”You know why I do this to you, don’t you?”
Ward wasn’t sure if it was fear or if he’d really been hurt that bad, but he couldn’t move. His head was swimming, no object or spot in the room quite staying in one place any time he tried to focus on it.
Ward felt his father’s hand caress his cheek. Something devoid of the affection it should have held. Might have held, in a different universe. Ward’s blood separated his skin from his father’s fingertips. Protection. Of course he knew why Harold did this.
There was a pause like Harold expected an answer, but Ward couldn’t fathom what it could have been. Even the right one would have labelled him a smart-ass. Maybe Harold was hoping for a wrong answer. Ward had given a lot of those tonight. He would have liked to be able to say this time he decided to learn from his mistakes, but in truth his throat wasn’t working any better than the rest of his body. His lips parted but no sound came out.
The hand on his face got rough, forcing Ward by the chin. The sudden jerk caused his head to ache a little worse in protest. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Like he’d had much choice. Ward’s back was to the wall he’d crumpled against, Harold was crouching over him. He took the majority of Ward’s field of vision regardless of eye contact. Maybe he was hoping to see the fear. As ashamed as he was of it, Ward knew that vulnerability was still there, even through the haziness that had fallen upon his mind ever since he found himself down here.
After what felt like a million blinks- just trying to concentrate on the task at hand- he found his way to his father’s eyes. Full of disappointment, just as expected. Disgust, maybe. And something else, perfectly articulated by the next sentence to come out of his mouth.
“I wish you didn’t make me do this, Ward, I really do. But you’re my son, and I won't have my own flesh and blood be such a disgrace, a failure, to fuck up everything we’ve worked for. That makes me look irresponsible, reflects poorly on me as a father. Now I know you’d never want to make me look bad.” A sigh. “You’ve never been as smart as your sister, not as willing to make the tough calls— and you don’t see her bleeding on my floor, do you? That’s why I help you out, why I teach you lessons like this, because I expect better from you. I expect the best from you.”
Ward’s eyes slowly had fallen closed of their own volition, but he felt a hand find its way into his hairline as Harold spoke. One of the softest touches of the entire night, it made Ward nauseous. But the nausea peaked when Harold pressed those fingers against the source of the blood, that place so smartly amidst his hair to reduce future visibility where Harold had hit him with a dumbbell as a grand finale. Ward cried out despite himself, tears filling his suddenly wide eyes and hand instinctively grasping at his father's shirt sleeve.
"Please…" He whimpered, pathetic. "Dad-"
Harold hummed out a single sound of vague acknowledgement before removing the pressure from the head wound. Instead he smoothed Ward's hair back over it. Why? To hide it? That’s how their games were played. Ward tried to gauge Harold's face but it had grown unreadable, distant as he studied the blood soaked strands.
Ward’s arm fell away. His shoulder hadn’t appreciated his movement much more than his head had. Unfortunately he could fathom the kind of bruising he’d be dealing with whenever Harold decided he’d had enough of playing predator for the night— assuming he made it out alive again this time. For all Ward knew, begging him to stop was a wrong move, taking his control, and his body just wouldn’t be able to take any more damage. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d come close to doubting it, but he wasn’t sure, maybe morbidly it wasn’t an expectation but a hope. Healing wounds ache and itch and the memories linger long enough there’s no break before new ones are made. He couldn’t move from the floor, what difference did it make. There was no getting away from this.
"Ward." Harold said, sharp, like it wasn't the first time. Ward didn't bother opening his eyes again, didn't bother listening. Screw Harold, he was going to let the swimming stop.
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Ward awoke from a dreamless slumber on one of the couches in the penthouse, pain quick to follow as he sat up. He'd never been hit by a truck before but he couldn't think of a more fitting saying for this occasion. It was just that the truck had concentrated all of its force into specific individual blows all across his body. Tentatively he reached towards his head, feeling bandages there, and Harold chose that moment to make himself known. A couple pills and a glass of water were set too loudly onto the table in front of him.
"Got anything stronger?" Ward's voice was dull. He knew there was alcohol in the room, and he was already reaching for the water, he just wanted on some level to complain. He could still barely move.
"Oh, not your kind of painkiller? If you wanted your drugs maybe you should have thought of that ahead of time."
Ward let out a huff, something too sad and empty to be laughter, before taking whatever it was that had been set out in front of him. He heard Harold sit down across the room at his desk, but didn't dare look over. His eyes were scanning the room, resting only when they'd found the place where his night had ended. It was pretty easily identifiable. "There's blood on the wall."
"Yeah." Harold sounded almost sympathetic. "You're going to need to clean that up before you leave." Another claw at his heart and shred torn off his dignity. No, he didn't need to clean it, they both knew Harold could have someone paid- or he could just fucking do it himself. He hadn't believed he needed to be the one to erase the messes since before the Rand's died, but it was never about hiding, it was just another aspect of punishment.
His hands reached towards his face, just holding his head as it throbbed. He didn't need any more stress. "It's a fucking wall, it's been hours it probably stained."
Harold chose not to hear him. "You're also going to need to call Joy, let her know you're taking a sick day. You're already late."