar, called a name. He felt the pull of the voice, or the name and wondered if it was his name. Still running he found himself wanting the voice that sounded lost in the darkness. Like him; lost and alone and afraid. He reached out instinctively, wanting to give comfort, and take comfort in the shared pain.
The darkness receded before the sound of the voice, running from its love and torment in scalded fright. He followed the sound, away from the false safety of the black place, into brightness; into light. Blue eyes opened on the day, and found themselves held by a gentle gaze. Murmuring voices filled the background with warmth, but all he took notice of was the face in front of his. Close, looking with strained concern down at him. The face of a friend, the face of a stranger. The stranger spoke,
"Iolaus? Iolaus! I was so worried about you. It's all right, everything's going to be all right now. It's over, they won't hurt you anymore."
Iolaus? He had heard that name spoken by this voice before, was it his name?
"E-oh-lus?" His voice rasped in his throat, locked in a scream for too long.
His companion carefully helped him to drink, a puzzled frown furrowing his brow.
"Yes, Iolaus. You're going to be fine. Everything's all right. Why don't you rest now."
But Iolaus, for that must be his name, could hear the fear in the other man's voice. He could see fear in his face. This man must be his brother or his friend, but he didn't know him. He was lost,
"Lost. Help me?"
The man with a stranger's face smiled, tears standing in his eyes. "I'm here for you my friend. You'll find your way home soon." And speaking so softly that Iolaus could only just hear him, "I love you Iolaus, I'll always be there."
Iolaus fell back into the darkness, but this time it held no demons waiting to pounce on him. This time it was being guarded by his new/old friend. The man who could speak of love to him in words. That was a powerful love, enough to banish all his demons for now.
He rested easily for a time, his body starting to mend itself, his tired mind recovering from its fight. A numbness fell on his heart, he felt nothing, remembered nothing, thought of nothing. But the rest would have to end, and it did; in sunlit dust motes as they fell lazily through golden air. He knew that it was afternoon, he didn't know where he was or how long he had been there, or why he was there. But his name was Iolaus and that was a beginning.
He looked around the room wanting to see that face of his dreams again, needing the comfort it brought him. But he was alone. He could hear the murmur of voices in a nearby place, a deep crashing of waves on the shore. It made him feel safe, he didn't know why that was so important. And then a voice he remembered, the voice of this friend he did not know, the voice that belonged to the face. The voices drew closer and Iolaus allowed himself to sink into the cool softness of the sheets as he waited for them.
The door opened slowly, and he saw the face peering round it, a worried frown still in place. But a smile full of warm sunshine broke through when the friend/stranger saw that he was awake. Eyebrows were raised in question, 'can we come in?' Iolaus nodded, wondering at how he understood the other man so easily. Wondering what kind of a man he must be to have such a friendship.
Following behind this friend were a woman and a man, older than the first. Both with love and concern on their faces. Iolaus took in as deep a breath as his battered ribs would allow, this was beginning to scare him. All these people loved him, that was obvious. They were desperately worried about him, that too was obvious. What frightened him in equal measure; was how he could be so worthy of that depth of feeling, and what had happened to him to warrant such fear in their faces. What could have caused him to run from himself, lose his past and his present, forget everything.
The woman came close and sat on the edge of the bed. She took one of his cold hands in hers. As she smiled down at him, Iolaus thought, 'Mother?' She spoke with a soft and gentle voice, full of maternal care.
"Hercules tells us that you're still a little confused Iolaus. You have to know that we all love you, and that we'll be here with you. Don't be frightened, you're safe, no harm can come to you here."
Iolaus managed to smile a weak smile of thanks, for some reason that seemed to hurt his companions. They looked at each other, pain evident in their exchanged glances. He concentrated on the woman sitting by him, concentrated on the warmth of her hands round his.
"Who...who's Hercules?"
The silence that met him brought him back to the edge of the void. He hadn't thought he could fall any further, but the vertigo that was assaulting him told a different story. Their lack of response gripped his heart with cold fright, sent it thudding loudly in his chest. He stared at each of them in fear of their silence,
"Please...?"
The woman was the first to recover, she pulled his hand into her lap, still holding it tight in hers.
"Hercules is your best friend Iolaus. Your best friend and my son. Do you really not remember us?"
Iolaus looked up at the tall man standing above him. He saw the fear on his face, he saw and understood. His best friend, a man that could speak his love in words, would probably die for him, and he didn't recognise him. Didn't even recall his name. His own fear grew in his chest.
"No! I don't remember any of you. I didn't even know my name until Hercules said it. What happened to me?! Why can't I remember?!"
Iolaus pulled his hand away from the woman, and sat upright in the bed, ignoring the pain the sudden movement brought. He felt panic begin to attack him. What could have been so terrible? Why didn't he remember? Who was he? He tried to push himself away from the faces around him, they were too kind, he couldn't deal with them. But his back hit a wall and he had nowhere to go. He pushed at the arms reaching out to hold him, he didn't want their embrace. The demons crowding him, wanting to touch him, the black earthy smell had returned. He was back in a room he didn't remember. And his fear of that room and what it contained took over.
Screaming incoherent words he managed to slide down to the bottom of the bed, backing away from the hands, and the faces. Demons. All demons. They mustn't touch him, mustn't come close again. But there was nowhere to run, and finally he sank to the floor in the corner of the room. He curled himself up tightly into as small a ball as he could, the sheet trailing from the bed, his body naked.
He whimpered like an animal, his fear too great to cope with. He didn't know what he was so scared of, or why it was so important that he make distance between all those reaching hands and himself. But his body had taken over, his mind was frozen in panic; and his heart thudded madly against his ribs, beating so hard he thought it may escape. He retreated into himself, letting the black of the dark take him back, forgetful of the demons that awaited him there.
Slowly his heart eased its panicked attempt at flight, slowly he quieted. He felt a body sit on the floor beside him, he felt strong arms encircle him. His head was pulled across to find a safe haven against a warm chest. He could hear the steady beating of a heart hidden behind that chest, a heart that loved him. This warm touch was not a demon, he was safe, and he allowed himself to relax into the embrace. Hercules would protect him from the demons. Hercules would never let him down.
Iolaus felt himself being lifted and gently carried back to the bed. He didn't protest, he didn't open his eyes, he let himself drift in this feeling of comfort, enjoying its warmth. He heard Hercules softly speaking to his mother, "He's sleeping now. But what are we going todo? How can we bring him back to us?"
The woman's response was too soft for Iolaus to hear, but he listened to the sound of love in his friend's voice as he spoke again, and basked in it,
"All I know is that I love him. Those animals had him for so long, I don't regret what I did to them. I only hope Hades finds an appropriate punishment. I know he's strong mother, but is anyone 'that' strong?"
A murmured reply and Hercules gently brushing blond locks from Iolaus' brow as he moved to leave the sleeping man alone, "We will. We will love him and be there for him, and we'll have to believe that it'll be enough. Thank you mother. I'm so glad you're here with me. I want to talk to the healer, do you know where he is?"
Silence followed, the emptiness of the room echoed in Iolaus' mind. There was no sound at all, no birds sang through the window, no mumbling of voices in other rooms. Silence. And in that silence stood the dark, arms open to him in welcome. Iolaus, remembering the strong warmth of Hercules' embrace slipped into the darkness again, unable to deny himself any offered comfort. Unable to distinguish between the darkness and its dangers and the light of old friendships.
All was black, silent. He could see and hear nothing, but that was all right, that was fine. He didn't want to see anything, he didn't want to hear anything. Because it might be the demons coming back for him. His marble skin shivered in the dark, the demons. What were they? Why did he fear them so? Something inside Iolaus cried out in fear, don't go there! Don't ask questions! Just be grateful. Never go back, please don't go back!
But Iolaus had to go back. He had to reclaim himself from the demons or the void, whichever had him. He needed to know who he was, he had to know about Hercules and their friendship. And to know those things, to remember that joy, he had to remember the pain, he had to know what had been done to him. Don't look back, his mind screamed at him, but he ignored it, knowing that it was the only way he would ever go forward. And so, with fear in his heart, he turned back to the past, back to his demons and their living Tartarus.
He saw from a distance, a figure lay on the earth floor of the room, naked and pale, a blond head was just visible above the protection of his arms. He knew without being told that this was himself. He had no memory of what he looked like, but this was his body trembling in the darkness. And he felt love for it, a huge wave of love and compassion rolled over him as he watched the head raise from the ground, eyes wide. Looking in horror at the door.
He found himself both watching and feeling what happened next, remembering as both the victim and the viewer. One moment seeing the strain and hungry eagerness on a demon's face, and the next feeling the humiliation and tearing pain of his violation. Tears fell from his eyes as he watched and as he lay helpless on the dirt. Thrown roughly onto his back, exposed, the fear in him growing bigger as he stared into the face of madness. A mirror on himself. Hands pulled at his groin, lips crushed his own in a foul parody of a kiss, a mouth descended on his chest, sucking and licking and biting; and then he was turned again and another demon tore him open still further. With brutal force he was pulled and pushed and used, over and over in a never-ending nightmare.
Tears streamed down the watcher's face, he remembered. He remembered it all. He remembered the trap they had laid outside the Tavern, he remembered the fight and losing consciousness to a blow from behind. He remembered waking here in this dark place, naked. He remembered the pain as he awoke to a hand squeezing at his genitals, he remembered hearing laughter as he screamed, and the belief rising in him that these men must be demons.
He watched and felt as his body was plundered, brutally pushed apart and entered. And as he watched and felt, saw and experienced, he remembered. He remembered Hercules, Alcmene and Jason. He remembered who he really was. And he was ready to move on, forward, out of the nightmare. He was scared, very scared. But knowing that Hercules was there, knowing that he was loved, that was enough to keep him going. Enough to see him through.
He awoke to the sensation of a kind and loving hand touching his brow. Care in its gentle touch, fear in there too. He understood the fear, 'Can I love you? Will you break if I touch you?' That was the fear. And as he opened his eyes on Hercules' quiet love, saw his fear, he smiled.
A smile of the future, a smile full of hope and love. An Iolaus smile.
The End
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