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lila-unfortunately · 2 years

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Pedestals Fall (but I still needed a hero)

MCU/ Tony Stark-centric | Whumptober 2022 | no.6 & 7 | alt prompt: whimpering & day seven “the way you shiver and shake” [silent panic attacks]

TW: panic attacks, suicidal ideation, low self worth, splitting (in the bpd sense), & disassociation

CW: team iron man (cap critical, not anti) & excessive use of the word “fuck”

@whumptober-archive :)

Shit, Tony mumbled underneath his breath, the expletive instinctive. He knew what was happening, but this time he didn’t have Jarvis to count his breathing or the privacy of the lab to conceal his weakness. No, but, of course, he was in the company of the Avengers. Of course, it was during their first meeting since the so-called ‘civil war’ and fucking of course this shit had to happen while he was pretending that whole ordeal didn’t affect him.

Tony cleared his throat and forced himself to take an even, deep breath, “Okay, well, if any of you have any further questions on what your pardon consists of or just, in general, readjustment issues, feel free to let me know. But, for now, I’m gonna excuse myself and leave you to it. Vision will show you to your rooms.”

Tony grimaced, hearing his voice waver a little, but it couldn’t be helped. He did his best, considering the circumstances. Vision noticed, with a pat of reassurance on his shoulder, but of course that small little tremble also garnered the attention of Steve fucking Rogers and Natasha fucking Romatov and Clint fucking Barton. The ones he had known for years detected his pain and while he could feel their eyes on him, he knew better than to expect them to care.

With a small wave, he excused himself into the elevator.

“Friday,” he gasped as the doors shut behind him, “lock the doors. Initiate Protocol ‘Tony Stark is a little bitch’.”

He immediately crumpled to floor, trying to keep his hysteria as leveled and quiet as he could. Not really for the sake of anyone else, he know Jarvis sealed all ways into the elevator off and was currently redirecting anyone in need of this particular elevator to the stairs, but somehow he wanted to be able to walk away from this with a shred of his dignity.

He was shaking, curled up in a ball on the elevator floor. Work with me, brain. Tony thought, swirling thoughts of self deprecation overloading his brain, throwing him to the wolves that were ripping him to shreds.

Steve fucking Rogers. ‘Course it came back to him. The guy he grew up compared against, constantly. The one his father devoted his life to rescuing, the one that covered for the killer of his parent’s death.

It wasn’t really that, though. Tony sort of understood why he defended James Barnes. The Winter Soldier. They weren’t really the same person, not really. One was brainwashed, the other forced to live with the horrible things he did under the influence of HYDRA.

It was the fact that the righteous Captain fucking America, who he grew up admiring, who against all odds he considered a close friend, fucking betrayed him. Steve could’ve told him. Should’ve told him. He was fucking Captain America, he wasn’t fucking supposed to take the easy way out or make the easy choice. He was supposed to be good, unbelievably good. The best. It hurt to know the man he put on a fucking pedestal was as human as him. It wasn’t fair of him to put those expectations on the super soldier, Tony knew that. But Steve fucking Rogers wasn’t supposed to stab him in the back, either.

Tony still didn’t really know why he attacked two super soldiers. He was fueled by grief and immense hurt. No excuses, though. It was the dumbest decision he’d made in awhile. His actions in Siberia led directly to a resurgence of the anxiety issues he thought he had finally quashed. It led him right back to the arc reactor he swore he’d never need again.

Tony had (stupidly) hoped this one wouldn’t be so bad. Of course, he was wrong. Steve, though the man was harmless now that Tony was fighting for life in a state of intense grief, brought back vivid flashbacks he just couldn’t fight off.

My chest, oh my fucking god…pain pain pain PAIN.

The stupid shield slamming into his fucking chest-

Tony doubled over clutching his reactor, he couldn’t control the tears that flooded his eyes, the soft whimper past his lips, the urge to scream-

Fuck.

He was dying. This was it. Tony Stark was fucking dying alone in a dirty ass elevator. And for some reason, it was fitting.

Fuck.

His breaths were sharp and shallow, his heart racing so fast, too fast. His heart was too weak… it was going to combust. He couldn’t handle this, fuck.

Sweat poured off him. He was gonna die. His heart was going to explode.

Good, a voice whispered in his head.

Tony sobbed, as silently as he could muster.

“Boss?” Friday said suddenly, “Captain Steve Rogers and Agent Natasha Romanov are requesting entrance.”

Tony began to hiccup with sobs, barely choking out a response that came out in a croaky whisper, “How did-“

“The elevator has been locked down for several hours. In that time, your absence was duly noted.”

Tony let out a weak laugh, “Entry denied.”

Tony felt himself slowly slipping out of his panic, his brain numbing, tears drying sticky on his face.

All he could do was sit there, frozen still. No energy to move, no will power to do so. He was so fucking weak.

“Sir,” Friday interrupted again, “Captain Steve Rogers and Agent Natasha Romanov are threatening to break the door in.”

Tony didn’t even respond, he couldn’t. His lips wouldn’t move, his body was soldered to his spot on the floor. He couldn’t find the will to care.

His eyes fluttered closed, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Suddenly he felt his body being lifted up, the touch should’ve jerked him out of whatever state he was in, but it didn’t. He could feel and head but he couldn’t respond. It was like he was watching this unfold to someone that wasn’t him, like he left his body. He felt like that too. He was a shell, and empty shell of the man he used to be.

He didn’t even care.

Voices were shouting loudly, but it was background noise to him.

He didn’t care.

Someone was touching him, sending chills across his body.

He didn’t care.

He wasn’t even real. It wasn’t really his body. It was hard to care.

Tony turned over and passed out.

#whumptober 2022 #no.6 #alt prompt #whimpering #no.7 #silent panic attack #tony stark whump #tony stark fic #marvel fic

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lila-unfortunately · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 | no.5 | “blood loss”

@whumptober-archive :)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005), Supernatural Brotherhood AU - Fandom Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Caleb Reaves (Brotherhood Series) & Dean Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Caleb Reaves (Brotherhood Series), Sam Winchester (mentioned), John Winchester (mentioned) Additional Tags: Inspired by Brotherhood Series - Ridley C. James & Tidia, Dean Winchester Has Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Dean Winchester Has an Eating Disorder, implied - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Dean Winchester, Suicide Attempt, Caleb saves the day, duh - Freeform, that’s what Caleb’s do, sam winchester critical, Bad Parent John Winchester, Hopeful Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Like tagging this right now is exhausting, Whumptober 2022, no.5, Blood Loss, very loose interpretation, oh well, Too tired, Don't Judge Me, Stanford Era (Supernatural) Series: Part 5 of Whumptober 2022 Summary:

Dean is in a bad place, Sam is at Stanford, Dean feels alone. Luckily, he is never alone, thanks to one Caleb Reaves. Can the older hunter reassure Dean of that? Probably not… but he can damn well try.

Whumptober 2023 | no.5 “blood loss”

#whumptober2022 #no.5 #blood loss #supernatural #supernatural fic #brotherhood au

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lila-unfortunately · 2 years

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@whumptober-archive :)

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural) Additional Tags: Graphic Description, Self-Harming Dean Winchester, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Episode: s09e13 The Purge, this is really graphic yall, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Hurt Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Hurt No Comfort, sort of canon compliant, This is a headcanon, Alcoholic Dean Winchester, Hell Trauma Series: Part 4 of Whumptober 2022 Summary:

What if the Mark of Cain directed all of Dean’s pain and anger inwards? His pre-existing self hatred, Sam’s anger regarding an non-consensual possession, plus his raging addictions? Yikes.

Dean hides his inner injuries from Sam and Cas. Set in season 9.

Whumptober 2022 | no.4 “hidden injury”

#whumptober2022 #no.4 #hidden injury #supernatural fic #dean winchester #fanfiction

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lila-unfortunately · 2 years

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The Ones Who Dusted Had it Easy

MCU/ Tony Stark-centric | Whumptober 2022 | no.3 “say goodbye”

cw: grief, death of a child (not depicted)

tw: major depression & brief suicidal ideation (hopelessness is a large theme & suicide organically comes in but is dismissed)

@whumptober-archive :)

The kid was dead.

Tony knew it, he saw it, and he sure as hell felt his loss.

Lowering his head to his hands, he sobbed. God he missed him. He had felt pain when his parents died, when Jarvis had gone, when Steve betrayed him, but this, too?

This was too much, in it’s own right. Too much alone, too much combined with every other shit thing that had happened.

His legs felt wobbly and he sank into the nearest seat, a small sofa pushed against the wall. An all too familiar burn started at the back of his eyes. The gaping hole that had been torn open in his chest three months ago ached a thousand times worse.

It was naive of him to think that the world would spare him from the loss of someone he cared about so much. He was Tony fucking Stark, he had faced loss, of course, but everything usually worked out. Not this time, though. He couldn’t save the world, he couldn’t even save the kid.

It was easy for Tony to slip into that old mindset, the one he shedded years ago in favor of healthy relationships. Peter never deserved to die, but Tony sure as hell deserved the pain. He never really atoned for everything he had done. The weapons manufacturing, Sokovia, the fall of the Avengers— all of his fault. He wasn’t smart enough, tactful enough, fast enough. He wasn’t Howard or Steve fucking Rogers.

Tony Stark was nobody.

He’d been at the funeral, couldn’t even look May in the eyes. Her eyes screamed what he already knew.

All your fault, all your fault, all your fault.

Pepper whispered in his ear soft as ever, “Go on, Tony. It’s your turn. Go say goodbye.”

Tony took small steps towards the open casket and felt his body stiffen.

Go say goodbye.

He wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

He couldn’t say goodbye.

There had to be something that he could do, something he hadn’t tried, but it was too late. Peter was dead and it was all of his fault.

Some days, Tony almost felt like he died with the kid. He felt like his soul left his body back on the orange planet, when his kid had faded to dust in his arms.

Then some days, Tony never felt more alive.

Pain clawed at his heart, his stomach convulsed with nausea, lungs tightened.

The pain kept him sharp as he plotted for the thousandth time, because he couldn’t help but feel like he had missed something. Everyone said that it was his fault, not with their words but their actions, and Tony was in violent agreement.

Go say goodbye.

As if he could give up, as if he could apologize to an empty casket.

A million memories flashed in his head.

Peter swinging around New York, Peter tinkering in the lab, Peter laughing in the face of Steve fucking Rogers, Peter in that airport, Peter in his fucking pajamas, watching Star Wars for the millionth time, Peter politely holding conversations with Jarvis, Peter in space, Peter fading into dust…

“Mr. Stark… I don’t feel so good.”

Fuck.

Peter had trusted him. It was in his eyes when he called for him on patrol, in his eyes when Tony would stitch up cuts and bullet holes in the tower bathroom at midnight. It was in the way Peter passed out in the lab, leaving Tony to call May. It was in the way Peter would confide in Tony, even when shit felt impossible.

It was there, in Peter’s eyes, as he’d faded to dust on a planet on the entire other side of the galaxy. Peter believed that Tony had it all under control, that, somehow Tony had a plan and the universe was in good hands. That Tony would fix what was broken and single handily save the world from Thanos and they’d all be safe. Even as Peter was turning to dust, he still believed in Tony. He adored him, admired him. And Tony fucking let him down.

So, Tony had to fix this. Had to make the kid who trusted him with every cell, who’d sacrificed everything, proud.

And so, Tony would spend countless nights in the workshop, days without sleeping or eating, or caring about anything else. He spent time reading all of the material on the stones he could get his hands on. According to Friday, Tony had all of the research on the planet, but it didn’t feel like enough. Tony was tinkering on a suit that was especially formulated for surviving in space, one for him and one for Peter. Tony poured everything he had, but it was still not enough.

Nothing could fill the hole.

And it hurt; it was consuming.

Say goodbye.

Tony couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

He had a job to do, he didn’t care what he lost, who he lost, in the process. He had to save the swinging Spider boy from Queens who gave his life so Tony could succeed.

Pepper stopped waiting for him. The Avengers didn’t care about him anyways. This was all he had and, God, Tony had to make this right. Half the world was depending on him. He couldn’t move on, they couldn’t move on.

Everyone was pretending like the world wasn’t crushing their souls. It was a goddamn wonder they got up in the mornings, and if Tony wasn’t throwing everything he had into saving Peter, he probably wouldn��t have been able to himself.

They were strong, as in, the people on Earth were strong. Fighting to survive in a world that the people they loved the most were robbed from. It was sort of beautiful, poetic.

They couldn’t live like this; he couldn’t live like this.

God, Tony had to do something.

This was a fucking nightmare. One that Tony fully intended on fixing. It was his fault, his job, his mess, and he was going to clean it up, no matter what it took.

He would give anything to see the kid from Queens, swinging around the neighborhood, doing what he could, and then stopping by the tower with a big grin and rambling that could annoy the Pope. Tony would eat that shit up, swing the kid into his arms, and tell him how much he loved him, how much he missed him…

Say goodbye.

And to that, Tony shook his head firmly. It wasn’t goodbye, not yet. No matter how hopeless this all seemed. Not fucking yet. Not ever.

#whumptober 2022 #no.3 #say goodbye #marvel fic #tony stark fic #tony stark whump

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lila-unfortunately · 2 years

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Nasty Little Habits

Supernatural (brotherhood au)

Whumptober 2022 | no. 2 | “cornered”

@whumptober-archive :)

tw: disordered eating & child abuse/neglect

“Alright, Deuce,” Caleb hummed, all sorts of amped up, “You ready to head out?”

“I was ready to head out awhile ago. Not my fault you had to do your whole,” Dean waved his hand, gesturing at Caleb, “pretty princess routine.”

Caleb snorted, “You’re an asshole.”

Dean smirked.

Caleb had wanted to take Dean out for awhile. After Flagstaff, all of the stress from hunting, and, of course, the responsibility for a brooding teenager and a father intent on living off the reservation, Dean needed a night out.

Mac was pissed, John probably was too. It didn’t matter, though, Caleb decided. He wasn’t exactly a fan of the two right now. In fact, the entire Triad could go ahead and suck it. They all knew John was unreasonable, unstable, and, yet, somehow, Dean was alone with his hormonal little brother and psycho soldier father without Triad contact. That was asking for trouble.

Jim and Mac had tried (and failed) to reason with him. “John will contact us if they are in trouble” they said. Yeah, fucking, right. Johnny was his mentor, he’s known the Winchester’s ‘didn’t accept charity’ from his first time meeting the three. And looking at Dean now, shit had definitely gone down.

Caleb could tell Dean wasn’t exactly the Dean he had to walk away from three months ago. He looked different, in a way Caleb couldn’t quite place but also acted different. The kid was on edge, big time. Caleb watched him case the joint three times before joining him in their room. Dean carried more weapons now, too.

Dean usually carried, that wasn’t abnormal, after all, he was a hunter. His colt, a couple of knives, maybe a flask of holy water, that was usually enough unless they were on a hunt. Apparently, Dean had become Johnny 2.0 in Caleb’s time away.

Trained as he was, he couldn’t see all of which his friend was hiding, but the kid was armed to the teeth. Paranoid bastard Johnny was and, undoubtedly, the sentiment trickled down.

“What’s with the armory?” Caleb asked, not missing a beat.

Dean frowned, pointedly avoiding Caleb’s trademark what-are-you-hiding gaze. Which meant, of course, the kid was hiding something. He didn’t mean to corner him, or maybe he did, but secrets for the Winchesters? Always a bad idea.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Dean declared.

What a weak defense, Caleb thought, he’s definitely been hanging around Sam too much.

“Y’know,” Caleb replied, examining the kid again, counting, “the seven different weapons that are visible to my hunter eyes.”

Dean scowled, “Well, I guess Dad was right, you are off your game. Seven?”

Caleb frowned and spoke cooly, “Listening to your father while he is angry is never wise, Deuce. Would you like to see just how “off my game” I really am?”

Yeah, Caleb was livid. The heartless bastard angrily talking shit when he wasn’t there to defend himself? Low. Dean parroting the said heartless bastard? Caleb was gonna kill him.

“What?” Dean asked, frown reforming, “no. It was a joke, Damien. Remember how three months ago you could take a joke?”

Caleb blinked. He was pissed at John and taking it out on Dean… he needed to calm down. Now. Dean wasn’t in the right headspace to fight with him too.

“I…I don’t know what that was,” Caleb murmured quietly, “didn’t, uh, mean to start something.”

Dean bit his lip, still scowling, but relenting slowly with a deep exhale, “It’s good, man. You’ve been asking about me, but, really, how have you been?”

Caleb shook his head, “Just worried about you. I’m fine.”

Dean quirked half a smile, “I know you worry but you can’t worry yourself sick. I really can take care of myself, Damien.”

He sighed, soon realized what the younger man was up to, “Seriously, man, what is with the armory?”

Dean fidgeted, still trying to wriggle out of answering, but Caleb wasn’t relenting until he got an answer.

“It just helps. I- I’ve just gotten used to it.”

Caleb frowned, “Deuce, what the hell has been going on?”

He could sense his friend’s discomfort, but that discomfort was a neon sign in Caleb’s book. If he was that intent on keeping it a secret, it probably meant he needed to know. Dean was his best friend, but also his family. He couldn’t protect him from his three month long punishment, but he was sure as hell going to pick up the pieces.

Dean sighed, relenting, “Look, man, don’t go and blab to Mac, okay? But we’ve been in some seedy places recently.”

“Johnny always leaves you in seedy places?” Caleb replied, voice lifted in a question, urging Dean to keep speaking.

“It’s, ah,” Dean paused to look at Caleb’s feet instead of his face that was probably radiating anger and worry, “well, it’s been worse, than usual. Like, bad enough I almost called Jim myself.”

Caleb’s eyes widened. He loved Deuce, but he was the type of guy to always follow his old man’s orders. Didn’t want to cause a confrontation, would never risk John’s ring because of an inconvenience. It had to of been bad.

“Are you okay? Is Sam-“

Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand, “It’s old news now, we got through it. I’m standing here, Sammy is probably following Mac around like a lost puppy. Right as rain, dude, don’t worry.”

Something about the way Dean said ‘don’t worry’ made Caleb worry even more, but he knew that Dean would eventually reveal the finer details eventually, the kid couldn’t hide shit forever, especially not with half the bar inside of him and Caleb’s strategic line of questioning.

“Okay,” Caleb said, feigning deference, “enough of the chick-flick. Let’s get out of here, already.”

Dean exhaled, in obvious relief, “I’ve been saying that for about an hour, dude.”

Caleb smirked, hiding his concern, but grabbed his cell and followed Dean out the door, in pursuit of a bar.

*~*

Caleb regretted not taking his car. He had assumed that the pair of them would be too shitfaced for either of them to drive, but Caleb had held back. He had his eyes on Dean, who, as predicted, drank about half the bar that night. While his friend was fantastic at taking his liquor like a champ, tonight, Dean was drunk as a skunk and it showed. He never lost his contents but the kid was unsteady on his feet. Caleb practically scraped him off the pavement when it was time to go.

He had decided to carry Dean back to their place, because the kid was probably going to get hit by a passing car if he didn’t.

It took Caleb about ten minutes to actually reach the place and he was thoroughly exhausted. The kid was mumbling half to himself, half to Caleb.

“Mmm ‘atch the goods,” Dean babbled.

Caleb grunted, readjusting Dean’s body on top of his shoulders, rolling his eyes.

Finally, after some mock horror from the front desk workers and a slow trudgen journey, the pair were back inside their room, of course, no thanks to Dean.

“Alright,” Caleb started, propping Dean up against some pillows in his bed and fixing him up with a glass of water, “Let’s talk.”

Dean groaned, cradling athe glass of water, “About whattt?”

“What’s been up the past few months?”

Dean took a sip of his water, pointing at Caleb in mock anger, “Tryin’ to set me up, huh, Damien?”

Caleb smirked, “Nah, you promised earlier we could talk after we hit the town, not my fault you hit the town a little too hard.”

Dean nodded, almost enthusiastically, “You’re right. Should’ve ate something before we started drinking. I thought about it and then I was like no because I already went this long and-“

Caleb went pale.

“Deuce,” He interrupted gingerly, yet borderline frantic, “what are you talking about?”

Dean waved his hand passively, “No biggie, man. One of the nasty little habits I picked up over time. Nothing to worry your little tits over.”

Caleb closed his eyes for a moment, trying to figure out what to say next. Truthfully, he thought the kid was hiding some hunting details or maybe under exaggerated how badly shit had happened. What he didn’t expect was him fully admitting to having problems with eating.

“When did this start, buddy? And when’s the last time you ate?”

Deuce’s eyebrows were furrowed in thought and Caleb couldn’t help but feel some sort of panic in the pause.

“I guess it started awhile ago. I was already kinda used to not eating when me and Sammy were getting low on food. And then, well, recently Dad’s been leaving not enough money. Well, he never really has, but he used to leave a lot more but he’s all mad ‘nd shit so he’s been leaving less and then I really can’t get a job or even really leave ‘cause Sammy will dip out so fast, I just kinda stopped eating. It’s been good, though, like nothing crazy or anything. I guess the last time I ate was, erm, Sunday? Yeah. Sunday. ‘Cause Jim made pancakes for us and he was watching me kinda hard so I had to eat one and then I got out of eating the rest ‘cause Dad needed Jim and then Sammy said he was still hungry so it worked out sort of perfectly-

“Caleb sort of froze, letting Dean babble away because what the hell happened? Why did Johnny allow this to happen? Hell, Sam’s a genius, why couldn’t the kid step in? Dean’s sitting over here talking about not eating in about five days, like it ain’t a big fucking deal and Caleb is just sitting next to him wondering how his friend got so screwed up, so quickly.

“Why do you do this? To help your brother?”

Dean smiled a little bit, “I mean, yeah, Sammy is a growing boy. He’s gotta eat. That’s how it started ya know? I mean it’s not like I deserve it anyways. And actually, man, I’ve gotta be honest, I’m starting to get this gnawing sensation. Starting to feel like maybe we weren’t supposed to be talking about this?”

Caleb could feel himself getting worked up, his jaw was clenched, knuckles white from how tightly he had them clasped together, he could almost swear his eye twitched. He wasn’t mad at Dean. Of course not. He was pissed at the son of a bitch who put the kid in situations where Dean felt like it was him or Sammy and convinced him to have such low self worth that he never even considered putting himself into the equation.

“Yeah, it’s alright, man. I’ve heard enough. You just get you some sleep. Sorry for cornering you. Just wanted to get a feel for how badly Johnny screwed up this time,” Caleb replied with a laugh that was far from humorous, “Turns out, it was worse than I thought. But, it’ll be handled. Don’t you worry.”

Dean nodded, not comprehending much, but fell asleep with ease.

Dean was gonna kill him in the morning and he was gonna kill Johnny, but even though tomorrow was gonna suck, Caleb couldn’t find himself regretting the conversation he had with his drunken friend, especially looking over his sleeping body.

Without his usual layers, Caleb could see just how skinny he had gotten. He was paler than ever, ribs protruding, jawbone sharper, and cheeks slightly sunken. He looked like shit and Caleb supposed it was all kinda hard to miss once the boy’s guard was down. But that was the problem. Save Caleb’s alcohol tactic, there was no way to reach Dean’s melon at all. Scary, now that Caleb knew all about his self loathing.

God, there was so much work to do.

#whumptober 2022 #no.2 #cornered #supernatural fic #brotherhood au #disordered eating mention #dean winchester #Caleb reaves

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