#Made to Watch

[jasmines-library]

I'll Make This Up To You

WHUMPTOBER DAY SIX: Prompt: made to watch

Summary: after being kidnapped by the joker, Jason is forced to watch you being tortured when you beg to take his place.

Warning: Blood, beating, gore, cursing, punctured lung.

Word count: 1.3k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Your entire body throbbed. Your wrists hung limply from rusty chains that dangled from the ceiling. Your bare toes struggled to relieve the burning that spread down your arms and into the sockets of your shoulders. Your toes hardly skimmed the floor, not providing you with a fraction of release from the agony in your shoulders. The groaning and clanging of the chains on the other side of the room alerted you to the other presence nearby. He was still wearing his black suit with the red bat insignia printed across his chest. 

“Hood?” You murmured from across the room, trying to grab his attention. The boy groaned, bleary eyed before mumbling your name lowly in response.

“Are you okay?” He asked, testing the strength of his chains albeit to find that he was firmly stuck. 

“Yeah” You blinked groggily. “What happened? I don’t remember anything besides-”

A blinding light piercing through the darkness. Shattering glass, a scream. Then nothing.

“The crash.” Jason finished for you. 

You were about to speak again; to utter another string of words when you were silenced by a catatonic laughter. 

The Joker barged his way through the double doors to the room. They slammed loudly against the wall as he pushed up his sleeves. Although Jason was still wearing his mask, you could sense the fear rising in his body and you could practically see the way his eyes dilated with fear.

“Isn’t this nice?” He grinned, walking around the two of you. “My two favourite birdies all in one place.”

He smiled a toothy grip his face too close to yours for comfort before whipping back around to Jason and wiggling his fingers. “How’s it hanging Little Robin? Did ya miss me?”

Jason tried to recoil from the man before him, but the chains only allowed him to swing feebly back and forth. This elicited another manic laugh from the Joker. 

“Now, I would say that I'm sorry to do this to you again, but that would be a lie.”

He ran his finger along Jason’s hooded jawline, before trailing his fingers down to his neck and to the hem of his mask which he tore from his face. 

“Hiya, Jaybird.” He said, giving him a wink. Jason stiffened at the nickname. “Oh how I missed this pretty face.”

“Fuck you.” He spat.

The Joker pulled back, placing a hand to his chest in mock hurt and cackling once more. “Your words wound me, Jason. Like father like son I see.”

The sound of an old, metal cart being pushed with a squeaky wheel by one of his goons filled the room. On top of it lay an assortment of weapons and tools, two of which you identified as yours. Another man tugged in an old camera. “I think it’s time that we send the bat a message.” his fingers danced along the edge of the tray, before he picked up a small knife and twirled it between his digits. “He needs to stop getting on my last nerve and you, my little birdy, need to learn to keep your mouth shut.”

His last sentence was exaggerated with a swing of his arm, which landed a well placed cut to Jason's cheek. 

“Hey!” You yelled, squirming against your restraints. “Get the fuck away from him!”

The suit-clad man spun around slowly, tilting his head and the knife towards you.

“Oh? The little bird has something to say. Tell me, Y/N,” He provoked as his goon removed your mask from your face. “What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do when I drive your very own knife through your beloved Jaybird’s heart? Hmm?”

“I told you to leave him alone.” You spat back in his face. 

The Joker's eyes turned dark as he narrowed them coldly at you. His grin dropped as he turned back around and slashed another line against Jason’s face. He grunted, eyes wide as he began to relive his past time with the villain. You felt your heart clench; you couldn’t let him go through that. Not again. You couldn’t watch as he tried to fix himself. You couldn’t watch him suffer again. 

“Stop it!” You yelled at him, only for the other man to cover your mouth firmly with his hand. You fought hard, shouting until your voice went hoarse. “Please…hurt me instead.”

The Joker stopped, a shit eating grin exaggerated across his features. “Smile for the camera.”

~~~

Your head hung limply, chin resting on your chest. Blood trickled down your temple, oozed from your nose and clung to almost every inch of your skin. Inch deep cuts lay littered across your skin, along with a multitude of  The sound that left your mouth was barely a scream as he drove the knife into the flesh of your thigh. 

Jason had tried to keep from crying out; each yell or vulgar comment leaving you with another scar to add to your collection, or another fingernail ripped out from its bed, but he couldn’t bear to watch you suffer in place of him. It made his stomach twist into knots. He prayed that Tim would be able to hack the livestream that Joker was feeding to the cave and reach you before something fatal happened.

Jason squirmed in the chains. They clanked together loudly. “Leave her alone!”

The man tutted before you, turning away and leaving the knife lodged within the muscle.The vigilante was about to let out a sigh of relief when he watched the Joker's fingers dance over the various bloodied tools and towards the wooden bat. 

Before the dark-haired boy could make another sound, the bat was slammed into your ribs. You gasped, eyes flying open as you swung on the chains. You heaved a ragged gasp as he swung hard again, crying out as you felt your ribs shatter. You let out a haggard cough, tasting the copper on your tongue as your blood coated the inside of your mouth and then dribbled from your chapped lips. The rib had punctured a lung.  

The villain's laughter morphed with the chorus your screaming and Jason’s shouting. The wooden bat clattered on the floor, but was soon replaced by Jason’s pistol. He cried out loudly.  “I hope you’re watching, Batsy.” Joker, picked up the camera, zooming in on your face. “I want you to see the light leave her eyes.”

“I’ll do you one better.” A voice sounded behind him.

Looking over his shoulder, the villain was greeted with the dark cowl of Batman’s suit. The taller man grabbed the villain, swinging him into the wall. The three other boys jumped into action, tackling the goons. Fueled with anger and determination, it didn’t take long before they were releasing you from the shackles that tugged agonisingly on your body. 

You landed in a heap on the floor, wheezing loudly as Jason collapsed to his knees beside you, fingers pressing harshly against your thigh. You whimpered. 

“I’m sorry. Stay with us, I'm sorry.”

“I’m fine- ” You coughed trying to dismiss Jay’s worry. You didn’t want him to feel any guiltier than you knew he already did. Your head dizzied as you were hoisted into the air by a strong pair of arms. 

“I’m sorry.” He repeated it like a mantra. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

You shook your head. “Jay…this is not your fault.”

“But-”

You cut him off with another ragged cough, spilling more blood from your lips. He forced his legs to move further. 

“Not your fault.”

Instead of fighting back, he decided to pull you closer. “I’m gonna get you fixed up Y/N. I promise. I will make this up to you.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY FIVE ⛤ DAY SEVEN ->

🏷️ taglist

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

[sowhumpful]

No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

[whumpypepsigal]

Whumptober 2023 | No. 6

Made To Watch

The Blacklist s01e01: “Do what I say or I'll shoot your husband.”

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

[whumpetywhump]

Whumptober Day 6 - Made To Watch

Kinnporsche - Ep. 10

Love In The Air - Ep. 7

Never Let Me Go - Ep. 12

Tien Bromance - Ep. 10

Triage - Ep. 13

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2023

No. 6 Made to Watch Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Setting: Alexandria Era Warnings: Attempted SA, blood, injury, violence

“Y/N!” Daryl pushed and kicked at the gate separating him from you. The hinges were giving but not nearly fast enough. The men from the warehouse you were scavenging were merciless in their actions, punches and kicks landing on any part of your body they could meet. The archer was seeing red, screaming in frustration when your assailants stepped away from you, looking quite satisfied with the damage they had caused. 

You reached for the handgun they had forced Daryl to toss over—along with the crossbow and knives— but a boot came down on your hand, forcing a hoarse shout from your throat. Why weren’t they just shooting you both? 

“Daryl.” Your voice was weak and strained, the single whisper sending you into a coughing fit. You curled in on yourself with a groan while the three men whispered among themselves. 

“And he can watch.” A pointed chin was jerked toward the archer. The biggest of the three strutted down toward your feet, facing Daryl and undoing his belt. The hunter’s blood ran cold. 

“Don’ fuckin’ touch ‘er!”

“Oh, I’ll do much more than touch.” A wicked grin exposed rotten teeth before he spit in Daryl’s direction. “And you have a front row seat, friend.”

“Our way of saying ‘thank you’ for bringing us this fine piece.”

Daryl growled and backed up before lunging at the gate. It pushed forward but didn’t give. “Ya let ‘er go. We’ll be on our way an’ never come back ‘round.”

“Is that right?” The third man asked, spitting off to the side. Daryl nodded, remaining still in case any act of trying to break through would cause them to retaliate. His eyes flicked down to you, watching everything around you from your spot on the cold floor. You were still curled up, both arms wrapped around your middle. The three goons looked at one another, seemingly mulling it over. 

Then they began to laugh. 

“Are you crazy, man? You know how hard it is to find good pussy now?” The big man pointed at you. “And I can guarantee that’s some good pussy. She yours?”

“She ain’t property, shithead.” Daryl hissed. His knuckles were turning white from the death grip he held on the chain link. When the man made to turn away, the archer began to climb, going stock still when he heard the loud crack of a gun and ricochet of a bullet hitting the concrete. Wide blue eyes zoned in on the gun now pointed at your head. 

“Get on down, fella.” Daryl did as he was told, hands up the moment his boots hit the ground. “Now, the way I see it is you got three choices. One, you can try that shit again, and we’ll put a bullet in her head and then one in yours. Two, you can stand there and let us have our fun. We may even give her back afterward. Can’t promise she’ll be of any use to you, though.” Daryl was shaking, fists clenched at his sides. “Or three. You can leave. No harm, no foul. But we’ll keep her.”

“Fuck you.” You spat from the ground. The man above you gave you a look that broke into the most malicious expression of intent you’d ever seen. 

“Oh, you will be, sweetheart. Me and my boys, here.” You held your rage in your eyes, never giving an inch before he looked back to Daryl. “What’s it gonna be, man?”

The archer said nothing, but his eyes said everything. Someone was dying there today. 

“Let him play his little game.” The big man scoffed. He made his way to you in three strides, grabbing a fistful of your hair to pull you up from the floor. “We’ll play ours. If he tries anything, shoot him. Marvin, hold onto her hands.” 

You struggled in the largest man’s grip. Harry, you had learned from the nonsensical conversation they were having while binding your wrists. The one with the gun on Daryl was David. 

“If you want to keep all your teeth, I suggest you don’t try to bite.” Harry warned, not giving you much time to process before his mouth was on yours. He reeked of stale beer and tobacco and tasted worse. Your first instinct was to clamp down on his foul tongue, an instinct that you had to fight. You refused to reciprocate, simply allowing him to kiss you while tears leaked from the corner of your eyes. Daryl would save you. This would be over soon. 

“Ha! He left!” David chortled, just before you felt a tight grip on your ass. Harry pulled his mouth away quickly, and you fought the urge to gag. 

“Wait your turn!” Harry spat, pulling you closer so he could reach over your shoulder and shove the other back. When David continued the shoving match, you were roughly thrown toward Marvin and then pushed to the floor for him to attempt to break up the argument. 

Your entire body ached but that pain was nothing compared to the agony in your chest as your eyes remained frozen on the empty spot where Daryl had been standing. ‘He left me. He…he left me.’ With a sob, you forced yourself to your hands and knees, crawling toward the concealing darkness of the warehouse’s inner walls. 

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?” A large hand twisted into your hair and wrenched back your head, forcing you up on your knees to relieve the pressure. 

“Please. Please, just let me go!” You begged. Your hands held tightly to Harry’s wrists while he dragged you back toward the other two men. 

“Oh, honey, there is no way we are—” He fell silent. An engine roared in the distance, the sound becoming louder at an alarming rate. “What the hell?” His grip disappeared, giving you one opportunity. The concrete stung your palms and knees but this time, you made it to a dark area of empty crates and shielded yourself behind one just as the rusted cement truck barreled through the gate. Sparks flew from the exterior when the onslaught of bullets hit, the windshield shattering. 

David didn’t move in time and was crushed beneath the tires. Harry and Marvin continued to fire even after the thing had crashed into the wall, partially breaking through to the outside. Your breathing picked up when Marvin grabbed the door handle and pulled back to find…a walker tied to the steering wheel and a brick on the accelerator. 

“Put that thing down!” Harry hissed at the same time his friend fired into the corpse’s skull. 

While he reached in to switch off the engine, movement caught your eye. Your chin quivered, the whimper that left you impossible to suppress. 

Daryl was picking up his crossbow and knife, flipping the latter in his hand to quickly throw it. Marvin dropped like a dead weight. Harry watched his friend fall from the door of the truck before he spun and looked around wildly. The crossbow was already aimed and Daryl was stalking forward, the weapon trembling. 

“Where is she?!” The bowman roared. 

“I-I-I don’t know! I swear, I lost track of her!” 

A bolt pierced his shoulder. 

“Wrong answer! Where is she?!” Crossbow forgotten, Daryl was pointing your handgun at the man (when had he pick that up?!), nearly on top of him now.

“I lost her!”

A bullet to the leg. You flinched when the gun fired and Harry screamed, the large man who had loomed over you now reduced to writhing on the cold floor. 

Daryl now cast a terrifying shadow over him. “Did ya kill ‘er?”

“No! No, we didn’t touch her!”

“Oh, but ya did.” You hardly recognized your partner’s voice, spitting venom with every syllable. “M’gonna ask one more time.” The gun pressed into Harry’s forehead. “Where. Is. She?”

“Daryl.” 

His head snapped up, eyes searching frantically before landing on you, just beside the crates and still on your hands and knees. Harry had a single moment to appear relieved as Daryl began walking away, but the gun was lifted and a single shot was fired into the man’s head without the archer so much as looking back. 

You reached one hand out for him, releasing a sob the moment his fingers wrapped around it. Daryl kneeled in front of you and pulled you against him, relief evident on his face. 

“Thought I lost ya.” He murmured into your hair. 

“I thought you left me.” You admitted quietly, losing the battle against the tears stinging your eyes. He pulled you back, willing you to look at him. When you managed to, you found those electric blue orbs filled to the brim with unshed tears and so many emotions that you felt suffocated by the intensity of his gaze. 

“Never.” He brought a hand to your face, careful of the bruises and cuts. “M’never leavin’ ya behind. Y’hear me?” You nodded softly and then again with more vigor, letting yourself be pulled back into his arms. 

“I wanna go home, Daryl.” You whispered, your hands fisting into his vest. “Please, take me home.” Adrenaline began ebbing away and you found yourself growing more tired by the second. You barely noticed when he swept you off the floor and began carrying you out. 

“Take ya anywhere ya need, Sunshine.”

[omgiamwish]

Whumptober 2023 Day 6 - Made to Watch

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 6: Made to watch, “It should have been me”

This took way too long to finish and didn’t even end up the way I wanted to in the end exactly but it’s fine! It’s fine!!!

*cries*

Warnings: blood & injury, being electrocuted, slight torture-y elements.

Read it on ao3

————————————————————

“Link. Hey, Rancher, wake up.”

The serious tone of voice dragged Twilight from his comfortable sleep, making him blearily open his eyes. He found that his head was under the thicker blankets the inn had provided for their beds, and he reluctantly poked his head out, frowning at the cold that met him.

Warriors looked down at him, arms crossed and face unreadable, and Twilight blinked at him, still waking up.

“What’dya want?” he mumbled, squinting at the window. All he could see was dark grey. “...Wars, what time is it?”

“Early, I don’t know. About dawn I guess,” Warriors shrugged, and unceremoniously pulled Twilight’s blankets off. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

“What?!” Twilight sputtered, and grabbed for his blankets. “Give me those! It’s freezing in here!”

“I know right? It’s awful. These people have no clue how to keep an inn warm, I mean it’s snowing outside.”

“Captain,” Twilight growled, seriously annoyed now. He’d been having a rather nice dream about a warm, sunny field with goats in it, up until Warriors had decided to drag him awake. “Why are you up so early, and why are you waking me up so early?”

A smile twitched at Warriors’ lips. “Why Rancher, I thought you country folk were used to waking up at the crack of dawn.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate sleeping in on a freezing morning when we’re at an inn for once,” Twilight bit out, snatching back his blankets and wrapping himself in them. “What do you want.”

“Sheesh, you’re cranky this early,” Warriors said with an eye roll. “Anyway... do you remember what we were talking about last night after dinner?”

Twilight stared at Warriors, and pulled his blankets back over his head.

“Rancher come on, hear me out!”

The blankets were peeled back again, and Twilight looked up at Warriors’ face, only barely apologetic. The captain gave him a grin, and Twilight groaned, sitting back up with no small reluctance.

He was wide awake now, he supposed he might as well hear what the captain had to say.

“Fine. What.”

Warriors cleared his throat, looking excited. “Okay okay, so last night Wild and Wind wouldn’t shut up about how similar they think we look, right?”

Twilight nodded, frowning a bit.

The night before, after they’d all eaten dinner and were sitting around talking, Wind had asked the others if they’d ever noticed how similar Twilight and the captain looked. Wild had immediately agreed, a grin on his face, and the others had quickly hopped on board as well, loudly debating their similar features.

Some of the arguments had been valid, and Four had put together a surprisingly long list of resemblances between Twilight and Warriors that Twilight was inclined to believe, but several of them were just ridiculous. Even when Twilight voiced this, he was immediately shot down, and Wild and Wind wouldn’t let the matter drop, repeatedly bringing it up until Twilight and Warriors couldn’t stand it anymore and went off to bed.

“What does that have to do with dragging me out of bed at the crack of dawn?” Twilight asked, and Warriors grinned, holding up two green tunics.

“It’s so we have lots of time to prepare. I think we should show them just how similar we really are.“

Twilight sat up a bit straighter, paying more attention now as he looked between his and Warriors’ tunics.

“Oh?”

“Let’s switch clothes. Just for the day. We’ll give them a shock,” Warriors grinned, and Twilight found himself grinning as well, picturing the looks on Wild and Wind’s faces. “Maybe get them to knock it off with the twin jabs too. What do you say?”

Twilight reached out and took Warriors’ tunic, and gave the captain a smirk.

“Show me how you usually pin your scarf.”

(...)

Wild and Wind’s reactions were, to say the least, exactly what Twilight had hoped they would be.

Warriors and Twilight had quickly dressed, then stationed themselves so they weren’t facing the stairs, their differences harder to notice from the back. Wind had come down to breakfast soon after, yawning into his hand, and had tugged Warriors’ scarf to ask him when they were going to leave.

Except Warriors had been Twilight, and Wind nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked up and realized who it was he was actually talking to.

Wild had had a similar reaction, though it had taken him a bit. He was most of the way through breakfast before he’d suddenly jumped up and pointed between the two, face so gobsmacked that Twilight nearly choked he was laughing so hard.

After the chaos had died down and they’d finally finished breakfast, they’d headed out from the inn, a light flurry of snow falling on their heads. Warriors and Twilight stayed in the wrong clothes as they traveled through the snowy forest, responding to the wrong names and just generally confusing the others.

It was driving Wild crazy, and Twilight was loving every second of it.

A few small flakes fell on his head, and Twilight shivered a bit as the wind blew at his face. The weather was even colder outside the inn, and the Links had all bundled up in their thick clothing, Wind and Four looking especially chilly. Twilight actually wasn’t bothered too much by the cold, especially with Warriors’ scarf wrapped warmly around his neck, and he noticed with a smirk that Warriors himself looked quite content in his wolf pelt.

“You know, you smell like a wet dog, Captain,” Legend mentioned offhandedly. “Look a bit like one too. You’re giving Wolfie a run for his money.”

Warriors shot him a look from under the hood of Twilight’s pelt, and Legend smiled innocently.

“Well perhaps so, but I’m much warmer than you are,” he pointed out, and Legend’s smirk fell a bit.

“Well at least I’m not swimming in clothes made for someone twice as muscled as me.”

The two continued to exchange jabs, and Twilight shook his head in exasperation. Warriors may have been wearing Twilight’s clothes, but it didn’t change his personality a bit.

“You look nice in the captain’s scarf Twi,” Four said at his side, his own hood up to block the snow. “The colors set off your eyes.”

Twilight chuckled. “If you say so. It is rather soft,” he admitted, holding up a bit of the rich, blue fabric. “It definitely does the job, but I don’t know how he handles this thing in warmer weather.”

“I could ask the same of you,” Warriors said back, and Twilight shrugged. “All this fur must be awful if you’re ever anywhere warm.”

“Oh I manage.”

The conversation stopped for a bit, and Twilight looked around at the road they were following, noticing with some concern how high a couple of the drifts of snow were. If the snow had blown across the path like that anywhere, some of their shorter members were going to struggle.

“Think I’m going to scout ahead a little,” Twilight said, tapping Time on the shoulder. “I’ll see if I can make it to that bridge the villagers were talking about, see how much snow we’re dealing with.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Time replied. Then his face twitched into a smirk. “Don’t trip on your scarf.”

Twilight snorted and shook his head, already walking away.

“Hey, I’ll come with you,” Warriors offered as he jogged up to join his side, and Twilight looked at him in surprise. But he nodded and made room so they could walk side by side.

“You didn’t have to come you know Captain. Not that I mind, but just because we swapped clothes doesn’t mean we have to be together the whole day,” Twilight mentioned once they were out of earshot of the others, and Warriors shrugged, looking around at the woods.

“Eh, I wanted to. Besides, I was getting real sick of Legend calling us the ‘wolf twins’.”

Twilight barked out a laugh, and he and the captain continued ahead through the snowy woods, silent and cold.

They were quiet for a while as they outpaced the group, the snow falling softly around them. Twilight had no clue who’s time they were in, but wherever they were, the forest was beautiful, covered in snow and ice, flakes falling silently around them.

Twilight felt almost like he was in a storybook walking through the picturesque woods, and the unfamiliar clothes he was wearing only added to the almost otherworldly sense. It was odd having a scarf around his neck, but he didn’t mind the way it flared out behind him when he walked. It was sort of fun.

Twilight looked over at Warriors, keeping pace next to him, and studied him a minute. He had to admit to himself that Wild was right, at least a bit. With the pelt’s hood up covering his lighter hair, Warriors really did look almost exactly like Twilight.

“What’s that look for?” Warriors asked, and Twilight blinked, realizing he’d been staring.

“I was just thinking,” he admitted, and looked Warriors up and down. “I hate to admit it, but the others are kind of right. We really do look similar.”

“Yeah, I know,” Warriors said, and his eyes took on a distant look. “...Did you know there’s a statue of you in my time?”

Twilight startled. “What?”

“Well, there’s ones of a bunch of us actually,” Warriors reprimanded, and met his eyes. “Even Wolfie. We didn’t realize just how many there were until we were clearing out the Temple of Souls after the war. We were making sure there wasn’t any leftover dark magic or monsters, but we mostly just found statues, and... paintings.”

Warriors shook his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, I originally thought the one of you was me. We were so similar-looking, especially at the time with the hats and everything, it took a while until we figured out you were a separate hero entirely.”

“Well, that explains why you recognized most of us when we met,” Twilight said with a smirk, and Warriors chuckled.

“Yeah, I’ll admit I cheated. I don’t know if I saw one of everyone though, now that you mention it. I wonder—”

“Wait, shh,” Twilight said abruptly, holding a hand out.

Warriors went silent, and Twilight swiveled his ears around, the snow softly falling on their heads.

The woods had gone even more silent then before, no birds, no wind. Twilight knew he had heard something, but he wasn’t sure if it was just a twig snapping from the weight of the snow, or something more—

An earsplitting screech rang out through the woods, nearly sending Twilight and Warriors to their knees. Twilight’s heart stopped at the familiar sound, but before he could even grab his sword or raise his head, something crashed into him and threw him against a tree so hard he nearly blacked out.

He heard a shout through the ringing in his ears, and forced his eyes open, gasping at the sight of a Shadow Beast mere inches from his face.

No, no how is this possible it can’t— does this mean— the Twilight Realm—?!

Twilight struggled to grab his sword, but the Shadow Beast tightened its grip, and it held him so tightly against the tree Twilight was worried it would break something.

He looked frantically around for a way to get out, and saw that while Warriors wasn’t pinned like he was, he was completely surrounded. The captain was looking around at the shadow beasts with a worried look in his eyes, and he made frantic eye contact with Twilight. But before either of them could do or say anything, Twilight heard footsteps crunch through the snow nearby.

He looked up, and felt ice drop into his chest.

Zant stood in the center of the clearing, like a blot of spilled ink against the pristine snow. Twilight stared, praying that he was somehow mistaken, but as Zant strode forward, there was no doubt that it was the usurper himself.

He barely seemed to notice Twilight, giving him only a single glance, then stalked over to Warriors, standing just inside his army of shadow beasts.

“Hero of Twilight,” Zant said with a hint of glee in his voice. “It’s been so long, did you miss me?”

Warriors flicked his eyes over to Twilight, then back to Zant, a glimmer of confusion in his eyes. Zant was clearly referring to him, and Twilight stared at them both for a second before realizing what was happening.

Oh sweet Ordona, he thinks Warriors is me.

Warriors obviously realized what was going on as well, for he quickly smoothed his face of its confused look, casually pulling the hood further over his head. Twilight thrashed against the Shadow Beast, opening his mouth to shout, but one of its hands moved to cover it and his cry was cut off.

Warriors glanced at him again, then exhaled, and tightened his grip on his sword.

“That’s right Zant, that’s me,” he said steadily, even adding a bit of a twang to his voice that made him sound vaguely like Twilight. “The Hero of Twilight.”

Twilight thrashed even harder against the shadow beast holding him, but the monster didn’t budge, no matter what he did.

Wars you idiot it’s me he wants!

“Hmm... you’re scrawnier than I remember...” Zant hummed, leaning down to stare at Warriors’ face. “I suppose you haven’t been doing so well without your little shadow? So sad that she shattered the mirror the way she did.”

Twilight ignored the sting the words left in his heart.

“How have you returned?” Warriors demanded, never lowering his sword. “The last I heard, you were dead.”

“Ah, it was my new glorious god! The Creature of Shadows!” Zant crowed, twirling in place. “He has allowed me this return so I may have my revenge on those who have wronged me, in exchange only for his allegiance!”

Zant abruptly stilled, voice dropping into the tone he used when he sounded more sane.

“And you, Hero of Twilight, are the first on my list.”

Warriors barely had time to leap away as Zant drew twin swords and jumped at him, avoiding his attacks and striking back as best as he could.

Twilight clawed at the Shadow Beast holding him, desperate to help the captain, but it only struck him across the face, and retightened its grip. Pain exploded across Twilight’s face, but he ignored the sharp pain in his nose, watching Warriors fight with an increasing panic.

He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t even call out advice or encouragement with the Shadow beast covering his mouth, just sit here and watch, with his nose throbbing and blood trickling down his face.

When he was the one who should have been fighting in the first place.

Warriors fought almost like he’d faced Zant before, neatly dodging his attacks and easily matching his swings. At any other moment Twilight would have admired his technique, but he was too worried. Zant’s speed was nearly impossible to keep up with, and Twilight could see Warriors was quickly tiring.

Right about when Twilight was growing truly panicked, Zant stepped back, pausing in his frantic attacks.

“This has been quite fun, but I’m afraid I didn’t come here to fight,” he said coolly, and his helmet shifted, revealing his mouth pulled up in a smile. Warriors paused as well, but kept his sword up, still ready and willing to fight.

“Then what do you want?” Warriors said breathlessly, and Zant’s smile twisted into a grin.

“To make you suffer.”

Two shadow beasts leaped at Warriors from behind, catching him off guard and throwing him to the ground. They pinned his arms and legs in a similar manner to Twilight in mere seconds, and Warriors’ sword went flying, Twilight letting out a muffled shout.

Zant stalked forward, his weapons skimming the snow on the ground.

“I should have killed you back at the Spirit’s Spring long ago, but now I’m almost glad I didn’t. I think I prefer to draw it out,” Zant said in a voice filled with glee as he stood above Warriors. “I’ve waited to repay you for stealing my rightful throne for a long time, Hero.”

“Rightful throne? It was never your throne to begin with,” Warriors scoffed, and gritted his teeth as Zant pressed the tip of his sword to his cheek.

“It should have been!” Zant hissed, and dragged the sword across Warriors’ face, leaving a bloody line in its trail. “I am the Twilight Realm’s rightful king! It is my throne, and I am it’s ruler!”

“I’ve met the true ruler of the Twilight Realm,” Warriors gritted out, and Twilight’s brain stalled for a second. What? “and you’re not her.”

“I am the rightful ruler!” Zant shouted, and dug the tip of his sword into Warriors’ shoulder, pulling a gasp from his lips. “Say it!”

Warriors glared. “Midna is—”

“DO NOT SPEAK HER NAME!” Zant shrieked, and lit his swords up with a dark, crackling magic.

Warriors’ eyes went wide and Twilight let out another muffled shout, but the two of them could only watch as Zant stabbed the blades downward into Warriors’ arms.

Lightning ripped across Warriors’ body, and he screamed, his back arching with electricity.

Twilight had never heard him make a noise like that.

He kicked out madly against the shadow beast holding him, but its grip never budged, and he couldn’t do a thing as Zant slowly removed his swords, leaving Warriors to gasp for breath, twitching slightly in the snow.

Tell him you’re not the one he wants, Twilight mentally begged, watching in horror as Zant repeated the action, making Warriors scream again. Tell him you’re not the Hero of Twilight, Captain!

“I am the Twilight Realm’s king,” Zant practically hissed as he yanked his swords out of Warriors again, leaving him shaking and bloodied on the ground. He thrust a blade under Warriors’ chin, lifting it so he was forced to meet his eyes. “And you and that imp are nothing but insignificant worms under my feet.”

“I... th-think she’d say the opposite,” Warriors rasped.

Zant howled in outrage and lunged forward, but it was then that Twilight finally managed to bite the Shadow Beast’s hand with enough force that it removed it from his mouth.

“I’m the Hero of Twilight!” he screamed, and Zant froze, turning slowly towards him. “I’m who you want Zant, leave— leave him alone,” his finished thickly.

Zant didn’t move for a second, staring at Twilight in silence. Then he turned back to Warriors, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him up so they were practically nose-to-nose.

The hood of the wolf pelt fell back, fully revealing Warriors’ bright blond hair, and marking-less face.

“A fake!” Zant roared in outrage, and threw Warriors to the ground, the captain still twitching with electricity.

He turned towards Twilight, practically shaking with fury.

“You,” he spat, small crackles of energy leaking from his sleeves as he approached. “You. Hero of Twilight. How dare you—”

A golden arrow flew across the clearing, and buried itself right into Zant’s shoulder.

Light burst outward and Zant let out a primal scream, clutching at his arm. More arrows followed, and Twilight heard the Shadow Beasts cry out as well, but he couldn’t see very well due to the sudden increase of light. The monster holding him let go, and Twilight didn’t stick around, catching a glimpse of armor and knowing the others would deal with the monsters.

He made a beeline for Warriors, stumbling a little as he ran. His head still hurt where the shadow beast had slammed him into the tree, his nose was bleeding all over his face, and his whole body was sore, but he wasn’t planning on stopping.

“Captain, are you with me?” he asked as he slid to his knees, and Warriors blearily looked up at him, eyes bright with pain. “Warriors, can you hear me?”

“You... you got a little...” Warriors croaked, reaching up like he was going to wipe the blood off of Twilight’s face, and the rancher waved him off, hands fluttering over the captain’s bleeding body. He was still twitching occasionally, blood soaking his clothes, and the cut across his cheek was bleeding steadily, dripping blood into Twilight’s pelt.

“By the gods Captain, you’re an absolute idiot,” Twilight said with a surge of guilt and horror, putting pressure on what looked like the worst injuries. “You should’ve just told him who I was, why didn’t you?!”

“He wanted... you. Better this way,” Warriors breathed, and gave Twilight a bloody smile. “I am... sorry I... I wrecked your tunic.”

Twilight glared at him, then untangled the scarf from around his own neck. “Permission to get your scarf bloody?”

“‘S only fair,” Warriors chuckled weakly, and Twilight bundled it over him, stemming the flow of blood.

Warriors let out a cough, a twitch running through him again, and Twilight helped him sit up when he tried to himself, the captain leaning heavily on his shoulder. He moved his head so it was resting more easy, and looked at the blood on the captain’s cheek, guilt still laying heavy in his chest.

It should have been me.

“...Rancher?”

Twilight looked over at Warriors again, wincing at a screech that rang out much too close by.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t regret it,” Warriors said firmly, shivering with another tremor. “Not... not at all. Don’t be... guilty.”

Twilight looked away. “Well what am I supposed to do then?”

Warriors gave him another bloody smirk.

“Y-you could say thank you.”

Twilight felt a smile twitch onto his face against his will, and he snorted out a laugh through his still-bleeding nose, lightly bonking his head against Warriors’.

“Fine. Thanks.”

Then he turned and looked Warriors directly in the eye, pushing aside the still heavy guilt in his chest.

“And once you get a red potion in you, I want to know how on earth you know Midna and Zant.”

Warriors smiled as a triumphant cry came from the battle around them.

“Sure thing.”

[losthavenmine]

Whumptober 2023 Day 6 || Made to Watch

Man of Steel (2013)

[favouritefearlesswhumper]

Forced to watch with Team Leader

Idk there's something so good about a team watching their beloved, kind, smart, strong Leader suddenly falling to pieces in front of them.

It's not like they don't have more than a few scars of their own. But they've never known torture like this.

Tearfullt trying to reassure their team that they're fine, they're okay, honest-

Until they're very much not.

Blood dripping down their skin, limbs battered and bruised, broken bones, black eyes-

Worst of all, was the screams.

They tried to keep it in, they really really did. They didn't want to worry and scare their beloved team any more than they knew they already would be-

But it hurt so much.

It hurt so, so much.

And it's only the beginning.

[babytarttdoodoo]

in the end everything collides

((Winner of Whumptober Poll #2 | Day 6 | Made To Watch)) 

The whole evening had taken such a blindingly bizarre turn that even with the sound of fists meeting flesh and hysterical giggling filling his ears, Sam couldn’t process what he was seeing.

It had started out normally enough. He had been finishing some paperwork at Ola’s after closing, something he had been doing more and more of in the off-season to take at least a little pressure away from Simi.

He had been having fun, even, thanks to Jamie’s unrelenting commentary on anything and everything that popped into his head. His teammate had dropped in for a late dinner and hung around long after closing to keep Sam company when he learned of his plans.

The offer had been gratefully received and only curdled to regret when Edwin Akufo strode in like he owned the place.

His competing restaurant was not faring well, apparently, and that was obviously entirely Sam’s fault. How dare he have competent staff and a talented head chef?

Sam had sighed inwardly when Edwin’s security goons had spread out around the restaurant, gauging how much egotistical posturing and property damage he would likely have to put up with before being left alone again.

He hadn’t really considered what would happen if he fought back because he had no intention of doing so. Jamie, on the other hand, swung first.

Of course he did.

To his credit, he landed more than one solid hit before a bodyguard got hold of his arms and twisted them behind his back. Edwin had teetered between incredulity and rage for only a few moments before manic glee stole over his face.

It was not a good look on him.

“Let him go, Edwin, he doesn’t…” Sam barely started voicing his protests before he was grabbed too, held in place at the silent order of the billionaire, flicking a hand in Sam’s direction like he was an unimportant nuisance. Forgotten in the wake of this new entertainment.

“Ah, ah, what do we have here? Who are you to jump to Obisanya’s defence, hm? Another nobody with delusions of grandeur from kicking a ball?”

Jamie’s face screwed up to one side and Sam’s heart sank.

“Eh, ain’t nothing delusional about my ball-kicking, mate. Get a bit closer and I’ll show you.”

Edwin threw his head back and laughed, loudly. It was wildly out of place in the tense atmosphere and deeply unsettled something in Sam’s gut when he abruptly cut off.

“I do not think so, Obisanya’s friend. But Curtis here is more than happy to get up close and personal.”

‘Curtis’ was well over six feet tall and at least half as wide. Like all of Edwin’s cronies, he was dressed in a fine suit, though the addition of several bulky rings on his fingers seemed unique to him.

“Edwin, please,” Sam tried again, panic and desperation making his voice thin and reedy. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do not have to do anything,” Edwin crowed, rocking back on his heels, delighting in Sam’s obvious distress. “I choose to do this, just like you chose to so rudely turn down my very generous offer. And your friend here chose to interfere. These are consequences, Sam Obisanya. A lesson for you both to learn.”

Sam pulled helplessly on the arms holding him firmly in place as Curtis cracked his knuckles and advanced on Jamie. The footballer was waiting with a smirk and raised brow.

“Am I supposed to be scared, like?”

The first blow snapped his head to the side. Sam cried out as if it had been meant for him.

Jamie just laughed, licking blood from his lip as he casually straightened up again. “C’mon, put your back into it, lad.”

The second hit slammed into his jaw, sending his skull backwards with such force that the man holding him barely avoided a broken nose.

Jamie took slightly longer to recover, head lolling forward for a moment before he looked up with bloody teeth. “You wanna really swing your hips, mate. Get a bit more momentum.”

The next punch sank into his stomach, forcing a pained grunt out of his mouth along with any air he had in his lungs. He coughed, gasping, and started to laugh again.

“My old man hits harder than that and he can barely piss standing up half the time.”

Curtis glanced back at Edwin with a raised eyebrow, clearly unsettled by his lack of impact on Jamie’s confidence. If they were waiting for him to back down, Sam realised, they would be here all night.

That was not a pleasant thought.

“What are you looking at me for? He told you to hit harder!” Edwin pointed out, annoyed but also eying Jamie’s grinning, manic face warily.

Sam couldn’t say how long it went on for; Curtis continued hitting Jamie and Jamie just kept up a running commentary, getting more and more delirious as it ran on.

There was a horror to it. A numb, dreadful feeling in Sam’s chest as he shouted and pleaded himself hoarse but the violence didn’t stop.

Until it did.

All of a sudden, Edwin flicked his hand again, a deep frown on his face that Sam had no mind to be concerned about. Both he and Jamie were released unceremoniously and he was moving to catch his friend before any other thought had time to form.

Jamie slumped into him, knees given out, still mumbling obscenities and casting aspersions about Curtis’ mother.

Edwin observed them both, making no move to stop Sam from grabbing a nearby chair.

“Your friend is clearly disturbed. You should get him psychological help.”

Sam barely acknowledged him, too preoccupied with holding Jamie up to dignify that with a witty response. The billionaire straightened his jacket with a scoff and beckoned to his entourage.

As quickly as the intrusion had sent the night to absolute hell, they were left alone again. Or, almost alone.

“Francis, I am not in the mood right now,” Sam warned the hovering man when he didn’t seem to be moving on.

“That is fair.” The evening’s events had rocked him so deeply that Sam couldn’t even summon surprise at hearing the handshake aficionado's voice for the first time. “Mr Akufo is leaving the country tomorrow. He is closing his restaurant. This… It is unlikely we will meet again.”

Francis cleared his throat, looking awkwardly out of character from his usual cool, collected demeanour. Not a violent man, Sam realised.

“Goodbye then. You can let yourself out.”

He gave Sam a firm nod, Jamie a lingering look, and did so, leaving them in peace at last.

“Jamie, are you familiar with the concept of self-preservation? At all?” Sam asked urgently, trying to judge how unfocused his eyes were. “Why did you do that?”

“I’m the only one who gets to be a prick to you,” Jamie slurred, struggling to keep upright. “‘Sides, he really didn’t hit that hard.”

Sam was justified, he thought, in finally letting himself cry.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Hand in Hand (part one)

A Riot Kings AU: When Melchior is betrayed by his men, Wes tries to help him escape. Before long, both men are captured.

@whumptober No. 6: Made to Watch

cw: torture, burning, death threat

///// next

~ ~ ~

The scream is almost loud enough to blow out the speaker, and it's all Dan can do not to cringe away from it, closing his eyes and covering his ears and pretending it's all a bad dream. Instead, he sits straight-backed in the metal chair, poised like he's attending a meeting in spite of the bruises blooming on his skin, the cuffs locked around his wrists. His face is expressionless, in spite of the man on the screen, bound and shaking.

In spite of being forced to watch the torture of the one person who cared enough to try and save him.

Dan almost flinches at the next scream, as the masked soldier presses the hot iron into Wes's bare chest. There are already a half-dozen similar burns scattered across his ribcage, standing out against pale, sweat-damp skin. Dan tries staring at the dingy wall behind his friend in an effort to avoid looking at his face, avoid seeing the desperation there. But every cry of pain only pulls his eyes back, sharpening the deep ache in his chest.

Swift knows what she's doing. She must've seen the burn scars covering Wes's back, must've known how much this would terrify him. If this is a game, she's already several moves ahead of Dan. His only weapon in this scenario, his only defense against this attack, is indifference.

And it hurts so much to play at indifference. But he knows it will be so much worse for Wes if he doesn't. There's no telling what Swift will do if she learns that this is a weak point.

When he's sure it's been long enough, when he can feel Swift's eyes on him, watching for a reaction, Dan finally speaks.

"Why are you showing me this?" he says, and it takes a considerable amount of effort to flatten his voice, but somehow he manages.

"Oh Mr. Melchior," Swift says in an oversweet voice. "Don't you care for the only man who remains loyal to you?"

"One man is insignificant," Dan replies, staring past the screen. "You've already won, Swift. Answer my question."

She doesn't, a smile playing on her lips as she pushes a button with a gloved hand, leaning forward to speak into the microphone above it. "Kill him."

The words rip through Dan like an electric shock. He can't keep his voice steady as he utters a quiet, "What?"

As the masked man on the screen reaches for his gun, Mercury grins at Dan, not even trying to feign surprise. "What's wrong? Didn't you just say he was insignificant?"

He tries to recover, tries to smear the callous expression back onto his face, but he knows it's too late. "Why waste a bullet on him?"

"Would you rather I have him beaten to death?"

The image is in his head before he can stop it; Wes lying bloody and unmoving on the cold concrete, Wes in agony right up until his last breath. "No."

"So you'll see no issue if--"

"No," Dan says again. On the screen, Wes is looking at the gunman, his executioner, with fearful eyes. His face is streaked with tears, and his mouth is moving with frantic, silent pleas. Like he's begging Dan to save him. Like there's anything Dan can do besides prolong his suffering. The gun is raised, pressed to Wes's forehead, and Dan flinches with him.

"Please don't hurt him." The words spill out, the facade fully broken. "Please. Just tell me what you want."

To his relief, she hits the button again. "Stop. Our guest has reconsidered." The man holsters the gun, and Dan wonders if it's even loaded, or if it's just another part of her game. Either way, Swift has accomplished her goal.

"There's a good man," she says, pulling at the edge of a glove. "I knew you were soft."

"What do you want?" he tries again through gritted teeth, but Swift only laughs.

"Patience, Mr. Melchior. We'll discuss terms once you've become more familiar with the stakes."

The stakes? She's already made those abundantly clear. Do her bidding, or Wes gets hurt. But what is her bidding?

When Swift speaks again, it's not Dan she's addressing, but the guards flanking the door. His own men, or at least they had been until last night.

"Put him in the cell," she orders. "We'll continue this conversation in the morning."

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 6: Made to Watch

Read on Ao3

- Warriors & Twilight

- Summary: Cia manages to capture Warriors and decides to try to force him to remain with her

CW for nonconsensual touching, nonconsensual transformation, mild body horror, torture, a character being possessive, vomiting, blood and injury

--------------------------------

Warriors glares down at his legs, trying in vain not to look up. He is all too aware of the faces grinning cockily down at him from every angle of the room. And he would really rather not gaze upon them. They give him the creeps, quite frankly.

Who knew his own visage could look so wrong, slapped on the walls of someone he abhors?

He shifts, flexing his bound hands to try and bring feeling back into them. The ropes are pulled so tightly that he is certain their pattern is indented in his skin. Magic reverberates through them, dark and thick and nauseatingly wrong. Even it feels possessive, as though its wielder has imbued it with her sentiments.

The thought sends chills running down his neck and back. It’s almost as if he can feel her hands on him already, like skulltulas crawling across his skin. Unconsciously, he curls in on himself further.

He doesn’t know how Cia returned to the land of the living. Frankly, he doesn’t think he wants to. But one thing is for certain, he wishes it had never occurred.

Neither had he thought he would set foot in this place again. Foolishly, he had thought it was all over. 

(Save, of course, for the creeping memories of his men lying in pools of their own blood; townspeople screaming in horror and pain; long nights spent agonizing over maps and plans, trying to figure out how to win the next battle, trying to ignore the constant, creeping terror that someone followed his every move, cold fingers reaching out to brush his neck.)  

Yet here he sits in the depths of Cia’s chambers, wounded and bound. His head still aches from where the moblin had slammed its club into it. A trail of drying blood tugs at the skin of his forehead.

Warriors closes his eyes for a moment, exhales long and slow through his nostrils. Fear is seeping past his defenses, turning his mind numb. He can’t let that happen. He has to stay alert, keep a hold of himself.

But that is awfully hard to do. Even more so when footsteps echo in the hall.

There are multiple pairs of them by the sound of it — three perhaps — some heavier than others. And as they grow closer Warriors finds it increasingly difficult to slow the mad rhythm of his heart.

Cia is coming, he can feel it, feel her dark magic seeping through the walls and floorboards.

His breath hitches the slightest bit and he forces himself to hold the next one, then blow it out slowly. It still shakes a bit but at least he is in less danger of hyperventilating now. 

Calm yourself, captain, he orders. He squeezes his eyes shut, allowing himself a moment to feel the serenity of cool darkness. All the while, the footsteps grow continually louder.

Remove yourself from the situation. You’re no good if you’re panicked.

Warriors clenches his hands, determined to stop their shaking. He can’t show her weakness, he refuses to. But he can’t do more than slow the manic bob of his knee, up and down, up and down, mimicking the erratic pound of his heart.

His body demands to retain one, small nervous tick and he has little choice but to cave. 

The footsteps come to an abrupt halt now, just outside of the double doors. Warriors inhales sharply, breath caught in his chest. He can hear his heart pounding like it’s the only sound in the room, filling his ears, reverberating through him like the beat of war drums. 

Then, both doors are flung wide open with a flare and fury that can only belong to one person. And sure enough, there she is, standing in the doorway with her hip jutted outward and her head tipped so the shadows play upon it, violet eyes gleaming like a demon’s, a malicious smirk curving her lips. 

She looks just as she did in the time of the war. A shiver tears up his spine.

“Well, well, look what we have here,” she croons, waltzing into the room. “It has been far too long, my little hero. But I am so delighted to see you again.”

She begins to walk toward him, every step making his heart climb higher into his throat. Then, she is mere inches away, grasping his chin and dragging it upward so he has no choice but to look at her. He fights not to recoil from her touch. 

“I brought you a little gift to celebrate the occasion,” she purrs. “I do hope you enjoy it.”

She raises a hand and motions to whoever still waits in the darkness of the threshold. Then, quick and quiet as a serpent, she slips behind the chair he is bound to. She leans forward, hands snaking around his shoulders, breath and hair tickling his ear. 

“Now, watch,” she murmurs. “I want to see your face when you see what I brought you. Or rather who.”

She has barely uttered the word when the sounds of a scuffle come from the doorway. Seconds later, a figure Warriors would know anywhere is hurled unceremoniously over it. The Hero of Twilight lands in a bloodied heap on the hard floor.

Warriors can’t help the way his breath hitches in his throat. 

“Rancher?” 

A moblin lumbers into the light. Grasping Twilight’s shoulder, it wrenches him upward so he kneels before Warriors. Slowly, the hero raises his head.

A gash runs jaggedly across his face, cresting the bridge of his nose. Its gory crimson stands out against the pallor of his skin. His hair hangs limply, weighed down by blood and sweat. His pelt, outer tunic, and armor are gone, his undertunic and pants bloodied and torn, allowing glimpses of the angry welts and bruises and cuts lying beneath. 

His eyes are abnormally bright when they meet the captain’s, but that all too familiar fire still burns within it. And when he catches sight of Cia, hovering behind Warriors, her hands still on him, his expression turns positively murderous. 

“Get away from him,” he growls, earning himself a swift kick in the ribs. He doubles over, gasping. A fresh streak of worry zips through Warriors. 

But the sorceress has no problem ignoring what is happening before her. She begins to laugh and the sharp sound echoes in Warriors’ ears. 

“Wonderful! Just the reaction I was expecting!” She steps back, clapping together her hands. “Now, we can begin.”

“Begin what?” Warriors spits, anger in his tone. He grasps onto it, if only to keep his fear at bay. “It seems you’ve done more than enough already.”

She chuckles again, as though she is privy to some wonderful joke that neither hero is. 

“Oh, captain, I certainly have missed you. Death was so unkind to keep me from you. Thankfully, there are those who understand the need to rise from the grave.” Cia grins. “And now that I’m back, I would really rather not have to lose you again.”

She runs her hand along the side of his jaw and neck, the movement almost gentle. Warriors is certain he is going to be ill.

“So you are going to stay here with me…” Her face is suddenly inches from his. Warriors cringes back, trying to turn his face away. But long fingers grasp his jaw and wrench it back into place.

“Forever.”

Warriors nearly chokes on the breath he had been holding. He had known it was coming, there was no way he couldn’t, but that doesn’t negate the terrible feeling that one word provokes. He has felt suffocated by this place since he awoke here. Now, he is certain that it’s crushing him. 

“He’s not gonna stay with you,” Twilight says, his tone firm despite the way he trembles. There is something dangerous in it too, like the bite of a wild animal. “He’s not your pet.”

Cia turns to him at that. A high-pitched, maniacal giggle bubbles out of her. 

“It is absolutely hilarious that you of all people would phrase it in such a way. Tell me, does your friend know?”

She closes the distance between herself and the rancher. Then, reaching out she grasps his chin, angling his face upward. With the other hand she traces the dark markings around his eyes and on his forehead. Twilight tries to pull away but she holds him fast.

“This one is dripping with dark magic,” she says, addressing Warriors now with an almost giddy tone. “He’s coated in it! Just look at these markings! And this” – She releases Twilight’s face and lifts the crystal he wears instead, turning it in her fingers — “This is the source of it all. He has used its power so many times now that it might as well be a part of him. I wonder, if all that magic were gone…or perhaps changed, would he break?”

Twilight’s expression doesn’t change from its steadfast mask of anger. But Warriors has known him for too long now to miss the flash of fear.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, sharply. “It’s me you want, not him. Release him. Now.”

Cia giggles again. For a moment, she regards the crystal. Then, dropping it, she turns back to Warriors. 

“I’ll let him go eventually. But first we’re going to have a bit of fun. You see, the wonderful thing about dark magic is that it has no qualms. It can be warped and twisted however you wish. It won’t put up a fight. It might even decide to help you, if you’re lucky.”

Warriors’ eyes narrow. Panic thrashes within him like a bird caught in a cage. He has to find a way out of here, he has to. 

“So.” Cia stalks toward him, grinning as though she is exceedingly pleased with herself. “Either you swear to remain by my side for eternity, or your friend comes to know what it feels like when I bend dark magic to my will.” Her smile turns almost sweet. But there is blatant danger behind it, a temper that is too easily kindled. “It’s your choice, my little hero.”

Twilight skewers him with a look so cold it could send most grown men running. Under better circumstances, Warriors would tease him about how well he has managed to capture the old man’s glare of disappointment.

“Don’t do what she wants, captain. I’ll be fine.”

Warriors swallows, feeling vaguely lightheaded. He knows the answer he should give. But Cia’s presence is everywhere, smothering him so he can’t breathe or feel or think. His own face grins down at him from every wall, malicious and oppressive. And some desperate, selfish part of him wants to scream that he can never live this way. 

With an effort, he forces himself to open his mouth. The words he wants stick in his throat, though, and nothing comes out. 

“The clock is ticking,” Cia hisses, fire beginning to burn behind her eyes. “Your hesitation perturbs me, little hero. We are meant to be together, can you not see that? We are far bigger than the powers that try to keep us apart. Come, be with me the way it should be.”

Her words wrap around him like treacherous vines. Warriors can’t breathe past their grip. 

“He was never meant to be with you, witch,” Twilight growls. “And if you think your little plan to manipulate him is gonna work, you’re gonna be sorely disappointed.”

She whirls on him, pent up fury radiating off of her in waves.

“Time’s up!”

Warriors jolts forward with a strangled shout. “No, wait!”

But it’s already too late. 

A flick of the sorceress’ fingers and Twilight goes rigid. His eyes blow wide with terror and agony. A scream breaks free, strangled and hoarse and terrible. Black flecks begin to dance in the air. They surround him, coalescing into something darker and more solid. Then, quick as a spear in flight, they zip into his chest. 

Abruptly, Twilight’s screams cut off. His eyes roll back in his head and he slumps in the moblin’s grip. For a long moment, the room is horribly quiet. 

Warriors doesn’t dare take a breath. His ears still ring from Twilight’s cries, head still pounds from woundedness and fear. Distantly, he realizes that he should look around the room for some method of escape while Cia is distracted. But he can’t tear his eyes from Twilight's limp form. 

Let him be okay. Dear goddesses let him be okay.

A violent screech suddenly fills the space, eerie and petrifying. It ricochets around Warriors’ skull and he yearns to close his eyes in an attempt to block out the noise. But it continues and he remains frozen, helpless to do anything more than watch as Twilight morphs. 

His body enlarges and elongates, pale skin turning the color of fresh tar, lines of silvery-gray tracing strange patterns along it. Lines of crimson weave deadly cracks along his chest. His hair turns long and wiry, spreading like mane from a face that no longer even remotely resembles something human. Oddly, Warriors can’t help thinking it looks more akin to a shield now, lacking in features as it is. It is adorned with lines and circles, shapes carved into it as though by a potter into clay.

The beast (or…Twilight he guesses, though there is nothing there to remind him that this thing was ever his brother) gives a screech again, so loud Warriors is certain his ear drums are going to burst. And then, he whirls around and hurls the moblin at the wall. The monster hits it with a deafening crack that makes the room tremble and creates a sizable, moblin-shaped dent. It disappears seconds later.

Cia begins to cackle as Twilight faces her, limbs trembling (though with anger or pain, Warriors isn’t certain). He regards her for a mere moment, then with an enraged howl, lunges. 

“Now, now,” she croons, stepping effortlessly out of the way, “be a good beast.”

She holds up the crystal (Warriors hadn’t even seen her snag it) and suddenly Twilight is back, darkness folding around him as he crumples. He just manages to catch himself on his hands and knees, dazed eyes flitting to Warriors. There’s something in them, something urgent trying to break through the haze. And for a split second, Warriors tries desperately to decipher it. But then, the chance is gone. The rancher doubles over and vomits.

“Painful, isn’t it?” Cia says. She delivers a swift kick to the rancher’s chin and he falls. “I told you dark magic is not to be trifled with. And you, oh you, have certainly trifled with it an awful lot. But that is hardly my priority in all of this, only an observation that has proven oh so useful. No.” She turns to Warriors, a smirk on her lips. “My priority is you.”

He’s shaking, Warriors realizes dimly, with anger, with fear, with the guilt that tears up his insides. But he grits his teeth and meets her eye.

“Let him go.” He drags out the words, slowly, each one measured so that his voice doesn’t tremble. It’s the same method he used to address his troops before battle. “And I’ll stay with you. I swear.”

Her eyes light up and a little, giddy gasp escapes her. Warriors’ stomach churns, threatening revolt. He swallows down the bile that rises in his throat.

“Say it again,” she murmurs, prowling up to him, hands already outstretched to brush over his cheeks. “Tell me we were meant to be together. Tell me you’ll stay for all eternity.”

Magic revels at her fingertips, hot and oppressive on his face. Terror wedges itself in his throat and he closes his eyes. The taste of blood is sharp and nauseating.

“Keep them open,” she orders, voice taking on a harsh edge now. Fingernails dig into his face.

With an effort, he obeys. 

“Come now.” Lips hover inches from his and there’s no room to flinch away, nowhere to run. It’s just him and her, a nightmare made manifest in reality, an eternity of misery.

He swallows again, hard, to push down the rising urge to fight back.

“No,” Twilight croaks. “Captain…don’t! Don’t let this monster control you!”

Her eyes turn to blazing fire at that.

“Monster?” In an instant she is straightening, whirling to face the rancher, and Warriors can breathe again. “You think I’m a monster for wanting what I deserve?! You little — I’ll show you what a monster is!”

There’s a terrible flash of light and dark again. The room fills with the sound of agonized screams, turning quickly to the deafening, alien cries of before. And then Twilight is gone, and the beast stands in his place.

But that, it seems, is exactly what he had wanted. 

The rancher is shaking, blood dripping from wounds Warriors can’t see. But he doesn’t allow himself even a moment to catch his breath. With an animalistic shriek, he throws himself at Cia. Close as they are now, she doesn’t have time to evade. He comes down on top of her and she hits the ground, crying out in shock and anger. 

Desperately, furiously, she struggles, screaming obscenities and cut-off incantations. Twilight, however, doesn’t give her a chance to get the upper hand. He digs his talons into her with an abandon that Warriors can’t help finding a little terrifying. 

But he isn’t about to complain. Because the moment she falls, he feels the spell strengthening his bonds stutter and die. The ropes are useless without it, loosened as they are by his constant fight against them. They fall limply to the floor.

He’s on his feet without a second thought, mind locked in the numb determination of an adrenaline rush. Twilight’s crystal has fallen a short ways away and he snatches it up by its cord. 

“Rancher!” he calls, holding it up. 

Twilight spares him a quick, eyeless glance, then reels back and swipes at Cia so fiercely that she goes flying. She collides with the opposite wall, then collapses to the ground, blood dribbling from her mouth.

“You,” she growls, between agonized breaths, “you pathetic dog! I’ll get my revenge for this! Link will be mine!”

And then, in a cloud of violet and black, she is gone. 

He can still feel her presence in the room, still feel her on him, readying the spell that would enslave him to his own promise forever. But Warriors pushes all that aside and turns to Twilight.

“Here.” He holds out the crystal. “This will turn you back, right?”

Twilight nods. Carefully, he reaches out a dark, taloned hand and scoops the crystal into it. The shadows fold around him, there’s a faint “swoosh”, and the rancher is once again standing before him. 

He wavers, looking dangerously close to collapsing, but Warriors puts his arms around him before he can. His own legs aren’t feeling too steady, though, so he ends up lowering them both onto the ground. Twilight slumps heavily against his shoulder. His breathing is sharp, short, and shuddering, his face ashen and pale. But he drags his gaze up to meet Warriors’ anyway.

“You ‘k?”

Warriors laughs, bitterly. “I should be asking you that, rancher. What on earth did she do to you?”

Twilight frowns at the crystal still cupped in his palm. “Somethin’ she…she shouldn’t have been able to.”

“I’m sorry.” It comes out far quieter and more broken than he had intended, but at this point he hardly cares. 

“Shush. Ain’t you-your fault.” The rancher shifts, wincing slightly as he does so. “And don’t you try…arguing that-that it is.”

Warriors smiles, dryly. He had been thinking up an argument – more than one – while they spoke.

“You’re too much like the old man, you know that?” he says, with a sigh.

Twilight’s lips upturn in a grin, but he doesn’t answer. His eyes have slipped closed now. Warriors can tell unconsciousness isn’t far off. 

Shoving his tumultuous thoughts aside, he gives the rancher a gentle nudge. 

“Don’t fall asleep yet. We still have to get out of this place.”

And the sooner, the better.

“Can you stand?”

Slowly, Twilight nods. He drags his eyes open again, blinking up at the captain.

“Don worry, I’ll hang on. You’re skinny little self could…couldn’t lug me out of here.”

Warriors chuckles, despite himself. “Don’t sell me short, rancher. Believe me, I’ve carried heavier than you.”

Twilight sends him a look that says he doubts that. But he allows Warriors to help him to his feet. And as they start toward the door, he leans against the captain, not even bothering to protest his support.  

Despite the complaints of his own body, Warriors is glad of it. The very least he can do is get his brother away from this place where violet eyes gleam and long-fingered hands reach out to imprison. These are his demons to face, not Twilight’s. The rancher has endured more than enough on his behalf. And if Cia shows up again – and Warriors is not foolish enough to assume that she won’t – he will do whatever is necessary to ensure she never harms his brothers again.

[l4ndojpg]

Whumptober 2023, Day 6: Recording/Made to watch/"It should have been me."

fandom: criminal minds | characters: derek morgan, emily prentiss, aaron hotchner, jason gideon, penelope garcia, jennifer jaraeu | ship: none | trigger warnings: none | content: 2x15 revelations, the tobias hankel case, kidnapped spencer reid, team as a family | word count: 507.

Morgan stares at the screen, rage boiling hot and furious in his stomach at the sight of the person he considers his little brother being treated like he’s evil. Like he’s nothing more than a piece of meat. Tortured, drugged, dying. There’s a long list of people Morgan despises in this world. There’s a long list of people he would like nothing more than to kill. Right now, Tobias Hankel trumps every single one of them. He balls his hands into tight fists, digging his nails into his palms to stop himself from punching the screen. 

I’ll get him for you kid, he repeats to himself over and over. I’ll kill him. 

Emily stares at the screen in horror. She hasn’t known Spencer for long, but she’s always been good at making friends fast. Moving around will do that to you. She knows she’s not quite part of this strange family yet - on the outskirts, perhaps - but seeing Spencer in such pain makes her ache. He doesn’t deserve this. She stays glued to the screen, searching every inch of it for something, anything, that could help them figure out where he is and how to save him. 

I’m hunting, Reid, she repeats to herself over and over. I’m searching for you.

Gideon stares at the screen, numb with shock. This is his fault. He has prepared this kid - that’s all he is, a kid - for this job for the last several years, but he could never have prepared Spencer for this. This is all his fault. There’s only one thing he can do now: get Reid the hell out of there. He turns away from the screen, shaking himself out of his stupor. 

I’m coming for you, Spencer, he repeats to himself over and over. I’ll get you out of there. 

Penelope stares at the screen, tears streaming down her face. Her sweet friend - her first friend in the FBI - her first friend since her parents' deaths - trapped. Tortured. Broken and bruised. She feels utterly helpless, despite the fact she hasn’t stopped working since Spencer was taken. All she wants is to gather him in her arms and never let him go. 

I’m right here with you, boy genius, she repeats to herself over and over. It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. 

Hotch stares at the screen, unable to breathe deep enough to gather enough air in his lungs. It wasn’t until this moment he realized just how much his youngest agent means to him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself if Reid doesn’t make it out of this alive. But despite Spencer’s difficulties in the field, despite his awkwardness and vulnerability, Hotch reminds himself: Reid is strong. Much stronger than anyone ever gives him credit for. 

I’m rooting for you, Reid, he repeats to himself over and over again. You’re going to get through this. 

JJ can’t look at the screen. 

I’m so sorry, Spence, she repeats to herself, over and over. It could just as easily have been me. 

It should have been me. 

[kybercrystals94]

To Fight Another Day

By KyberCrystals94

Read on Ao3 here!

Whumptober 2023|Day 6|Prompt 6: Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Grief / Mourning

Rating: T

Words: 592

Summary: “Surviving can hurt like hell, but it is a privilege to have fought alongside the heroes that have marched on ahead of us.”

When they lost Crosshair, it was different. Hard. Impossible. Heartbreaking.

But different.

In the beginning, they thought he had made a choice. Turned against them. Betrayed them. Then they found out about the inhibitor chips, and Crosshair went from traitor to victim, a prisoner to a power outside his control. They would get him back. Someday. Somehow.

And even if they didn’t, at least he was alive. Breathing. Living.

Then they lost Tech, and it was different. Because he was lost with no hope of being found. And they watched him fall, watched him die.

All through the war, clones either cheated Death or died. The Bad Batch made a habit of not only cheating Death, but flirting with it, taunting it, inviting it to get just close enough to feel the icy coolness of its breath down their necks...and then they’d laugh in its dark, formless face and walk away. Perhaps scathed, but alive.

This time, Tech didn’t walk away. He grabbed Death’s hand, held it back, pleaded with it to leave his brothers and sister be, to take him instead.

Death accepted the offer.

Hunter sits at the nav computer, eyes drifting over information without absorption. He doesn’t notice Wrecker at his shoulder, hesitating to interrupt him from whatever spiral of thoughts he’s allowed himself to fall into.

“It should have been me that fell, not Tech,” Wrecker says. His voice is so quiet, he doesn’t even sound like himself.

Hunter’s eyes snap up to meet his brother’s, horrified. “Don’t say that,” Hunter growls, voice hoarse with checked emotions. “Don’t ever say that again. Don’t even think like that.”

“Why not?” Wrecker asks, unaffected by Hunter's reaction, “If it had been me, I might have survived, right? If anyone could have survived that fall...that’s what I was made for. To take the hits no one else can.” Wrecker sniffs and looks away, but not before Hunter sees the tears forming.

“Maybe,” Hunter says, “Maybe you would have survived that fall, but that doesn’t change that Tech sacrificed himself to save you. To save all of us. He made a choice.”

“And we have to live with it.” Echo’s voice is gentle but firm.

Hunter and Wrecker turn to where Echo has suddenly materialized. The cyborg looks worn, expression haggard, probably mirroring that of his younger brothers.

“How?” Wrecker asks.

Echo sighs. “You live to fight another day. To honor them. To honor their sacrifices.”

Hunter swallows, and he can hear Wrecker’s breath shuddering.

“Domino Squad,” Echo continues, “Our first assignment was an outpost on Rishi Moon. Of the five, only two of us made it off that moon alive. Fives and I.” Echo smiles ruefully. “We honored the sacrifices of our brothers in our own ways, but we both lived to fight another day because of them. And when he thought I had sacrificed my life to save the team at the Citadel, Fives continued to fight in my honor too. And now I fight in his, and Tech’s, and all the brothers I’ve lost before. Surviving can hurt like hell, but it is a privilege to have fought alongside the heroes that have marched on ahead of us.”

Hunter nods, but he doesn’t try to speak, and words strangled in his constricting throat.

Death might have claimed one of his brothers, but Death will have to go through him to get to anyone else in his family. And Hunter is ready to face it, to stand his ground. To follow Tech's example.

If that’s what it takes.

END

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[cindfourth]

Whumptober Day 6

When she'd stood across from him at age 9, holding his clammy hand in hers as she pledged herself to him, Jeannemary Chatur fully intended to die for her necromancer one day. It wasn't that she planned on seeking death, of course–her foremost duty was to protect him, and she couldn't continue doing that if she was dead. But she knew, as citizens of the Fourth so vividly did, that death would reach her eventually. And there was no greater death she could imagine than sacrificing herself in the service of her necromancer, her own bloom of thanergy one last gift.

She had never imagined a world in which he would die first. That she had been made to watch was even worse.

She was there, she was right there, and she should've done something. She should've been faster, or smarter, or had biceps the size of Gideon the Ninth's. Barring that, she should have been allowed to take it down, to take vengeance upon the thing that had killed Isaac, or at the very least to die trying. But she was picked up, no matter how hard she kicked and thrashed and bit, and dragged away from her necromancer’s body and the thing that killed him like she was barely anything at all; an angry kitten with no claws.

“I want to die,” she said, and she meant it. 

“Tough luck,” said Gideon the Ninth.

She cried herself into a fitful sleep, and when she was woken by tendrils of bone piercing her flesh, she had one brief moment of life left to hear Isaac’s words echo in her head: “It’s stupid to get killed if it doesn’t help.”

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 6 - made to watch

Warnings: violence/physical abuse

Word Count: 1.8k (image not mine)

Summary: Clint and Barney get separated

A/N: <3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

1999

IOWA

“You can make this easier on yourself,” the detective tells him.

“They’ve sold you down the river, son, left you for dead.”

He leaves the pile of papers in front of Clint, the pictures making him look up and away.

“I don’t think it was you that did that,” he says kindly, “but I can’t help you if you don’t tell us anything.”

Clint looks away.

“You think about it, and I’ll leave these pictures here, okay?”

The detective leaves.

The dead man in the picture is familiar to Clint, having bashed his face in three nights before.

He pushes it away and closes his eyes, trying to remember.

After he punched him, he was sure he was still alive.

He wasn’t the only one after him, the criminal underworld also searching for Degraves. He knows he didn’t… stab him.

But he knows who would have.

The decision becomes whether he tells them or not.

The cold metal of the handcuffs does not feel pleasant against his skin, and he just wants to get back to the circus, find Barney and tell him about Degraves’ death.

He needs to make sure he’s safe.

He supposes he could give them some information, and there’s no harm in telling a portion.

Especially if it gets him out.

There’s no harm in that, right?

“I didn’t kill him,” he says again to the camera, “but I might know who did.”

It’s not immediate, but eventually the door opens.

The detective stalks back in and stares at him.

“Tell me what you know,” he says.

Clint sits back.

“The carnival, we sell magic tricks,” he starts.

“Magic.”

The man is disbelieving.

Clint’s hands are suddenly free of the handcuffs and he raises them up.

“Magic,” he laughs.

The detective startles, and slams Clint’s hands back into the cuffs.

“How did you do that?”

Clint laughs again.

“Magic.”

Now safely back, the detective growls for Clint to continue.

“It’s mostly low level things, but sometimes we get asked to carry somethings.”

Nervously, wondering just how much to expose, Clint sighs.

“Sometimes, they’re not so forthcoming in what they they have us carry.”

Sitting heavily, the detective motions for Clint to continue.

“Degraves hurt my brother,” he discloses, looking down. “Barney just wanted to know what was in the packages, he wasn’t expecting videos of girls.”

The detective asks Clint to stop.

He leaves the room and comes back with an older man. His demeanor seems stranger, older even though likely they’re the same age.

Clint frowns.

“Jus’ let me go, man. I don’t really know anything.”

Sitting down on the spare chair, the man in a trench-coat crosses his legs.

“He hurt my brother, so I punched him a couple of times, but I didn’t kill him. I think that it was people that he had the videos for. Cause Barney destroyed it, you see?”

Clint omits the rest.

The money Barney had hidden, the thousands of dollars that he’d found. He hopes Barney is at their rendezvous, predetermined locations for safety.

If he’s not, maybe he’s at the circus still.

Clint can feel the slow creep of change coming and it feels harrowing to think of.

All those foster homes.

Then came back Gus, with his safety and the circus.

The Swordsman and all his training.

And now this.

“They say you can’t miss,” the man in the corner comments.

Clint doesn’t like his words, the implication that comes with it.

That he knows him, that he knows of him.

It doesn’t feel right.

“I didn’t shoot him,” he repeats.

“I didn’t say you did,” the man retorts, “but I think you have a certain set of skills.”

Clint shrugs.

“I’m good with a bow and arrow,” he replies.

“And a gun?” the man asks.

“I don’t know? I didn’t kill him, okay? Whatever you’re implying, I didn’t kill him.”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m just wondering what you can do.”

“I just want to go,” Clint mutters.

The man stands.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Clint and the Detective say in unison.

“I don’t think you killed him,” he starts, then turns to the detective.

“And you know he didn’t, so let him go. Follow the big money, and I’m sure you’ll get the real killer.”

His words are cryptic and Clint doesn’t understand.

“I have a job for you, Clint Barton, should you want one.”

He smirks.

“Do the handcuff trick again,” he requests, and out of spite for the detective he does.

The man’s laugh is a gaffaw. Loud and exuberant.

He hands Clint a business card, with the word SHIELD emblazoned on it.

“You’d need some training, but I think you’re someone we might need.”

Clint makes the card disappear; rolling his eyes.

The man laughs again.

“Magic, never have to look far to find it huh?”

He leaves with an exit, and Clint looks expectantly at the door.

“Can I go?” He asks the detective, and the man shrugs.

“Unless you have anything else to say?”

Clint shrugs back.

“Then you can go, but know we will be watching you.”

.

Barney greets him at the base of the steps.

“We need to leave,” he tells Clint, his words rapid and low.

He’s sweating and Clint doesn’t understand.

“Where?” Clint asks, hurrying alongside him.

He knows they need to, he feels the hair on the back of his neck stand, the anticipation that something will happen imminent.

“Do you have your stuff in a go-bag?”

Clint shakes his head.

“No?”

Barney sighs heavily.

“What do you need?”

Clint tries to keep up, Barney’s quick walk back to the campsite too fast.

“Why? What did you do?”

Barney glances back, eyes darting and fear passes over his face.

“Barney, what did you do?”

They reach their caravan and Barney tells him to pack, Clint does so haphazardly, his heart sinking as he realises what packing means.

“Barney, what did you do?”

He glances back.

“Did you kill Degraves?”

Barney shakes his head.

“No.”

He glances around, fear in his movements.

“They know, yeah? They know we took the money, and I…” he pauses.

“Swordsman said to give it back, I said I didn’t have it, we got into a fight, and he said I had to leave.”

Clint turns around.

Swordsman isn’t good but he’s kept them both alive.

“Why didn’t you just give him the money? What’s the big deal?”

Barney motions for him to keep going.

“You don’t understand, little brother, we need the money, better in our pockets than theirs. It’s blood money, they are doing some bad things here. I didn’t understand before, but I do now,” he mutters.

Clint doesn’t.

Swordsman fed them, trained them, given them jobs, then when he’d taught Clint how to shoot they became a part of the circus.

A part of something.

Blood money didn’t matter.

All circus money was built on lies and trickery.

Barney knew that.

This was all they had.

Clint’s heart drops.

He doesn’t want to go.

This is the only home that wanted him.

“You’re jealous,” he accuses.

Barney hadn’t really fit in, not really, maybe that was it.

Clint had seen how his stocky frame had not lent itself acrobatics or anything athletic. Barney had been able to do all the behind the scenes, sets and hard labour.

“What?”

“You’re jealous.”

Angry tears prick at Clint’s face as Barney looks at him dangerously.

“Pack up,” Barney challenges, angrily, “or stay here. I need to go.”

The door flies open and Swordsman stands at the hilt.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he bellows at Clint.

Staring at Barney, Swordsman stands up straighter, there’s two more of the crew behind him and pushes Barney out of the small caravan door.

“Give us the money and you can stay,” he growls softy.

“Otherwise, you’re out.”

He turns to Clint, “do you know anything about it?”

Barney stops fighting.

He looks at Clint and sees his hesitation.

It seems in that moment that he understands Clint’s hesitance, his tears and all his fears at once.

That this is the only place Clint fits, that they’ve stayed the longest, and been happy.

Despite everything, Barney understands.

But he can’t stay.

He has enough money to start again.

Clint is old enough to take care of himself.

He nods.

He puts three fingers up for the sign of love high enough for Clint to see, clenches it into a fist, then throws the first punch.

Swordsman rolls with it and throws the next one.

Clint scrambles only to be held back by two crewmen.

“No!” he shouts.

The fight is one sided, Swordsman’s strength and agility far outweighing Barney’s solidity. He dances around him, picking him off.

“No!” Clint yells again.

“Let me go! Stop!” he shouts.

He struggles hard against the two as Swordsman floors Barney with a right hook and an uppercut.

“Barney!”

Clint’s sweating, almost in tears as Barney is beaten, kicked to the ground.

“Leave,” Swordsman growls at Barney. “Leave now, before we start on your brother.”

Barney stands, shaky legs holding him as his swollen face looks to where Clint is restrained.

“What did you do?” Clint sobs, “why would you do it? Just give them the money.”

Clint knows that he can’t stay here, not now, not after this.

The grief at having to move on makes tears fall harder.

“What did you do?” he sobs at Barney’s retreating form, as he stumbles away, Swordsman pulling his gun and shooting into the air.

They let him go and he falls to the ground, spent from fighting and pushing back.

“Why?” he asks Swordsman.

The man turns to him.

“Nobody steals from us.”

He holds his sword out, the gun sitting on top of it.

“You have a choice now, Barton. Stay or go. If you stay, you’re part of it, protected by us. If you go, you have a day to get your affairs in order. But this will be as far as we go.”

The threat of the sword and the visceral memory of his brother being beaten in front of him, decides for him.

He needs to find Barney.

Clint knows the only thing he needs are his bow and arrow, and his watch. The possessions he owns minimal.

Scrambling away, he runs after his brother in the direction he went, losing him in the darkness.

Hours it takes him to return back to the circus to pack his bag.

He wants to call Gus. Tell him what’s happened but he has no way of contacting him.

Clint sucks down the grief.

His brother gone, his makeshift family gone, and any hope he had, all reduced to rubble.

Backpack full, he takes one last look at the circus and walks away.

.