Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12530692.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Venture_Bros
  Relationship:
      Sergeant_Hatred/Hank_Venture, Sergeant_Hatred/Dean_Venture, one-sided_if
      you_squint_Hank/Brock
  Character:
      Hank_Venture, Dean_Venture, Sergeant_Hatred, Brock_Samson
  Additional Tags:
      Molestation, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Non-Consensual_Drug_Use, Non-
      Consensual, Underage_Sex, Underage_Rape/Non-con, Flashback, Coda
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-10-28 Words: 1813
****** No Prescription ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Flashback coda to 'I Know Why The Caged Bird Kills'.
     "If you're supposed to be our mom, than why you got us tied up, huh?
     People only do that when they wanna kill us-"
     "-or hold us for ransom-"
     "-or touch us. Inappropriately."
     "Whaat? When? That never happened."
     "Sergeant Hatred? What, didja blot that out? Oh no, wait. You were
     passed out from the wine. Most of it was awful, trust me."
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
It wasn’t until he got up and locked the door that Hank started to worry. Dean
was already passed out across the loveseat. Uncle Happy, who Hank had been not-
really-listening to, while sipping at the wine, came back quick though.
He’d been so nice, Hank had wondered why he’d never been invited to any of
their other birthdays. Dean had eaten cake, and Hank had opened presents. Uncle
Happy had told them he was covering for Brock, and Hank had been so busy
goofing off, he’d barely noticed Dad was missing.
How often had Dad made it to one of their birthdays, anyway? Like, never.
“You feeling a little warm?” Uncle Happy asked, and Hank shivered, even though
he was getting sort of hot. He nodded. It made his Uncle laugh, and clap him on
the back, like Brock had that one time he’d tripped a henchman with his Lincoln
Log set, and Hank relaxed all over again.
“Uh, yeah.” Hank replied, and set his cup down on the table, but the sudden
motion shook him, and the sharp crash was his glass hitting the floor.
“Careful, Hank.” Uncle Happy didn’t sound worried at all. He was looking at
Dean spread across the loveseat, all asleep and stupid, his mouth open. He was
looking at Dean, who was only wearing his undershirt, all twisted up to show
his belly.

Hank sorta wished he hadn’t drunk so much.

“Have you heard from my Dad?” Hank asked, but it came out like he was
swallowing marbles, and Uncle Happy laughed again, which made Hank smile,
laugh.
And then Uncle Happy stopped laughing, and so did Hank. He swallowed, his mouth
strange on his face, his limbs strange on his body. Uncle Happy was smiling at
him now, that same weirdo smile, and maybe. Maybe there was a reason Uncle
Happy wasn’t at any of their birthdays.
“Your dad’s gonna be here soon enough.” Uncle Happy said, and then he smiled,
real big and Hank tried to stand. He had to get Dean, they had to leave, Dean
hadn’t even gotten to play with his new Justice Frog. Instead, Uncle Happy
reached out and poked him in the chest, lightly with one finger. “He’s just a
lil’ busy. Tied up.”
Hank went back on his butt like a Kleenex, and he felt stupid. All that time
Brock had spent showing him how to block a strike and he hadn’t even lifted a
hand. He glared up at Uncle Happy.
If that was even his real name!
“Who are you?” Hank shouted, and Uncle Happy wasn’t so much smiling at him
anymore as grinning, breathing heavily, even though he was sitting still.
Hank was the one struggling to even move his legs.
“Maybe you outta be a little tied up, too, Hank-a-roo.” He said, and Hank
wanted to run, but his arms and legs felt like noodles. He felt his head loll
back on his neck, staring uselessly upward. He wondered where Brock was right
now, but couldn’t decide if he wanted to be saved or not.
He wanted to save himself.
“Drug’s kickin’ in.” Happy said, quietly but still too excited. And then all at
once, Hank was being shuffled like a doll, making his arms jerk and pull. He
tried to tell him to stop, but it came out all dumb. His hands lifted over his
head, his legs bound to each other. He wiggled how he could, but even if he’d
been tied with shoestring, he felt so weird, he probably couldn’t do anything.
The restraints felt solid though, and tighter than the Baron had ever tied
them. Hank felt really dumb for not realizing it was just a kidnapping earlier,
but this ‘Uncle’ character was being so creepy. Still, even though the ropes
were softer than he was used to and more flexible, no matter how he twisted
Hank couldn’t see more than the den’s stained ceiling.
He heard rustling, and a soft whump from where Dean lay, passed out on the
loveseat.
A wet sound.
“ ‘ey.” Hank muttered, the words feeling like they were dribbling out of his
mouth. “ Hey. Stop.”
Frighteningly, the noises stopped immediately.
Hank felt his body shifting and tilting, sliding him lower along the leather
couch, his chin hitting his chest hard enough that his teeth clicked. He opened
his eyes, and he could see Dean now, his shirt pulled up to his pits and his
nipples looked... wet. Ugh. What was wrong with this guy? He wondered if Dad
could lodge a complaint.
Hank just hoped it was spit.
“You’re such a fighter, Hank.” Uncle Happy said, and the swell of pride Hank
felt made him feel bad. Weird. Nobody had told him anything like that before.“I
was a fighter Hank. You’re right. Let’s leave the lesser toys behind.”
Hank tried again to free himself, dread settling cold in the pit of his
stomach, despite the fog of alcohol and whatever had been in it. It was like
he’d been having a dream, and now, it was going to be a nightmare.
Uncle Happy took off his military overcoat, and Hank could finally see what was
spelled down his body.
H
A
T
R
E-
“The d’s over the D!” Sgt. Hatred said, and then he laughed, his body shaking
with the force of his good humor. “If we have enough time, I’ll teach you how
to spell, Hank.”
He winked, and Hank kind of hated Dean for being asleep. Dean missed
everything. He missed the time Brock had snapped that guys neck on Christmas,
too busy having a nosebleed. He missed Hank’s bike tricks all the time. He was
always asleep and just this once, Hank wished it was him knocked out by the G-
force as Brock navigated the X-Wing into a guided crash.
Instead, Hank remembered Brock’s voice, through the fog.
’Always try and be alert if you get taken hostage, boys. You never know when
there'll be an opportunity for contact or escape. And Hank, protect your
brother.’
And just like that, it was easier to keep his eyes open as Hatred’s fat hands,
shaky and kinda wet, unknotted his kerchief, leaving it to crumple behind his
neck. Then his shirt, lifted over his head, left around his arms, and now he
was trapped more severely than before. He could barely see Sgt. Hatred through
the light of the den’s single window, or maybe his eyes just kept slipping
closed.
Or maybe, and Hank’s heart swelled, maybe it was getting later and Brock would
be home soon.
Hank squeezed his eyes shut, breaking his promise to Brock and himself and
Batman, as Hatred lowered his head to his chest, a hot tongue squirming across
his chest. It was gross, and awful and how could he feel so heavy, and still
feel so much? He hated it,he hated it, and Hank was suddenly sure he was going
to cry, and jeez, not even Dean cried when they got kidnapped anymore.
But Dean was asleep. If Hank turned his head, if he could even turn his head-
while Hatred drooled all over his chest, licking at his nipples like he was a
girl- he could see him, rolled onto his side, curled up asleep.
Hands fumbled at his waistband, and real fear gripped Dean. He didn’t know a
lot about stuff, but what he did know told him that he didn’t wanna do that.
“Stop.” He mumbled, and then louder, when he realized his tongue was working.
“Stop. Stop it.”
A single hand reached up, cuffing him across the face. His face felt numb
afterwards. It happened so quickly, he felt shocked, and didn’t protest when
the hand retreated back down to the front of his shorts.
He’d never been hit like that before.
“Stop.” He said again, but softly. Afraid to be heard. He hoped Brock never
came home, never found him like this, shorts around his thighs and Sgt. Hatred
sucking on his wiener like it was... well, a wiener. Sgt. Hatred didn’t say
anything, just kept slurping on him, his gross mouth attached to him like a
leech. It was warm and weird. It made him want to squirm, but Sgt. Hatred’s big
hands sat on his hips like a warning, and it was far enough away now, that Hank
had to keep reminding himself to struggle. Sure it was gross, but Dean was
safe, and Brock would be here soon, and he could probably sleep like this-
And then he started to feel weirder. Hot again, like he had when he first
drank, sweaty but under his skin. It radiated from the root of him, where Uncle
Happy was still licking him. And that made him wriggle, just to get the sweat
off the back of his knees. It rocked his hips upward, and his whole body
thrummed, making him gasp.
Sgt. Hatred pulled back to laugh, and it was like loud noise in a scary movie.
His whole body jumped.
“Yeah, I knew you were a fighter, Hank.” He told him, and Hank felt like he
would always be here, looking at his sad, wet, weird face. Terrified it had
been him that had invited this horrible day, this horrible day to end all days.
“You and me-”
“HATRED.”
Brock!
He tried to keep his eyes on the fight, but he was still trussed up, still
woozy. Brock smashed a chair across the guys face, that was good. Hank was
mostly just glad that even if his pants were down, at least he wasn’t all weird
and thick anymore. He drifted for a moment, safe in the sound of Brock’s fists
meeting solid human flesh. And then Brock was pulling his pants up, and untying
him, quick, but not like he was worried.
Like he was upset, and Hank suddenly remembered that he had broken his promise.
He didn’t stay alert. He didn’t escape.
“You alright?” Brock asked him, and he was looking at Hank with a funny kind of
look in his eye, like he was afraid of what Hank was gonna tell him. Like he
didn’t want to ask the question. Well, good. Hank didn’t want it asked.
He wanted a shower.
“I’m fine.” He said, and then because, it was sorta true, and it was his
birthday, andDean wouldn’t remember anyway. “I protected Dean.”
Brock looked profoundly grateful, and then he looked away, letting Hank sit up
and fumble at sorting himself out. He could still see Sgt. Hatred slumped in
the corner, but it was okay.
Kidnapping over.
:
Two weeks before the trial, when the boys died in that motorcade accident,
Brock wasn’t as sorry as he should be. They cloned them of course, like they
always did. Same dumb kids, freshly minted.
The new Hank slept easier every night. Maybe, Brock still didn’t.
End Notes
     I am so sorry everyone. I take requests.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!