#Febuwhumpday26

[linecrosser]

Febwhump 2024 - Day 26 - "Help them!"

[kybercrystals94]

Brave

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 26 | Prompt 26: “Help them.”

Rated: G | Words: 428 | Summary: Omega has to be brave for her little brothers. [Character Focus: Omega]

She tries. She tries so hard to keep the tears from falling, to keep her breath even. But another hiccuping sob makes her guardian cast her a disapproving glance.

“Omega,” Nala Se scolds, “either compose yourself or I will have you removed.”

Omega’s fingers curl into tight fists, but she keeps them pressed at her sides. “I don’t want them to go,” she dares to say, voice small.

The Kaminoan sighs, a long hiss of air. “We’ve been over this countless times, Omega. The experimental units cannot stay in the lab. They are not your pets. Their purpose is not to provide you with companionship. They are weapons. They are soldiers.”

“They are my brothers!” Omega protests. “Please, let me go with them. I can help them!”

“You can do nothing for them, Omega,” Nala Se says. “You are not like them, and they are not like you. Now, if you cannot keep your emotions in check, I will have you escorted from the room and you will not say goodbye.”

Omega knows she means it. If Nala Se is anything, she is true to her word. Omega has to be brave for her brothers, she has to tell them goodbye. That she’ll find them again. Even if they won’t understand or remember. Omega will. That’s what matters right now.

“I’ll be better,” Omega says bravely.

After a slow and critical stare, Nala Se grants Omega two minutes to give her final goodbyes to the little ones she has helped cultivate since their tubes. Because of their enhancements, they were allowed to be raised to some extent by “natborn standards,” whatever that means. The four toddlers are strapped into their transportation cart, their large dark eyes watching Omega as she approaches.

“It’s okay,” she tells them, rubbing a fist over her eyes to erase the tears that linger on her lashes. “We’re going to be okay. We will be apart for a while, but I promise…” She glances to where Nala Se is across the room, then Omega leans in and whispers, “I’ll find you again.”

The little 99 with enhanced senses reaches out to her with pudgy hands, wanting to be picked up. Omega shakes her head. “I can’t,” she whispers, letting him wrap tiny fingers around hers. “I’m sorry.”

When the lab assistant comes to push the cart away, the tiny clones begin to cry.

But Omega doesn’t cry as she watches them go. She has to be brave. Because she will find them again.

And she will help them.

No matter what Nala Se says.

END

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[aquinnix]

Febuwhump Day 26 - "Help Them"

The ocean shall provide 

It was a never ending expanse of beauty. A deep, rich blue that shimmered like the soul of the world. The ocean breeze took the breath from his lungs and filled them with peace. The sea was loving, calm, it was life. 

You will pay for your disrespect 

This was so much bigger than the two of them. It was a matter of principle, of protection. They needed to put him in his place, to show him there was a limit to his power. The blood spilled only fed its hunger. 

Do you hear that call?

It was a magical place to call home. A fresh start, a new beginning. Just her, in a boat, free from all the expectations she left behind. The deep blue held secrets, it was unnerving, terrifying, welcoming. She hadn't felt sweet fear like this in as long as she could remember. It was liberating. 

Do not resist

The rivers flow through the world, like veins breathing life into the earth, connecting those that lived amongst its shores. The ocean its beating heart, the water the collective mind of those who seek its mighty serenity. 

Help them see 

See what they are missing. See what they have overlooked. See what they truly desire. See what they must be a part of. 

[librathefangirl]

Febuwhump 2024: Day 26 Alt 9 - Lightning Strike

[what-the-whump]

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 26 | Help Them

Power Rangers Time Force | 1x12 | Worlds Apart

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Vampires Anonymous

Joey looks around the abandoned office-turned-Vampires-Anonymous and wonders how this night is going to go.

There’s about ten people scattered throughout the room. A guy playing a harmonica in a corner, some upbeat tune that’s probably actually a folk ballad about how some guy died in the old west, two heavily tattooed girls playing some kind of card game that involves a lot of yelling and smacking the top of the deck, a young guy with a frowzy shock of dark purple hair, an old man with cowboy boots and a weather-lined face apparently dozing off with his feet propped up on a battered desk, a guy who looks like he could have been a lawyer in his past life brushing off the seat of a wobbly spinning chair, and a woman with a dandelion poof of hair and a patch-covered jacket perched on top of a four-foot-tall filing cabinet. Then there’s Joey, and Shay, and the listing stacks of paperwork, file boxes, and busted chairs the previous tenants left behind. 

Part of what Shay’s doing as community service for his own mentorship is starting a support group for fledglings that’s connected to the mentor program. It’s one thing for young vampires to have a connection to someone who can offer advice and the wisdom of experience, but it’s also good to have people who are at the same spot, sharing the same struggles. 

Joey’s got her halfway house ‘sisterhood’, but she agreed to come anyway because Shay should have at least one person he knows to offer support the first few weeks. 

But if Shay’s nervous about his first night leading the group, he’s not showing it. 

Lawyer-guy looks around the room. “Shouldn’t we be, like, making a circle of chairs or something?”

“You wanna hold hands and sing Kumbaya, too?” Cabinet-percher asks. 

“This group is what we make it,” Shay breaks in, with the same authoritative calmness Joey remembers from the days when he drove off jerks harassing her. “In my experience, too much structure makes everyone feel too formal, or too put on the spot because we’re all looking at each other. We’ll try it this way first.” He looks around. “I would like everyone to introduce themselves but only as much as you’re comfortable with, and no last names right now. I’ll start. I’m Shay. I’ve been a vampire for a little less than two years, but I was bitten in college and it took me quite a while to actually die and turn. The reason I got picked to work with this group in the first place is that I was trying to deal with the chronic venom pain and got hooked on heroin. I’ve been in and out of mandatory rehabs and group therapy most of my adult life. The point being, I know something about what makes a group work or what makes them useless, and we’re going to try to be one of the better ones here.” 

Joey tries to pay attention as the others follow suit. 

Tattoos and Tattoos Two are sisters, Kai and Lia. They got turned the same night when they played a punk-rock gig at the wrong bar and ended up on the menu instead of onstage. The old man is Loren, a name that makes Lawyer-guy snicker until Harmonica throws a ball of crumpled paper at him. He’s a former rancher who ended up bled dry by both the banks and vampire loan shark he turned to in desperation. Purple hair is Francisco, whose story is disturbingly similar to Joey’s, except that the vampire who took him and four other people across the border decided to hang onto them for a while. He’d been the only one infected, and had woken up in the middle of a body dump in the desert. Like Joey, he’s on Chimera’s case docket for home earth citizenship. Harmonica turns out to be a very unassuming Jay, which feels like way too short and normal a name for his charismatic aura. He’d been a bit part actor in sitcoms until he tried to break up what he thought was a rape in the backlot and ended up surprising a hungry vamp instead. Lawyer-guy, whose name is actually Keith, really was a lawyer, apparently. A divorce lawyer whose less than above-board methods led to him crossing paths with a sleazy vamp offering PI services for his clients. One argument over payments later, his practice and his life were over. Cabinet-percher is Aaliyah. Former LA cabbie who got literally stiffed on a fare. Twice over, unfortunately for her. The first time by a vamp who bit her rather than pay up, and the second time by a desperate guy who was fleeing an armed robbery. When the radio gave out his description, and Aaliyah had looked into the mirror to confirm it was her passenger, he’d shot her in the back of the head and bolted.

Joey didn’t really mean to go last, but it kind of just happened. She’s not the sort to break into the conversation, and she was trying too hard to take in everyone else’s story.

“Uh, I’m Joey. I’ve been a vampire for about eight months. I was bitten when I was nineteen, by a border smuggler.” She kicks at a dust ball on the floor. “I spent the next six years in LA and when I died, my family buried me and I turned. Now I’m in the mentor program to get a chance at getting them back in my life.” It feels painfully slow. Two weeks is too long to wait for the physical visits, but if everything goes well, in another month she’ll get moved up into the once-a-week bracket. “I hadn’t told them I was going to become a vampire. Mostly because I didn’t actually think it would happen.”

One of the two tattooed girls (it’s going to take weeks for Joey to remember who’s who) scowls. “Let me get this straight. You didn’t know you had the venom in you?”

Joey laces her fingers together and looks down at her hands in her lap.

“Not for sure.” She sighs. “I didn’t want it to be true. I couldn’t afford it to be.”

“Didn’t you feel anything?” Aaliyah asks. “I felt like my skin was going to burn off whenever someone touched me. It hypersensitized me to everything. And my teeth were killing me.”

“I kept telling myself everything I felt made sense.”

She was driving her sister to appointments, working the fights at night, scared she'd be caught and deported because she couldn't get a visa. She’d figured the stomach pains meant she’d end up like Jorge across the hall, with a stress ulcer before thirty because he too had overstayed his legal welcome. She thought the hunger was from skipping meals so her siblings got more. 

She was ignoring the pain because Via came first.

“Everyone else in our neighborhood was just like me. Always tired, alert to anything that might be trouble, not enough in our pockets to put enough on the table.” Even the teeth had made sense. She’d always ground them in her sleep. Mauri used to complain about it in the camps, say she was keeping him awake.

The one thing she’d never felt was the aggression Shay had described, that drove him to the fights where she’d met him. Chimera’s been theorizing for a while that there’s a subclass of vampire in which the venom activates the victim’s flight instead of fight response, creating a stealthy, shadow-dwelling vampire when they finally turn, an ambush predator rather than one that stalks its prey actively. 

They still don’t know if it’s linked to the person’s inherent responses to traumas, or if it’s connected to a specific strain of sires. After all, one could argue that the vampire who turned her was the same sort. That kind of alert wariness would be an asset to someone in his line of work. 

“That’s messed up.” Jay shakes his head. “I can’t believe you just ignored that.”

Joey swallows. No one will blame her if she stops talking now.

She’s not sure telling anyone the specifics about her family is ever a good idea.

But that’s something born out of years of running and hiding and fear.

She doesn’t want to carry that with her into this place. 

“I wasn’t alone when I came across the border. I made the deal I did in exchange for him getting my siblings and me here, so my sister could get the medical help she needed. Via was always the brave one. Facing her pain with a smile even on her worst days. If she could be okay, how could I be anything else?” Joey swallows. “It felt like nothing compared to what she must have been living with. She needed me to be strong for her, and I had to make sure she could get to the doctor, that we could pay for her treatments, and that she felt safe.”

“Damn. You just ignored vampire venom poisoning because taking care of your family was the most important thing in your life. That is bad-ass,” Aaliyah says. “You told something killing you from the inside out that it was gonna have to get in line because your little sis needed you.”

Joey didn’t think what she’d done was that impressive. She’d just been getting herself out of bed every day for Via, like she’d done every day since their mother was murdered. But apparently, to a room full of vampires, she’s managed to pull off something extraordinary.

“Yeah. Don’t think I can top that,” Keith says with a shrug. 

“You literally got infected and died in the same day, of course you can’t,” Kai (Joey can tell now because she’s spun around in her office chair and there’s a big stylized K inked on her shoulder) retorts. 

“Beginning to think you should be the one leading sessions,” Shay says, a hand resting gently on Joey’s shoulder. 

She shakes her head. It was scary enough telling a roomful of vampires about her siblings even existing. She’s not someone who likes the spotlight. Ever. 

“No way.”

He gives her a smile. “Well, in that case…” He holds out a chipped bowl full of strips of paper and pens. “Write down your favorite vamp bar. Has to be a legal one though, and not a coven-members-only kind.”

“Okay, why?” Francisco asks.

“Because I think we’re going to have a much better time getting to know each other over drinks.” Shay says with a grin. “We’ll draw names every week, rotate through.”

“That seems like a weird way to run the vampire version of AA,” Keith mumbles.

“We’re not trying to stop drinking synth-blood,” Lia says. “We’re trying to learn how to cope with being vampires. I think it’s great.” She tosses her slip in the bowl. “Heads up Kai and I have the same pick and it’s karaoke so be prepared to sing for a round because there’s double the chances ours gets picked.” 

“Oh no,” Jay groans.

“What do you have against music? You were playing that harmonica for a solid ten minutes.”

“Music, fine. Me singing, so not a good idea.”

“Then you’d better start practicing and hope it gets picked a couple weeks from now,” Aaliyah says, tossing her own pick in.

Shay swirls a hand around the bowl. As the only member of the group without a suggestion, he’s the most unbiased picker. He pulls out a folded paper, opens it, and shakes his head. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but who possibly suggested a dive like the Vein Drain?”

No one raises their hands.

“Well, it is a legal establishment, but can we at least try not to start a full bar brawl on our first meeting night?”

There’s a pretty mixed response of nods and shrugs.

Shay looks at Joey with the first really concerned expression she’s seen all night, but all she can do is shake her head. “You let them pick.”

“And I think I’m going to regret it.” Shay sighs. “I’m going to be really bad at this aren’t I?”

“I guess we’ll find out if Lawson has to read us the riot act and bail us out of holding in the morning,” Joey says. “In the meantime, I guess we’re going to find out why this place is one of our new friends’ favorite hangouts.”

(You can read this story and others from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies  @writeouswriter @whump-place @the-lovely-wren

[stardustloki]

It's treason, then.

“Senator Organa, I was not expecting you," the Chancellor said.

Yes, well, Bail wasn’t expecting to have to murder him, but, such was the situation they found themselves in.

-

Or: R2-D2 and Bail Organa realise that their only option is to kill the Chancellor. R2 might be slightly more enthusiastic about this than Bail is, but Bail isn't going to let the man harm another Corrie ever again.

Read it on ao3 here.

[whumpinthepot]

@febuwhump 2024, Day 26.

Alt 10. Last man standing

Alt 8. Killing game

—

A group of captives all standing on chairs in a circle, facing one another with their hands tied behind their backs, and a noose hung around each person's neck. Whumper likes to play games with the spare prisoners. The game is they all have to stand for as long as possible and if they collapse they end up dying of strangulation. The last person standing gets to keep their life, but has to live as the Whumpers personal play thing.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Febuwhump Day 26: Human Shield

CW: blood, gore, magic whump

The sorcerer’s magic swirls around the two knights like a poisonous miasma, threatening to bring them to their knees. Exhausted and wounded, they fall back, watching him, their weapons at the ready.

His magic is familiar. One of them has felt it before and knows the spell that’s coming. It means certain death, and it’s aimed at the second knight. The two of them are close as brothers.

In a split second, the knight makes a decision.

The sorcerer aims his spell, and the knight moves like lightning, throwing himself in the path of the incoming magic.

It hits him hard, penetrating his armor with a force that lifts him off the ground. A moment later, he collapses to the ground, limp, blood spilling from the hole in his chest. The magic retracts, and the sorcerer smiles, his hand outstretched to receive the still-beating heart that his spell ripped away.

But his smile fades almost instantly, quelled by the second knight’s final, rage-fueled attack.

[rrain-writes]

Rain's LU Febuwhump: Day 26

"Help them.": Wild & Hyrule

Warnings: Blood, injury, unconsciousness, mentioned drunkenness

Hyrule gasped at the frigid rain, soaking his clothes moments after the portal above them closed. It had been an abrupt transfer, falling through the ground before being dumped in such horrible weather. He stood woozily, looking around for the rest of the chain.

He found his sword and a couple discarded rupees from his and Four’s game they’d been playing just before the switch. Apart from that there seemed to be no one in sight but-

“Wild!” He cried, spotting the champions signature tunic. The other teen lay still on the ground, red trickling down from a head injury, the blood mixing with the rain. Hyrule rolled him onto his side, just incase, and hovered his hands over Wild’s injury. He felt the comforting hum of his magic pulsing in his fingertips, then groaned at the sudden wave of nausea, head pounding. That portal was not good on him.

“Okay.” He told himself. “Okay Hyrule.”

First things first - work out where he was. Luckily, the fuzzy outline of a wall was just visible in the distance. Perfect. Next step was to get Wild over there and find help. A doctor, maybe, or a potion seller.

He shivered with the cold as he tried to remember what Warriors had taught him.

Roll them onto their back.

He cradled Wild’s head as he carefully manoeuvred him.

Hook your arms under their armpits.

Hyrule shivered from his soaked clothes as he crouched by the other teen’s head, hooking his elbows under his shoulders.

Raise them to their feet.

With a grunt of effort, Hyrule stood using his legs, moving Wild to a standing position.

Place your dominant leg between their legs.

Slightly adjusting his grip, Hyrule moved his leg between Wild’s legs, leaning his weight on it.

Grab their right hand with your left.

He crouched slightly as he grabbed Wild’s limp hand, draping it over his shoulder.

Squat down, and place them over your shoulders.

Back straight, he told himself, as he pulled Wild over, trying to keep his weight as evenly distributed as possible.

Wrap your right arm around the back of their knee.

He reached between Wild’s legs to reach behind his right knee, getting a firmer grasp on his brother. 

Stand, lifting their right thigh over your shoulder.

Hyrule stood, shuffling Wild gently to be more comfortable. Water dripped of his wet bangs, and he shook it away. “Goddesses.” He complained to himself, like the healer he was. “You only weigh like 7 apples.” Now he was able to carry the champion, Hyrule set off towards the buildings.

When he finally reached the entrance to the town, he stumbled in, searching for someone to ask for directions, or at least a sign pointing him towards the village doctor.

A young woman with a shawl wrapped over her shoulders hurried past, and Hyrule reached out, hands snagging the corner of her shawl. “Please.” He said, when she turned. “My friend needs medical attention.”

Her lip curled in disgust as she tugged herself away from him. “Get outta here boy. Don’ need no filthy wanders round ‘ere.”

The next person he found was an older man, stumbling with a bottle in hand. “Hey!” He called out. “Please, I need help!”

The man turned, and when he saw Hyrule, laughed. He slurred something drunkenly, walking over. Hyrule flinched away from his grabbing hands, and the mans face twisted. The traveller quickly made his escape.

When he came across a building larger than the other ones, he nearly tripped over himself to get to it. It looked like a village hall. Perfect, he thought to himself. Unfortunately, Hylia was not being kind to them today. The door was locked.

The teen slumped to the ground, leaning Wild against the steps with his head on Hyrule’s shoulder. He was sure there were tears mixing with the tracks the rain made down his face.

“Please.” He begged to no one, nothing. “Help him.”

[aquietwritingcorner]

Help Them

Title: Help Them Day: Febuwhump 2024, Day 26 Prompt: Help Them  Fandom:  TMNT 2003 Word Count: 1399  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating:  T Characters: Raphael Warning: NA Summary: Kevin Eastern has been on his patrol nearly seven years now, working with his partner Peter Lairdman, and he’s seen some crazy stuff. Yet somehow, coming face to face with a turtle man that’s trying to keep a wall from collapsing on some citizens is still pretty high up there.    Notes: Why yes, I did take those two cops we see all the time in 2003, that are supposed to be representations of Eastman and Laird and give them slightly different names because I could. It’s fun!    ff.net || AO3

___________________________

Help Them

Kevin Eastern had seen a lot a lot of strange things in his time as a cop. Over the past seven or so years, he’d seen alien invasions, zombie apocalypses, dragons, and a million smaller things that just added up. It was to the point that even seeing superheroes had become unimpressive. He was beginning to understand his partner’s comment of “Pfft, rookie,” that first night, when some little green men in costumes had thrown money at them from an armored car. He wouldn’t blink twice if that happened to him now.

And yet, somehow, he still hadn’t expected to find himself face to face with a little green man who was seemingly holding up a wall to keep it from falling on people.

That was the problem with natural disasters in a city like this. There was too much to fall and too many people to get injured. Sure, out in the country you’d get more trees and stuff falling, but it was more likely to be property damage and not people in danger. Here, now, there were people trapped and in danger, all thanks to what he was assuming was an earthquake.

He and his partner, Lairdman, had been on patrol when it happened. They’d immediately taken off to try to help people and get a grip on the situation as soon as the quake had been over. Going in slightly different directions, Eastern had heard cries of distress and headed straight for them. He’d come across a half-collapsed alleyway, with one large section of wall forming a bit of a cave area. There was an old woman, a boy, a woman, and a few other adults trapped under it. And above them all, braced against the wall, as if keeping it from coming down more, was a green man, a turtle man, with a red mask, who looked like he was throwing his all into keeping that wall from falling on them. He locked eyes with Eastern and grunted out one phrase.

“Help. Them.”

Eastern wasted no time.

Moving quickly, he threw himself into pulling the people out of there. Some of them were simply scared, but there were a couple who were pinned by debris. Eastern worked fast, some of the others helping him, as he moved some debris off of a man, freeing him, and helped others to move out. His partner showed up at some point, immediately lending a hand and not even commenting on the turtle man.  Soon they were just down to the old woman, the kid, his mom, and the turtle man himself. The old woman, he discovered, was blind, and she had hurt her leg. Eastern moved to help her out.

“No, no!” she said. “What about Raphael?”

“I’ll be fine, Ms. M,” the creature said, strain in his voice, clearly not fine. “But you gotta get out of here.”

“We can’t leave you!” the boy shouted, clearly upset.

The turtle grunted. “Go with your mom, Tyler, and Ms. Morrison,” he said. “I can’t—uuungh—I can’t help myself and you. Go!”

“Please,” Eastern said to the three who were left. “We’ll come back for him, but we have to get you out here.”

That seemed to be enough to get them moving, and Eastern led them out, trying to get them to safety. Lairdman helped, taking the old woman, while Eastern escorted the boy and his mother out of the collapsing alleyway. Once he was sure they were safe, he turned around, intent on keeping his promise.

And then the ground rolled again.

Someone yelled “Aftershock!” and nearly everyone found themselves on the ground one way or another. Lairdman threw himself across the old woman, trying to protect her, and Eastern did the same for the boy and his mother. But they all watched in horror as what was left of the alley collapsed, burying the turtle creature.

The boy yelled, but it was lost in the sounds of the aftershock, and other yelling. Eastern held tightly on to him, only letting up when the aftershock seemed to have passed. He stared at the collapse. The turtle man was buried under that, now.

And then, suddenly, to his shock, there were three other turtle men there, appearing out of seemingly nowhere. They glanced back at the people, but their attention was focused on the collapse, and the other turtle man underneath it.

“Raph! Raph!” one with an orange mask was yelling.

“Donnie—what do we do?” the blue one asked.

The one with the purple mask—Donnie, presumably—was looking over the collapse with a critical, if somewhat panicked, eye. “Mikey, don’t get up there!” he snapped at the orange one, who immediately complied. “We don’t want to put extra pressure on it, if we can.” He pointed to a few areas. “We’ll need to start digging here and here and see if we can get to him.”

“Do you—do you think he’s okay?” the orange one said.

“Okay or not, we’re not leaving our brother buried there,” the blue one said, and immediately started working under the purple one’s direction.

For a moment, Eastern stared in disbelief at what he was seeing. These three turtle men working hard to try to rescue their fourth—one who had rescued all of these people, who could have easily just turned on him.

Eastern pushed to his feet.

He walked closer to the turtle men, and they froze, watching him carefully, warily.

“You said, here, right?” he said, and reached to help move a large piece of debris. The turtle men exchanged a look, but nodded and went back to work, Eastern helping them.

It was only seconds before he heard someone else say “Come on, let’s help them!” and soon everyone that could was doing what they could to help out. Piece by piece, bit by bit, they moved debris, clearing a path according to Donnie’s instructions. Within thirty minutes they had eyes on the red turtle man, Raphael, and within ten after that, there was enough room for someone to go in and get him.

Eastern volunteered.

Raphael had gotten lucky, and part of the collapsing wall had stayed together, enough to give him a small cave that he’d stayed safe in. He was hurt, that was true, but he wasn’t dead, and he was able to pull himself out, with only a little help from Eastern.

As soon as he was out, his brothers swarmed him, checking over him and talking over each other at once, even as the others around cheered. The boy, Tyler, ran to him, knocking into his legs and holding him tightly, and Ms. Morrison called out to him. Raphael tightened his hold on Eastern’s arm.

“Yeah, Ms. M, I’m good,” Raph called out, even as he reached down with his free hand to pat Tyler’s head. “I’ll be fine with a little rest.”

Donnie shot him a look, and Eastern had the feeling that Raphael wouldn’t be up and around for a while.

“Hey.” Raphael tugged on his arm, and Eastern turned his attention back to the turtle man. “Thanks. For helping them. And, you know, not shooting me on sight or something.”

Eastern gave him a bit of a smile. “Nah,” he said, “We help each other. Besides—with an accent like that, you’ve got to be a native, even if you aren’t human.”

Raphael laughed, and let go of Eastern’s arm, and Eastern moved back and away.

The blue one, Leo, turned to face the small group, and bowed to them, even as Donnie gave Raphael a more thorough look over.

“Thank you,” Leo said. “We couldn’t have gotten our brother free without your help.” He glanced at Donnie, who nodded, and Mikey reached out to take a hold of Raph. “We’re grateful,” Leo said. “But we’ll take it from here.”

As if on some unseen cue, the four of them faded back into the shadows, disappearing.

Lairdman came up beside Eastern, staring at where the turtle men had been. “Huh,” he said, and then clapped Eastern on the back. “Welp, let’s keep going. Lots of other people to help. I’m sure we’ll see them around again.”

Eastern nodded and took one last glance before turning to go. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m sure we will.”

And who knew? Maybe they’d have another chance to help them, if they could.

[crimsonlyinglilly]

DAY 26: "help them"

Day 26 of Febuwhump.

@febuwhump

More from Familiar faces, this was meant to be Kol’s pov of the new human Elijah and his terrible tastes in people, instead Finn’s thoughts in the aftermath of his first waking from the box and a brief appearance of little Marcellus claimed Day 26. 

—

Finn had been awake for a few days mostly being avoided by his sibling-remaining siblings, while he relearnt the world, the language he had picked up from the waking nightmare of the box at least but the courtesy and manners had changed so much over his lost centuries.

Rebekah was at least trying to help him settle into the new world he woke into.

He wanted to rage that the lost but his rage had failed as he had seen the look Klaus’s eyes, a yawning grief had hit him when Klaus had explained, when he had looked in the other coffin, Elijah’s still empty body, no dagger to keep him down there was no need for it after all.

He hadn’t expected the hug from Rebekah when she came home to find him, he was never one of her preferred brothers. Still he held her back as she clung to him and ignored that fact he knew she wanted someone else.

It was fair since he had always wished for someone else.

She had insisted on getting him ready for the current era and Finn let himself be dragged away. He had listened to her quick review on everything that had happened since he was first daggered, leaving out much of the centuries directly after their attack by the Five.

Seven centuries, did he even know Elijah after all those years, even as he let Rebekah pick his clothes he watched her to see how much she had changed and did the same with Klaus from a distance.

They hadn’t changed as much as he thought, he found, they were clearly mired in grief, what had happened to Elijah was the closest thing to true death that could harm them besides Father and his weapon. It was sudden, unexpected and had hit them as hard as Henrik’s had eight centuries before.

Still he wanted to see what he had missed from Elijah’s life, Kol was daggered but could be revived with ease, just as soon as Klaus allowed it but Elijah was lost until they managed to find his human life and bring together with the other shard of his soul to return them to his body and complete it.

Klaus had had witches try to find it using his body to no luck so it was likely to take them years if not lifetimes to find wherever their brother had been reborn. So Finn had decided to find a sign of what Elijah had been like before this a had happened by looking through the house he had lived, the place that had become a home.

He avoided the Elijah’s bedroom ever since Klaus had moved the coffin there and the room he was told was Elijah’s office was locked he was planning to ask Klaus for the key later but had chosen to try the rest of the house, there was a library but for all Finn had learned English from his time in the box his ability to read had not been helped.

He opened a door to find a collection of instruments and what he assumed were music books when a young voice called out to him.

“You can’t go in there.” he turned around and then was forced to look down, the child Klaus was raising stared back, the boy Klaus had daggered their youngest brother to protect.

That one was of the few conversations Klaus had decided to have with him since he had undaggered him.

“Why not?” he asked raising an eyebrow, the boy was fearless considering he must know what Finn was and it hadn’t been a year since Kol had apparently terrorised him

“It’s Mr. Elijah’s.” The answer was clear but so was the pain in the child’s voice, Finn was torn between looking in the room and questioning the child more. He had wondered about the child, taking in and raising a child seemed more something Elijah would do, since he had already been becoming a father to Tatia’s son while the last Finn had known Klaus was still scarred by the discovery that he was not Mikael’s blood.

“I’m sorry, I didn't get your name?” he asks the child, he could look into the room later, the child was here now.

“Marcellus,” the boy offered his hand to him, “Klaus gave it to me.” he added proudly.

Finn took it and let the child drag it up and down, manners were more important to one brother than the other he thought.

“Were you close to Elijah?” he asked, not surprised as the boy teared up

“He was teaching me.” Marcellus admitted miserably.

“Before he was-” he paused, unsure how Klaus had explained the situation to a child, “before he fell ill.”

“Before your other brother arrived and his lady friend died.” the child corrected, “then he stopped, Klaus said he would start again after he moved on but-”

“He didn’t get a chance.” he finished.

Kol’s return had caused Klaus to worry about the boy but Rebekah had told him Kol was brought over here in the box so what had caused him to release Kol and how did it involve this woman Elijah had let himself get close too.

Finn was going to have to talk to Rebekah if someone was aware of the issues between them it had always been her, and as the only other one who has been awake she would know about the woman.

“Are you going to help them?” Marcellus asked, suddenly breaking him from his thoughts.

“Help them?” he parroted back

“Find Mr Elijah.” The child looked up at him with clear hope that had Finn aching, if the boy wasn’t turned it was likely they wouldn’t find Elijah until long after he died, even if Klaus did turn the boy, it could be centuries, how much would he remember the man and a half filled promise after that time.

Finn was saved from answering by a shout from below them.

“Marcel!”

“I’m here.” Marcel shouted, not even jumping as Klaus appeared behind him. “I found Mr. Finn going into Elijah’s music room.”

“What are you doing?” Klaus narrowed his eyes as he spoke.

“I wanted to get to know him.” he confessed his hand on the door letting Klaus know which him, he was talking about.

“Alright then,” his brother nodded once before turning hsi attention to the boy, “Marcel.” Finn ignored the strange feeling the sight caused as the boy hung on every word and Klaus was beaming at the child, he had never had much interest in children himself but he knew his siblings hadn’t felt the same. “ We'll get you set up with your workbooks and then I'll watch over Finn to make sure he doesn’t damage anything of Elijah.”

He watched them leave before he took a breath and entered the room.

—-

Part of him is disappointed in himself for expecting the room to suddenly give him the version of his brother he lost, instead he stared at dozens of books he couldn’t read and a mixture of wood, strung and metal instruments he didn’t recognize. 

“He knew how to play all of these?” he asked after a few minutes just staring at them all as he heard the floor crack behind him.

“He’s likely the reason half of these made it to New Orleans to begin with, it was a hobby of his, something to pass the time.” Klaus explained.

Elijah used to prefer dance, he remembered, when they were alive, Finn would stand at the side line or in a hidden corner with Sage and he’d alway be able to find Elijah in a crowd of dancers, be it their siblings or their neighbours, ignoring Father’s warning about getting too close to the wolves.

In the last years it was always with Tatia, or teaching her son to, his attention so focused on them that the rest of the world could have burned and he wouldn’t have cared, Finn had been happy that Elijah had found something like he had with Sage. That he could be a father without triggering her return.

That was meant to have been his brother’s future, instead it was centuries watching his siblings and a room full of instruments.

He supposes playing the music kept others away but still let his brother feel the rhythm.

Elijah had made friends easily, believed in the best of everyone and wore his heart on his sleeve. He didn’t see any problem with raising a child that wasn’t his, because blood had never concerned Elijah.

That was taken from him, Finn had noticed soon after they were changed, after he returned to learn Tatia was dead along with mother. Elijah was distant with everyone besides their family, he viewed all with suspicion. 

In the Martel court Finn had watched during the balls they held, while Rebekah and Klaus danced, Elijah stayed away sitting on the sidelines, he stepped back from interested ladies and men, shutting them down politely but clearly.

He had expected Elijah to return himself as he grew used to the new hunger and learned control, instead the cool, polite but distant man had become all there was.

His brothers were more similar than they believe he thinks as he watches Klaus run a hand carefully across an open book, scribbles to Finn but notes half finished to Klaus, still waiting as if Elijah was just about to return to finish it.

Elijah and Kol had struggled with control over their new thirst the most out of their family but while Elijah fought for every piece of his control Kol revelled in it to ignore what he had lost.

Klaus and Elijah hid their weaknesses behind a front, Klaus’s rage and Elijah’s cool manners.

He doesn’t wonder if he and Elijah shared anything, that was long past and it would likely be a long time before he got a chance to find out again.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Day 26: Forced to Choose (Wild & Time)

Ao3 link

Cw for blood and injury, implied/referenced torture

Quick disclaimer: this has some Tears of the Kingdom stuff in it, BUT for the most part it's spoiler free. I haven't watched any gameplay videos except for the Nintendo one, or read any reviews, or seen the artbook leak. So, this whole plot is just me having fun with angsty ideas. If any of it is actually in Tears of the Kingdom I'll be amazed. Still, if you want to go into it completely spoiler free, avoid reading this until you've played the game.

——————-

Time is dying.

Wild can see it in the deathly paleness of his skin, the tremor that runs through him with every labored breath, the blood spreading along the middle of his tunic like the sky during a blood moon. He’s slumped forward, eye trained dully on the ground, the grip of the Yiga assassin on his shoulder the only thing keeping him upright. But when Wild chokes out his name, he raises his head to look in his direction.

“You’ve gotta hold on,” Wild manages through the tears and the pain and the terrible crashing guilt because this is his fault, all his fault. “Please, old man.”

The Yiga drag him back even as he fights to reach his brother, his friend, the man he’s come to think of almost as a father. He inhales sharply as the ropes tear into his wrist (his fleshy, soft, human wrist, not the one that can no longer be torn by such things as weak as rope. Not the one attached to an arm whose powers he hasn’t even begun to fully understand yet has still landed them here.)

“What-whatever they want,” Time says, voice quiet and hoarse, strained by blood loss and pain, “don’t gi-give it to them, cub.”

Laughter erupts from behind him, deafening and maniacal, and it sets Wild’s blood to boiling. He glares at the assassin standing behind Time, wishing for all the world he could tear every one of these cursed sadists apart. It hardly has the effect he wants it to, though, what with the tears streaming down his cheeks and the blood and grime smudged over his body and his arms pinned behind him.

He could escape if he wanted. With his new limb, he could drop right through the floor and resurface wherever he so chose. He won’t though, not now, not when leaving that way means abandoning Time. That’s not an option Wild will ever entertain.

And the Yiga know it.

“Your friend isn’t doing too well, is he?” One of the assassins sneers now, leaning over Wild’s shoulder, his breath hot and clammy in his ear. “Looks to me like he’s bleeding out.”

“Oh dear,” another joins in, jeering tone grating upon Wild’s ears. He holds a demon carver in his hand, the same one responsible for the wounds marring Time’s body. “What a horrible situation! Whatever can the chosen hero of the goddess do?”

“If only there was a way to save his life,” the first Yiga murmurs. He reaches over Wild’s shoulder to dangle a potion in his face, tone changing from mocking to threatening. “You know what we want, hero. Give it to us and he lives. Refuse and we’ll make you watch as he dies a slow, agonizing death.”

“Champion,” Time says, stern despite the pain in his voice, “do-don’t.”

Wild squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of Time battered and broken and covered in blood, trying to stop the sound of the cackles and jeers surrounding them. He knows exactly what they want, he’s heard their demands repeated for the last few hours, whispered and murmured and screamed inches from his face. And he’s refused them for just as long, every single one landing in a new strike upon Time’s body.

But he couldn’t give in, he just couldn’t. What they want from him, what they’re asking him to do, could doom Hyrule.

His arm, this wonderful new appendage gifted by the gods when Ganon’s dark magic devoured his natural one, is one half of the key to the Silent Realm where Ganondorf is now locked away. The other half is the Master Sword, lying hidden deep within the Korok Forest where the Yiga cannot go. But the assassins, loyal as ever, want nothing more than to set Ganondorf free. And they will stop at nothing to accomplish their goal. Even if it means forcing their sworn enemy to unlock the Silent Realm for them.

Last time Ganondorf revived he’d nearly wiped out Hyrule and the remnants of people working to rebuild it. This time, Wild doesn’t doubt he’ll finish the job.

“Cub.”

Wild pries open eyes clouded with tears and raises his head to meet Time’s gaze. The man seems to have grown even paler in the last few minutes alone. But his face is set in a look of determined resignation.

“You can’t.”

And he knows he’s right, he does. But to just let Time die, to sit and watch as he’s deprived of his future, to see the light leave his eye and know he’ll never lead the group again, never tell cryptic stories around the fire, never laugh or smile or feel. To know Malon will lose her beloved “fairy boy” long before his time…

Wait.

Wild’s spiraling thoughts come to a screeching halt, eyes widening as it hits him like a stone talus to the face. Fairy boy. Time is a fairy boy. He grew up in the Lost Woods, has even admitted to knowing them like the back of his hand.

He raises his eyes to Time once more, a plan formulating in his head.

It can be too much sometimes. I can’t take the grief of my entire kingdom, only to lose just one friend.

But maybe, just maybe he doesn’t have to.

“So, what’s your answer, hero?” The Yiga hisses. “Will he live or die?”

Time gives him a small smile, and Wild knows with terrible certainty that he has made peace with the fate he believes he will meet.

Wild swallows, and steels himself. It takes every inch of his strength to keep his gaze on Time as he speaks the words, trying desperately to communicate what he cannot say.

“I’ll do it. I’ll open the Silent Realm.”

The laughter swells around him once more, full of victory and mad glee. But all Wild can focus on is the way Time is looking at him.

“The Look of Disappointment” is what Twilight has dubbed it, and Wild sees now why it sends shivers down his spine. Though in this situation, he guesses it’s warranted. For all Time knows he has just doomed his Hyrule to utter destruction. He only hopes he can communicate his true intentions soon.

******

In true Yiga style, the assassins refuse to give Time the potion until Wild has done the deed. So, when they drag their captives to the entrance of the Lost Woods, the old man is limping. He is white as a sheet, now, and swaying dangerously on his feet. More than once he collapses, only to be kicked and prodded back into a standing position. Wild can’t help but wince every time it happens.

“Well?” The assassin says once they’ve reached the spot where the first torches gleam. “Lead on, hero. And–” He presses his demon carver to Time’s neck, “–don’t you dare try to lead us astray. Do it and he dies.”

“That’s just the thing though,” Wild replies, as steadily as he can under the circumstances. “I can’t lead you without a torch. I don’t know these woods well enough.”

In an instant, another Yiga is up in his face, blade pressed against his chin.

“You want us to untie you, don’t you, little hero? Don’t think for a second that we’re gonna fall for that trick.”

Wild stares him down for a long moment, then inclines his head towards Time. “Then he has to lead. He can do it by memory.”

Time meets his eyes, a frown creasing his brow.

“It’s a good thing too,” Wild continues, keeping his gaze stubbornly trained on Time. “It’s too easy to get lost in here.”

Understanding dawns like the sun breaking through the clouds, and Time draws himself up a little straighter, some of that horrible disappointment gone. Wild is glad to be free of its oppressive weight.

“Fine.” The Yiga growls, shoving Time forward with such force he nearly faceplants. “You do it. And be quick.”

Their progress is certainly not quick. Time is hardly standing at this point. He stumbles forward, every step a struggle, every breath one that Wild fears will be his last. It’s not enough just for his plan to work, Time has to survive until it’s through. And with the wounds he’s sustained so far, he can’t help but wonder if he will.

He manages to stay alert enough, however. Wild may not have the same sense of direction as him, but he’s been in these woods enough to have a feeling of the right ways and the wrong. And Time takes them on a path that’s all wrong.

The Korok’s giggles grow closer with each step, and the Yiga grow more visibly nervous. Then, when the mist has become so thick Wild can hardly make out the ground beneath his feet, they begin to disappear.

Playful, tinkling laughter fills his ears as the forest children swoop in, working their magic. The Yiga’s screams of terror are drowned out so fast, it’s as though they were never in the forest in the first place. Where the Koroks whisk them away to, Wild hasn’t a single clue. He doesn’t care, though, especially not when the last assassin is dragged away right as he lunges forward to seek revenge for his companions’ deaths.

“They’re gone,” he says after a moment or two has passed and no other red-costumed maniacs leap from the fog. Relief bubbles up in him, so exhilarating and overwhelming, he nearly chokes on it. “It actually worked.”

“You did well, cub.”

He looks up and Time is smiling down at him, looking proud and alive (if only barely), and Wild feels tears of an entirely different sort spring to his eyes. But then, the moment ends as abruptly as it came. Time collapses, spreading crimson upon the green grass. He’s unconscious before he even hits the ground.

[lamaenthel]

Help Him

[read on ao3][masterlist]Febuwhump prompt: help them

Zeb lowers his blaster when he sees it's Rex. "Help him," he says weakly, clutching his abdomen. He's still dressed in white—or what used to be white—science officer dregs. They're mostly red now from the blood. He has a lab coat pressed to it and is pale under his fur. "Help him, Captain, help him, help him, help him—"

Characters: Alexsandr Kallus, Zeb Orrelios Wordcount: 943

"Dropping now, Commander." Rex pulls the lever back on their T-6 shuttle and the blue lights of hyperspace shorten into stars. He immediately spins to avoid slamming into the surprise debris. The Imperial science barge Benzinger 88 is evidently no more. Kallus and Zeb had been sent to infiltrate and gather intel, but clearly had to resort to Plan B.

"Spectre Four, this is Fulcrum, do you copy?" Ahsoka comms. "I repeat, Fulcrum to Spectre Four, do you copy? We picked up your distress signal, do you copy?" She gives Rex a grim look.

"F-F-Four… copy." 

Ahsoka thunks Rex hard on the chest and hisses excitedly at the unmistakable voice of Garazeb Orrelios. "Four, help me find you in all this debris," she immediately comms back. Rex winces and rubs his chest.

"B-B-Beacon on." 

"We're locked on, Commander," Rex announces, picking up the pod's emergency beacon on the navcomp.

"Let me take the stick, Rex," Ahsoka says, transferring control before he has time to argue. "I'll use the Force to guide us through the wreckage. Chopper, do me a favor and please start plotting the hyperspace coordinates back to base in advance so we're not skirting around at the last second."

Chopper whomps amiably. "Yes, Commander," Rex says, trying not to sound miffed. Chopper honks and laughs at him.

Ahsoka snickers as she skillfully weaves them through the remains of Benzinger 88. "Do you remember how Anakin always used to yell at us for blowing things up, usually right before he'd blow something up?" Her eyes are soft, wistful as she reminisces.

"Yeah, I do." Rex slips his hand under her rear lek and squeezes the back of his riduur's neck. She rolls her shoulders and purrs happily. 

Whomp whompwhomp WHOMP whomp whomp Whomp!

"We're married, Chop, it's fine," Ahsoka says, biting down a laugh.

Whomp whomp whompwhompwhomp!

"We're coming up on the pod," Rex says, switching back to business as the signal beeps speed up. He takes his hand back and tries not to laugh at Ahsoka's visible pout. "Fifty meters ahead, Commander." 

"I see it." Ahsoka smoothly dodges a collection of rebar tangled in a mass of wiring and comes to a smooth hover above the pod. "Pulling the pod into the cargo bay now." She shivers after the bay doors close. "Oh, that's not good."

"What's not good?" Rex asks, alarmed.

"I can only sense one life in the Force," she says quietly. "Chopper, how are those hyperspace coordinates coming along?"

Whomp WHOMP whompwhomp whomp.

"Thank you so much for your hard work." Ahsoka jerks her head at the cockpit doors. "Rex, I'll navigate out of here and get us into hyperspace. Go help Zeb. I'll be right behind you."

"Yessir." Rex snatches the advanced medkit from under the console and hustles down to the cargo bay, praying to the Force that his limited Human field training will transfer over to Lasat biology. 

The escape pod is a standard Imperial model that used standard Imperial codes. Rex taps in the first one he can remember and stands back to let the transparasteel door slide up. It opens with the strong, unmistakable smell of burned flesh.

Zeb lowers his blaster when he sees it's Rex. "Help him," he says weakly, clutching his abdomen. He's still dressed in white—or what used to be white—science officer dregs. They're mostly red now from the blood. He has a lab coat pressed to it and is pale under his fur. "Help him, Captain, help him, help him, help him—" He points to a pile of raw, blistered, weeping red flesh lying on the other side of the pod, ripe and stinking of smoke and blood.

"Easy there, trooper, everything's alright." Rex takes a knee beside Zeb. He's seen enough battlefield injuries to know when it's too late, and Ahsoka only sensed one life in the pod. Even if Kallus is alive, there's absolutely nothing Rex could do for the poor man except put his blaster to his head. 

"You have to help him," Zeb whimpers. "He got caught in the explosion, I got him on board but he hasn't—he hasn't—I don't think he can—" He squeezes his eyes shut and sobs.

"Can I see what you're hiding under those mitts of yours?" Rex tries to gently pry his hand away from his gut wound.

"Leave me alone and go help him!" Zeb snarls, shoving Rex back. 

Rex hits the soft chest of Ahsoka instead of the cargo bay floor. "Easy, Zeb, you're safe now," she says soothingly, pushing Rex to his feet.

"Help him!" Zeb begs. The hand over the wound in his gut tightens. "Please, Ahsoka, you're a Jedi, you know—you know how to—"

"Shhh. Sleep." Ahsoka whispers the Command gently and waves a hand across Zeb's brow. His head slumps to his chest. "Damn it." Ahsoka gingerly lifts the blood-soaked lab coat. "Okay, it's… well, it's treatable."

"What about him?" Rex nods grimly at the wet corpse.

"Oh, Kallus." She shakes her head. "He's with the Force now. There is nothing we can do for him, but we can help Zeb." Ahsoka lifts the unconscious Lasat with the Force and gently deposits him on the cargo bay floor. Rex gives the body of Agent Kallus one last regretful look before sealing off the pod. 

"How'd that old saying go?" Ahsoka asks suddenly. "You boys used to say it. Echaab…"

"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la." Rex nods. "Not gone, just marching far away. Then you say their name. Alexsandr Kallus."

"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. Alexsandr Kallus." Her eyes go misty. "Alright. Let's get Zeb patched up and get back home."

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @febuwhump, @soliloquy-of-nemo Divider: @saradika-graphics

[scratchandplaster]

FEBUWHUMP DAY 26 - "Help them"

CW: drug abuse

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Another ambulance rushed by. Dozens of its potential targets laid on the roadside, marking the way into the city center like a landing strip.

The lucky ones under them were lucid enough to demand another helping, one Morris conveniently had in his back pocket. He wondered who they were, what was becoming of them, if he was part of this decay. In the beginning, his nervous introduction to this side of the world was accompanied by an invisible voice under his skin, whispering confusedly.

Help them. What about Mom?

After a month between the lanes, this thought didn't bother him again.

Who would help him in return? At long last, as always, Chris had been on his own through all struggles. It was nobody's fault but theirs. A simple choice made in ignorance, one Elliot wouldn't be presented with anymore, not after his little stunt in the park.

This, Morris could correct.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[comfort-questing]

26. "help them"

she wasn't the first soldier by far, that day, to come stumbling up to the healers' tent with a half-conscious companion leaning on their shoulder; but she was probably the most genuinely nervous-looking about it. not distraught, just - nervous, which set Thrace thinking right off, as she stood just outside the tent door flap with a basin of water balanced across her body.

"you're in luck," she said, in case an encouraging approach assisted; "most everyone's stable by now, and things aren't as busy as they were earlier just after the last companies returned..."

she didn't seem to be listening, just sank to her knees and let her limp burden slide to the grass.

"please," she said, "help them."

Thrace was about to swallow a well of course when she saw the color of the tattered jacket underneath the cloak wrapping the injured soldier, and the faintly silver undertone of their pallid face. her breath hitched a bit.

"that's - "

"yes. an elf. I know." the soldier swallowed hard, her lips trembling. "but - they're hurt, and I couldn't just leave them there."

she could have - she very well could have; Thrace was sure there had been any number of half- and three-quarters-dead elves left on the trampled woodland lanes of their battlefields recently. nobody else had bothered bringing one back for tending.

"they don't have any weapons, do they?"

"of course not. and - anyway, they're really not going to hurt anyone like this."

they weren't, really; not as they lay crumpled on the dirty grass there, with with an arrow through their side and a nasty slash across their upper thigh, half-staunched by what was probably the soldier's kerchief. they were a pitiful sight, a far cry from the fearsome archers and spellcasters that haunted the trees along their path.

"well - bring them in, then," Thrace said, bending down over her water basin, "and after I get the arrow out and clean them up I think you'd better find somewhere else for them to stay. or just don't be here, and I'll forget I saw you, huh?"

the soldier faltered a smile up at her, then, and staggered upright again with the elf limper than ever against her - "whatever you'd like," and then, " thank you."

"you're welcome." Thrace nudged the tent flap open with her boot, steeling herself for the familiar smell and sound of misery beyond, and let the others go in ahead of her.

she just hoped they weren't all going to be blown up in their sleep for this. but - maybe there was a reward for mercy in the end, or at least she could hope for it.