prison compound

Live (Part 2/2)

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Summary: Reader is alive! Reader learns about the aftermath of the Civil War and has a serious discussions with Tony and Peter.

A/N: This wasss all one fic, but I split it up because it was getting really long and worked better in 2 parts. Hope you like it. This is the last part. Be prepared for a fluffy as shit ending! (I hate endings)

Beep… Beep… Beep…

I groaned. What the fuck is that annoying beeping? Am I in a hospital?

“Y/N? Babe?” Peter’s voice came from right next to me, “Are you awake?”

I cracked open my eyes, but the lights were too bright. “P-peter. Th-the lights.”

“Oh, sorry!” He chirped, “FRIDAY, can you turn down the lights a little?”

“Yes, Mister Parker.” The AI responded. “Shall I notify Mr. Stark that Miss Stark is awake?”

“Yes, please.” I called out, voice cracking, “Thank you, FRIDAY.” I looked around. I was at the compound. Not prison?

“You’re welcome, Miss Stark.”

Peter sat on the side of my bed and grabbed my hand, “How are you feeling?”

“How am I alive?” I asked, eyeing his water bottle on the side table. “I truly thought I was going to bleed out. I was bleeding out of my mouth.”

“It… It was touch and go for a bit,” Peter answered, looking down at our hands, “You flat lined. On the way to the compound.” He squeezed my hand a little, breathing shaky. “They revived you, but you wouldn’t wake up. Even after your surgeries, after your transfusion, and after you were in the clear.”

“How long have I been asleep?” I asked, furrowing my brows.

“Almost a month.” He handed me the water bottle so I could take small sips.

A MONTH?” I shrieked, almost dropping the water bottle before Peter caught it and put it on the table. “What happened after the fight? Where is Rhodey? Where is my team? Why am I at the compound and not in prison? What about school?”

“Y/N,” He interrupted, placing his hand on my cheek, “calm down, baby. Your dad will explain when he gets here.” He leaned his forehead against mine, gently brushing his fingers along my jaw, “Please don’t ever almost die, again. I won’t be able to take it.”

I placed my hands along his forearms, a small smile forming on my lips, “I will try. No promises. I like to keep you on your toes.” I leaned up, brushing my lips against his. Then, I pulled back and grimaced, “My lips are all chapped.”

He chuckled, kissing my lips again, “You almost died. You technically did die. I think your chapped lips are the least of your worries.” He leaned down, gently nuzzling his face into my neck and wrapping his arms carefully around me. “I love you.”

I kissed the side of his head, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, “I love you, too.”

“Alright, alright, get off my daughter, Parker.” My father’s voice came from the doorway. “I need to talk to her.”

Peter gave me one last kiss and left the room, leaving me alone with my dad. Am I supposed to still be pissed at him? Because I really want to cry and hug him, right now. I felt tears start to form in my eyes, “Dad-”

“Not another word.” He said sternly, walking over to my bedside, replacing where Peter was. A tear escaped my eye, and suddenly, I was in my dad’s arms, face pressed against his chest. “Don’t you ever scare me like that ever, again!” His face was in my hair, and I could feel his tears in my hair, “I thought I was going to lose you. My baby girl.”

I wrapped my arms around his torso as sobs escaped, tears staining his tee shirt, “I’m sorry, dad.” I tightened my arms, and surprisingly, my ribs didn’t protest that much. After a few minutes, I started to calm down and felt my breathing go back to normal. “Not to complain, but why am I not in prison? Why am I at the compound?”

“Because you are a minor and I will be fucking damned if I see my baby girl in prison.” He said, leaning back and wiping his face. His under eyes were dark and he looked like he hadn’t gotten a decent sleep in a long time. “I’m sorry, but I had to sign for you. It was the only way to keep you from being sent to that prison.”

I shook my head, “We will talk about that later. How is Rhodey? What happened after I got hurt?”

As he explained, my heart broke. My poor, Uncle Rhodey had been severely hurt from a fall, and was struggling with physical therapy. Natasha was gone, hunted because she decided to help Steve and Bucky – who also could not be found, after my father found out that The Winter Soldier had killed my grandparents and he had shot off Bucky’s metal arm and fought with Steve. Everybody was split up. My family was split up and gone.

“Dad…” I sighed after he told me about the note Steve had sent him, and how everyone had gotten broken out of prison by Steve, “when I was little, before mom died and sent me here, she used to talk about you all the time. She used to talk about how you had the biggest heart, but were so stubborn that it made it hard for people to see it.” I took a deep breath, taking his hand, “I don’t care if you signed or not. Shit, I don’t care if you signed for me, anymore. Just make things right with the team. They love you, and I know you love them, too.”

He let out a deep breath, shifting so he was sitting cross legged on my hospital bed with my feet off to one side, still holding my hands, “I don’t know if they will want to hear it after what I did to Bucky and Steve.”

“You were hurt.” I decided to re-quote what I had said to Bucky by the car before the fight, “’Hurt people hurt people. People hurt others as a result of their own inner strife and pain.’ You were hurt and upset with Bucky because The Winter Soldier killed grandma and grandpa. What you have to understand is that they are not the same person. You need to have some empathy and forgive Bucky for what The Winter Soldier did.” Before he could argue, I held up a hand. “I know that The Winter Soldier killed your parents, and I cannot even imagine how you feel, but Bucky needs help. He needs help getting rid of The Winter Soldier.”

He was silent. Processing what I had just said. His eyebrows were pulled together, and he stared out the window. After a few minutes, a small smile formed on his face, “You really are the fruit of my loins. You are smart, insightful, great looks, a genius-”

“But I am not narcissistic.” I cut him off, smiling. “So maybe I take after mom.”

He scoffed, “You’re hilarious.” He pulled me close, again, rubbing my back gently, “Don’t ever scare your old man like that ever again, and I will see what I can do about that forgiveness and empathy you were talking about, okay?” He stood up, “I have to go to the lab and work on a few things… Now, I’ll let your Spider-Boy come back in here, but you have to promise me that no funny business is about to be had in this compound. I’ll make FRIDAY tell me if there is a little hanky-panky going on in here, okay?”

I rolled my eyes, groaning, “Oh my God, you freak. I just woke up from a coma.”

“That hasn’t stopped your attitude!” He called as he walked out of the room.

Peter came in shortly after, holding a small Iron Man teddy bear, “I brought this for you.”

I grinned, “No Spiderman?”

“You’d be surprised how much they are lacking in Spiderman merchandise.” He joked, sitting next to me on the bed, handing me the bear, “So, I have something serious to tell you.”

“Oh man, something serious.” I grabbed his hands, pulling them close to my chest and putting my chin on top of them, “Do tell.”

He took a deep breath, pulling his eyebrows together and staring at our entwined hands, “Th-this is pretty heavy. Prepare yourself.” He looked back up at me, “When I found you bleeding and gasping, I felt like my whole world stopped. I was scared that I was going to watch you take your last breath.” He swallowed thickly, looking out the window, “It made me realize just how much I can’t live without you. I know we are still young, but you don’t think about those kinds of things until it stares you in the face.” Looking back up at me, he gently pulled our hands over and kissed the top of my hands, “I love you.”

Tears were blurring my vision, and I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, nuzzling my face into his neck, “I love you, too.” I sniffed, “I’m sorry I scared you.”

He chuckled, “At least you’ll have a cool looking scar, now.” He turned his head, kissing my temple, “That’s hot.”

A laugh escaped me, and I leaned back, wiping my tears, “Shut up and kiss me.”

He leaned so our foreheads were touching, moving his hands to my waist, “You just want me to get beat up by your dad.” With a smile, he pressed his lips against mine, moving his hands around my waist to pull us closer together.

“HEY!” My father’s voice came over the sound system, “I SAID NO HANKY-PANKY!”


Hope you liked it! I had the flu when I wrote this, so if it sucks… TOO BAD lol


The Originals 2x12 & 3x16 || Firstly, that little nod Klaus does when he hears her and is about to give in. Although in Season 2, he barely trusted anyone but himself. He trusted Hayley, Elijah and Rebekah to a certain extent but ultimately every decision he made was his and he just forces them into it or daggers them (his siblings) and keep Hayley a prisoner in the compound to keep them in place. But now, he’s realised that he’s screwed up big time with that Crescent curse and later concludes that they need to be partners for Hope and her too, because she’s lost Jackson and he wants to protect her too but she doesn’t want to talk about Elijah so he’s still keeping his heart at a distance from her even though you could tell he’s totally jealous in the earlier scene. 

And secondly, where in Season 2 he tries to comfort and assure her that he trusts her because she was going on about how he’s too paranoid to let someone or anyone (i.e. her) in. But it didn’t work because he snapped her neck after. And now, she’s the one trying to comfort and assure him to trust her and the people she knows. He forgets that unlike him, Hayley didn’t have her biological family growing up. And like him, she didn’t know that she was a werewolf until she triggered her curse. Those people, Hollis and Kayla were part of the pack that accepted her when the people she thought she could trust (her adoptive parents) threw her out. That’s why she trusts more easily than Klaus could. She was ultimately a werewolf whose species needs and yearns for family–a pack–more so than vampires that’s why she still stays by his side no matter how much of an asshole he’s been. Klaus needs and yearns for the same thing being a half werewolf but he’s yet to focus on that side since his family is vampires. Seriously writers, when? Will Klaus ever look for his father’s pack or is Hayey and Hope enough of a pack for him?

And finally the last one, he so wanted to go after her but then stopped because he remembered Hope. Seriously, their talks and arguments are so intense every time that they only see each other and not the world around them. But he eventually does, after handing her to Hollis. See, so much progress from Season 2! I think from seeing Hollis, he would trust this pack more than the Crescents because they took her in when she had nowhere to go whereas she had a hard time trying to get acceptance from the Crescents due to her association with him.

anonymous asked:

Why do you think president Obama wants to close gitmo? Isn't that where we hold people accused of being terrorist? If we let those people go that could be dangerous.

First of all, one of the promises that Barack Obama made over-and-over again as a candidate for the Presidency was that he would shut down the detainee program at Guantanamo. So, that’s a big one. That’s a promise that should be kept. That’s a promise that should have already been delivered upon.

Secondly, we’ve been holding scores of detainees for years – some of them for nearly a decade – without charging them with a crime or moving forward on a plan for putting them on trial, and that’s against many of the ideals that formed a foundation for our country’s existence. If the United States believes that the people being detained at Guantanamo are terrorists, they should be charged with a crime and put on trial. Indefinitely imprisoning people for years without bringing charges against them is a violation of a laundry list of human rights. The United States has summarily taken years off of people’s lives, even though we live in a country where everybody is supposedly guaranteed a fair trial and a world where there are supposed to be strict guidelines and rights for combatants captured during wartime. The detainees in Guantanamo have no rights, and that’s simply not how a civilized society is supposed to treat people – even if they are foreigners or potential dangers. It’s not even fair to suggest that they are potential dangers or terrorist threats since they’ve never had an opportunity to mount a defense or answer to criminal charges.

There is also the fact that the entire detainee program at Guantanamo is lacking transparency, especially since abuses against detainees have been documented by people inside and outside of the government over the years. Since the detainees are held in a makeshift prison compound under military control in an occupied area of a foreign country that the U.S. has not had formal relations with since the Eisenhower Administration, it’s safe to say that there needs to be better oversight for anyone being detained

One last note: there are a lot of Americans who are vehemently opposed to alleged terrorists being transferred to the United States mainland for potential trial and imprisonment. That is just downright ridiculous. How many violent criminals successfully escape from maximum security prison here in the United States? Not a significant number. No terrorist or alleged threat is going to be incarcerated in one of those Martha Stewart, Club Fed prisons. High-ranking terrorists found guilty of their crimes (if they are ever actually charged with something) will end up in a place like the ADX Florence Supermax prison in Colorado. In fact, terrorists are already locked up there like: Zacarias Moussaoui, the al-Qaeda member often said to be the 20th hijacker on 9/11; Ramzi Yousef, the mastermind of the original World Trade Center bombing; Richard Reid, the failed shoe bomber; several al-Qaeda members responsible for various attacks; Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber; Terry Nichols, the accomplice who helped Timothy McVeigh plan the Oklahoma City bombing; Eric Rudolph, who bombed abortion clinics and was responsible for the bomb at Centennial Park during the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta; and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Do you know how many people have ever escaped from ADX Florence? Not a single soul has even come close.

We have maximum security prisons throughout the United States. They were literally built to incarcerate dangerous people. If Guantanamo is the only place safe enough to detain the people who are held there right now (mostly without being charged with a crime), and the U.S. military is the only organization capable of adequately providing the security necessary for detaining those people, then I question why taxpayers are spending so much money funding the prisons within our country’s borders and paying the salaries of the correctional officers needed to guard them. Other than local political concerns, there are is no reason why the detainees at Guantanamo couldn’t be transferred to mainland prisons and put on trial. And nobody should be held for a moment longer if they aren’t being charged with a criminal offense.

The End - Part 5

*Soon to be adapted as an original novel by Tristen Ross, called Exitus*

Warnings: talk of death, injury, dismal setting, apocalypse, language, angst,

You’ll have to read the others for it to make sense!  The End -  The End - Part 2   - The End - Part 3 -  The End - Part 4

It didn’t rain very often at the compound, but when it did, it poured. The ground shook with another roll of thunder, rain tearing at the tent’s roof threateningly. Soon the ground would be nothing but mud. Dean cursed and threw his things I to his bag. 

“This damn rain is going to wash the entire camp away. We have to sandbag the gates to keep the run off out.” I was only half listening. The events of the day before still were fresh in my thoughts. The aching cuts on my knees reminded me that it wasn’t just a dream, and that a carbon copy of Dean was sitting in a muddy cell as we spoke. I chewed at my fingernails impatiently. The corner of the napkin-wrapped rations I had tucked behind “Sam’s” box still poked out at an odd angle. The sudden storm had delayed my plan to visit the prisoner. I watched Dean quietly, the whole time wondering how he could knowingly harm an innocent man, how he could frame…himself. A flash of lightening made the tent glow, casting sinister shadows in every corner. 

“You need to stay here and make sure the water doesn’t get too high, not that we have much to lose.” Dean was placing our belongings on the kitchen table, out of the deepening mud’s reach. When he moved towards the wooden chest I jumped forward. 

“Wait!” My immediate response was to throw myself in between him and the object. Getting reprimanded for stealing food once was bad enough, and Dean was only a step away from discovering that I had no intentions of staying out of the rain today. His eyebrows lowered over a scowl. 

“Y/N, what are you doing? I’ve got to get this done before-” My hands hooked around the nape of his neck in a loose embrace and the rest of his words were lost to a slow kiss. At first I thought he might pull back. I could feel the question in his touch, the hesitation keeping his fingers by his sides. He still hadn’t moved when I broke away and spoke sweetly. 

“Dean, don’t worry about it. I’ve got the house covered. You’ve got enough to do out there already.” The expression on his face was less of surprise and more of guilt. Something in him seemed ashamed of the affection he once craved. I could see the weight of his broken conscience darkening his eyes and the space underneath. When did the man I loved become a machine, leading by the strength of his fist and the loudness of his speech

“Dean, really. Let me help.” It broke my heart to fake something that once came so easily. He finally nodded, never losing the sadness in his features. He kissed me once more, this time even slower. The way his hands gripped my waist, fingers curling in desperate repentance, I could tell he was ashamed of himself. There was a plea for forgiveness in gentle bites over my collarbone and a cry for confession in the love poured over the soft skin of my neck. We fought so much these days that every kiss felt like an apology. 

I just hoped he was sorry for what he had already done, and not something he was about to do


When Dean was gone it took me a moment to gather my courage and rub the tremors out of my hands. Deceiving him felt so wrong but I couldn’t confront him till I knew more about what was happening. As long as he was hiding things from me he couldn’t be trusted, and if I couldn’t trust him, then I could trust no one. The heavy rain covered the noise of my footsteps outside, each yard between me and our tent increasing my chances of being seen or engaged in conversation. Even with the hood of my rain jacket pulled low I felt exposed to each person I passed. Everyone was too busy securing their flooding homes to notice the leader’s wife sulking through the shadows. My job was to hold my head high around the others and give the impression of prosperity. As long as Dean and I were projecting hope, we could tell others to do the same. He would be ashamed to see me now, the opposite of a model wife. 

The mud sucked at my shoes and made my feet heavy as my heart. The short walk to the southern end of the compound felt like miles. In the damp grey melancholy there was the faint sound of children laughing, their little feet smashing through deep puddles riddling the road. They were the only ones unburdened by this storm. In their blissful ignorance they danced and faced the sky happily, eager to fully experience what their parents begrudged. Jealousy rose up in me, although it could easily be mistaken for admiration. I mimicked their youthful wonder and turned my face up to the clouds. It felt cleansing, the torrent of clean water pouring down my cheeks and chin. I imagined my burdens melting off with each droplet of rain. It wasn’t till a hand clapped over my back that I realized I was standing still for too long. 

 "Keep smiling like that and you’ll drown.“ I spun around and faced the source of the noise, almost slipping in the muck settled around my shoes. I was only a minute away from my destination and prayed the person confronting me would be easily lost. When I saw who’s eyes were staring past mine, my heart rose to my throat. 

 "Castiel…” His steel blue iris were floating in their usual lack of sobriety, but even under the influence of unidentifiable drugs he served as a threat to my secrets. 

 "What are you doing out in the rain?“ In my paranoia even his lazy speech carried a hint of suspicion. I shrugged and stammered an excuse about needing to check the infirmary patients. The former angel nodded, tufts of his dark hair drenched against his forehead. He looked less carefree than the last time I saw him. It made me think of Dean, and his eagerness to meet with Castiel after bringing the prisoner home. How much had he told him, and how much did he understand? The man in front of me suddenly leaned forward, his nose only inches from mine. If it weren’t for the comfort of his perpetual innocence I would have stumbled backward in surprise. He had no idea that his action was remotely inappropriate. 

"Y/N…” My chest pounded and I struggled to keep my gaze unwavering. His tone switched to one of secrecy. “The children thank you for the peaches.” Relief flooded my heavy limbs and a sigh revived my starved lungs. I felt the overwhelming urge to divulge everything then and there. Maybe Cas still maintained some of his holiness, because his presence made me feel like a murderer in comparison. 

“Of course, I’m glad I… I mean we, could share.” I shifted my weight between my legs, anxious to get away from prying eyes. A little wave goodbye and I was all but running in the opposite direction. Castiel rarely spared the effort to raise his voice, so I was confused by his call after me. The urgency in his shout quickened my slipping steps. 

 "Be careful… Things are about to get a lot worse out here.“ 


I was relieved to see the several cement cubicles that sat along the edge of the fence, their small windows shaded by unevenly spaced rebar and broken glass. They were disconnected from the rest of the compound and stood as large grey sentinels in the increasingly violent wind and rain. It was ironic that their restricting walls were also the safest, in comparison to the ragged tents threatening to rip at every seam. I was surprised to find each unguarded. Whoever was on duty must have ran to secure his own belongings and family. Another crash of thunder shook the earth and I tugged my soaked covering closer to my body. The first two cells I looked into were empty, save the large symbols and wardings chipped into the walls. The last of the three was chained shut tightly. 

”…Dean?“ It felt so strange using his name with someone else. "It’s Y/N…” A shadow shifted in the darkness, slowly rising in stature and stepping into the dim glow of the lightning streaked sky. I should have expected my breath to catch like it did. It felt like I seeing a ghost. Dean’s counterpart narrowed his eyes at me, caution keeping his feet from moving closer to the barred entryway. He was partly covered in mud from the swampy floor but his hair was still dry thanks to the slab of tin that roofed the makeshift prison. Most of the compound would have loved the same shetlar, but his safety came at the price of his freedom. 

“What are you doing here?” His voice was more accusational than before, more like my Dean. “You’re going to get us both in trouble. Especially you…” His gruff speech did little to hide the concern in his eyes as he looked me over. Instead of fighting for the right words I dug into my pocket, the only dry place on me it seemed, and produced my meal from the night before. Without any formalities I held it out to him. My arm fit through the bars and came within reach of his unshackled hands. He appeared shocked that I trusted him, and looked between me and my offering repeatedly. 

“It’s food. Sorry I couldn’t bring anything more. Dean, well I guess I mean… You. You really keep a close eye on the rations.” The man in front of me chuckled and began taking apart the parcel eagerly. He spoke in between cramming the stale bread and cheese into his mouth. 

“Sorry for that… I should probably work on my dick personality while I have the chance.” I shrugged, strangely comfortable talking to someone I didn’t really know. We were only connected by our mutual relation to the “current” Dean, and even that connection was uncertain. There were so many questions I had, about life before the virus. I could barely remember what Dean was like then, and I hated him for trying to hide that from me even now. My quiet staring eventually came to the prisoner’s attention and he strained to clear his throat. 

“So you and I… In the future we’re…?” A hot blush rose to my cheeks even though my body was soaked and shaking. I nodded, gaze falling down to the swirling rivers of reddish below us. He made a noise of approval and shook his head in disbelief. 

“Wow… Can’t believe I actually settled down and got married. Have to say, looks like I did pretty well for myself.” The mud spackled man’s smile shown white in the darkness. It was genuine, still unmarred by the suffering in his future. My chest ached with the desire for someone I had never got the chance to know. 

“Well, you didnt… we’re not really married.” Dean frowned and came closer to the bars, so I could hear him over what sounded like bullets of water against the roof. He almost seemed disappointed in himself so I reluctantly went into explanation. 

“We just call each other husband and wife, he says it makes the leadership seem more safe and reliable. Gives people a sense of stability.” My words, that were really his, came out mumbled under the noise of driving rain. Something about this Dean’s piteous stare made me ashamed. He looked at me like I was the one imprisoned. Changing the topic seemed like an appropriate escape from his questions about our relationship, or lack thereof. 

“How’s your side?” There was pride in the way lifted up the edge of his shirt and flaunted the stitches puckering his skin.

“Good, thanks to you. And your knees?” I was thankful for the ragged jeans that covered my legs. They gave me the opportunity to lie and deny the swollen gashes that ached every time I moved. My evasive answer was riddled with chattering teeth. Water had soaked through every thin layer of my clothing and the wind felt like daggers on my cheeks.

"You must be freezing… I would invite you inside, but you know-” He gestured to the chains separating us, a small grin tugging at his split lip. A real, outright laugh escaped me and was immediately lost to the thundering storm. The cell didn’t look all that uninviting. Dread filled me at the thought of going back to our flooded tent, Dean’s absence both blessing and curse.

“I should go anyway, Dean will notice I’m missing soon.” I lied again, he wouldn’t have any idea that I was gone. But Castiel could certainly tell him otherwise if I stayed out much longer. The younger Dean nodded while chewing at the inside of his cheek in thought. In a moment he was hurrying to remove the jacket from his shoulders.

“Here, take this.” He folded the army green coat over and extended it towards me. It was still dry and looked fairly unused compared to the clothing we scavenged around the camp. If I wasn’t shaking like a leaf I might have thought twice. I wouldn’t be any good to either Dean if I died of a simple flu brought on by exposure. As I reached into the cell to comply, strong fingers grabbed my hand. Panic stiffened my muscles more than any cold air, but the eyes looking into mine were gentle. The grip on my wrist relaxed and a thumb skimmed over my knuckles. “Thank you, for everything.” Before I could politely protest the gift was pressed into my hand, and it felt too dry and warm to deny.  

“I’ll… I’ll bring it back to you.” I stammered, trying to find some way to justify the affection that had just taken place. Dean rolled his eyes folded his arms over his chest, displaying the deep bruising that covered his skin. 

“Don’t bother. Where I’m going I may not need it. Last time I was in hell, jackets weren’t in the dress code.” Guilt washed over me as I tugged the heavy canvas material over my shoulders. From where I was standing I could see the barbed fence he would be thrown over if found guilty for the crime no one had seen him commit. On the other side of that razor wire was a steep incline that lead straight to the mass graves I helped dig months ago. I could already see him there, that haunting burlap hiding the face we all saw daily. I tried to shake the gruesome image from my mind.

“No, he’s not going to kill you. You haven’t done anything…” There was no confidence in my words, just empty reassurance and fear. He smiled at my insistence, possibly admiring the blind faith that kept me from confronting Dean, yet.

“I hope you’re right, Y/N.” His use of my name made me feel sick to my stomach. It was too forgiving, too kind. I should have know this Dean. Maybe this was the Dean I fell in love with, the one that once thought twice before pulling a trigger and valued the good of the individual as much as the whole. 

“But I know myself,” He spoke softy, the smile on his face fading into an emotionless expression I knew all too well.

“And I don’t leave loose ends." 

May 18, 1916 - Kut Prisoner Column Reaches Baghdad

Pictured - British and Indian prisoners after the fall of Kut.

The Anglo-Indian prisoners taken at the fall of Kut were sent on a horrific march to captivity in Anatolia.  Along the way, the starving and dysentery-ridden men were beaten, robbed, raped, and murdered.  On May 18 they reached Baghdad, where they were kept for three days in a prisoner compound lacking shade or even latrines. 

The American Consul in Baghdad, a Mr. Brissell, tried to help as many prisoners as he could by paying money to Turkish guards and authorities, leaning on them to have 500 of the prisoners sent to hospital.  The men released were then marched to Basra, where they could return to British lines.  Still, 160 of them died along the way.  The survivors who made it to Basra were forbidden to speak of what they had endured at the hands of their Turkish and Arab captors, lest the men still in captivity be killed.