#I'm not an author who likes to pull my punches and mariano is very not okay

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

More of modern au Mariano's prison arc!! He sure is normal and okay. This one is VERY heavy so no shame in needing to skip it!

TWs: Suicidal thoughts/ideation, starvation, institutional abuse, abuse of power, dehumanization, exposure to low temperatures, neglect, captivity (of the prison variety)

The moonlight streamed in, turned crisp and sharp by the winter air. The blanket he was issued wasn't enough to keep it off of Mariano's skin, or out of his bones. It crawled in under the blanket with him and curled in close.

It sighed across his shoulders and neck. Its kisses made his nose numb. He couldn't feel his toes or fingers anymore.

Mariano could see his breath every time he exhaled.

It didn't matter. No one would do anything if he mentioned it, and this was normal anyway. February was always the worst in isolation.

Vaguely, Mariano wondered if he'd die in his sleep. It wasn't really cold enough for it, but for all he knew it was just a particularly dry night. The mattress pad rustled as he curled onto his side, tucking his fingers between his sides and his biceps.

His shoulders and hip ached, the cushion almost nonexistent between Mariano's body and the concrete. The persistent shivering wasn't helping much either, but that was just how one spent winters in solitary confinement.

Dying didn't sound so terrible.

His parents wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. They wouldn't have to keep sending him money for commissary. They wouldn't be blamed for raising a monster anymore, because the evil would've died behind bars. He wouldn't be able to hurt anyone ever again.

Maybe dying would be warm.

Mariano could make it warm. His hands gripped his sides tighter. It would be so easy. He wasn't warded. It was too dangerous to ward him permanently, would make him too sick. The guards didn't want to deal with it, and it wasn't like the charges he'd catch for using his magic would matter if he was dead. All he had to do was wrap his hand around his own throat and cast. He wouldn't feel it for more than a second.

He swallowed against his own icy palm. He didn't realize he'd put his hand to his throat. It trembled in the cold air.

He wouldn't be hungry anymore if he died.

Mariano's stomach ached, chewing on itself. They'd forgotten to bring him lunch and dinner. Sometimes that happened on shift changes. It was probably why he felt colder than usual. It was fine.

He wouldn't be thirsty, either.

No food meant no water. Solitary confinement meant that he couldn't just go get water, because his cell was never unlocked and left unsupervised. He could drink from the sink, technically, but that had made him violently ill the last time he'd tried. The pipes were too old, the nurse had said. The guards had laughed. Mariano didn't blame them.

It would be so easy.

It would be as easy as breathing.

Mariano exhaled, and only a plume of condensation from his breath met the air.

It didn't help. There was no sense of peace. No comfort. Mariano dying wouldn't make a difference. It would just make his parents sad. It would just annoy the guards. It would make strangers happy. It didn't help.

Mariano's hand slid to his chest, over his heart. It wouldn't make things better. It wouldn't even really make anything worse. It would just happen. He brought his hand to his hair and started slowly sliding his fingers through his own hair like his mother used to do. Like Luis used to do.

It didn't help.

It didn't hurt.

Mariano slept.

It was fine.