Dawn Chorus (Proxies x Reader)

Rope chaffs my skin, rough and stabbing even when it does not glide along the gentle movements. My wrists and ankles are bound. My head lightly bandaged. The shoulder of the man with the white mask digs into my stomach. We are going, going, going, and I don't know where. I don't bother to ask. I don't bother to fight. The binds strain and cut into my rolled ankle. Its swollen and purple by now, much larger than it had been when I was first bound.

The man with the goggles walks next to us, but the one in the orange hoodie walks behind. I keep my head down, so I don't have to see him staring.

"So, I'm the only one who succeeded?" The man carrying me asks. He scoffs quietly.

They've been talking about this, the murder and attempted murder of my friends, since I've fully come back to consciousness. I think the man holding it likes to feel me tense up each time its mentioned, as the hate and anger swell. I always sink back into his shoulder, defeated; it could be that part he actually enjoys.

"Hey! I-I had a lot m-more pe-pe-p-pe-p-people to deal wi-with," the man with the goggles snaps back.

"Yeah, sure." I can basically hear the eye roll in his tone. "You didn't waste your time starting a forest fire."

The other man chuckles softly, sheepishly almost. "W-well..."

"And you're excuse, Hoodie?"

I can't help but glance up at that, toward the man walking behind us. It's the first real form of address I've heard them use toward each other. I regret it instantly. I can feel his eyes meet mine through the cloth. He lifts his chin a little, contemplates his answer.

"She earned it," he says.

His sentiment sounds smug, but there is no smugness in his tone. The man holding me scoff again.

He grumbles out, "yeah right," and rolls his eyes so dramatically that he has to add a little head shake in there as well.

"S-soooooo," the one with the goggles draws out after a moment of uncomfortable silence, "why aren't we ki-ki-ki-killi-li-ling her ag-g-gain?"

"Can you pay attention? Are you capable of that?" The man carrying me snaps.

We jostle suddenly. I bounce on his shoulder and then I am falling, discarded. I hit the ground hard and my head begins to spin. There are grunts and thuds, feet shuffling on dirt above me. The sounds of a restrained scuffle. The man with the orange hood...Hoodie, slowly walks over. He crouches above me. I stare at him, breath held and eyes threatening to bulge out of my head. I stare so long, I'm worried they'll dry out. He reaches out slowly, hand closer and closer so I can see even the fine texture of his leather glove. I recoil as he gently brushes the loose hair away from my face, going so far as to tuck it behind my ear. I squeeze my eyes shut, hold my breath harder, curling in my lips. Nothing but the sound of the scuffle. All I can smell is dirt and pine, can practically taste it on my dry tongue.

Suddenly a burning grip locks onto my chin. I feel like my bones groan beneath the squeezing fingers. Slowly my head is lifted, tilted to the left, to the right, up a little. His free hand gently pats my cheek. I crack open one eye, then the other. My entire field of vision is the black cloth of his mask and his red expression. He drops my chin to instead grab my bound wrist, hoisting me up by them. I scramble and thrash to get my feet under me. I didn't realize our height difference, even in all my fear, until he stands fully, arm stretched above him to hold my feet just out of reach of the ground, no matter how much I stretch. How strong does he have to be to lift me so lazily by one arm.

He drops me and in a single fluid motion, uses the same arm he was holding me up with before to snag my waist and toss me over his shoulder. I cough and wheeze as my stomach smashes down onto the bone of his shoulder.