#Working to exhaustion

[jasmines-library]

Tired Eyes

WHUMPTOBER DAY 26: Prompt: “working to exhaustion”

Fandom: Batfam/DC

Summary: It’s been a long day, and you’re too caught up with work to take care of yourself, so it’s up to your brothers to do it for you.

Warnings: Exhaustion, overworking, none really it’s more fluffy than anything.

Word count: 1.2K

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You weren’t tired. No. You just needed to rest your eyes a little, that was all.

The screen of the computer had begun to hurt your eyes, making your temples to throb so, with your elbows planted firmly on the table, you began to massage them to ease the pain, but here you found your eyes dropping closed and your head falling towards table. The dim lighting of the cave didn’t help much either.

As soon as your head hit your clammy palm, you jolted awake, sitting up abruptly and straightening your back against the chair, snapping back to the mountain of work that you needed to get done.

Your fingers moved sluggishly against the keyboard as you typed up the reports. It had been a busy week and so you were left with a large pile of unfinished essays to type and not a lot of time to do them. It was late; the rest of the boys had returned to their beds, deciding to write their reports the following day, but you were already behind which meant that despite the ungodly hour you were still plastered to the chair.

Reaching blindly for your coffee with one hand you wrapped your hands around the ceramic and brought it to your lips. The drink was lukewarm and bitter as it ran over your tongue, but you were desperate for the buzz that the caffeine gave you.

You hadn’t realised that the sun had crept up of you until Dick strolled into the room, barefoot and in his pyjamas. He did a double take when he saw you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Y/n?” He asked, frowning at you. At the sound of his voice you glanced over at him briefly, noting his messy hair. He observed the fact that you were still wearing the same clothes as you were when he went to bed last night. “Did you even go to sleep?”

You shook your head, continuing to press your fingers into the little plastic squares not even nothing to look his direction as you continued to work. “Nope.”

He narrowed his eyes. “How long have you been awake?”

“Dunno.” You shrugged. “What time is it?”

“6”

“ ‘Bout…26- 27 hours?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/n. You need sleep.”

“I will. I just need to get this done first. You can get me another coffee though?”

“Y/n-“

“Sorry Dick, can’t hear you over my cleverness.”

He rolled his eyes, but snatched the cup from your hand anyway and went to prepare breakfast.

It seemed like forever before you finally entered the last word on your essay slumped back against the chair. You were feeling exhausted and your body had began to grow stiff from sitting in the same place for so long, so after submitting it you shuffled into the kitchen where your brothers were sat lounging on chairs.

“Woah, Y/n.” Damian said through a mouthful of bacon that he had piled onto his plate “You look like hell.”

“Thanks Dames.” You scoffed. “Just what a woman wants to hear.

“I didn’t mean it like that-“

“She hasn’t slept.” Dick interjected.

Tim narrowed eyes at you over the top of his book. “What? Why?”

“I had too much to do, Jaybird.”

“Well then go to bed now.”

“Can’t.” You grabbed a slice of toast and slid it onto a plate. “Still got too much to do. Besides, I’m not tired.”

“Sure.” He rolled his eyes and went back to his book.

The rest of the day dragged on. You had busied yourself with small tasks that needed to be done during the day and then once all of those were done, you had spent some time in the training room to work on your technique, but your movements were slow and well below par so eventually you gave up, slipped off of the blue mat and dragged yourself towards the showers.

You twisted the dial all the way to the left, waiting for it to settle to an even temperature as you stepped out of your clothes. When you climbed into the shower, the cold water stung your skin as it ran down your back but it kept you wide awake and on your feet so with shaky hands you grabbed the shampoo bottles and began to massage it into your scalp. Although you were in and out quickly, by the time you were done and stepped out of the shower your body was wracked with shivers. Wrapping a thick white towel around you, you dried yourself off before changing into something comfier and creeping back down the stairs now feeling slightly more awake.

You made your way into the library, where shelves filled to the brim with books lined the walls. You ran your fingers against the shelves and noted that when you pulled your hand away you had collecting a thin sheen of dust.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Tim was rounding the corner to return his book that had been absentmindedly flicking through the all day but found that it didn’t give him the thrill he was looking for, so he had wandered back to the library to select another on me when he heard you shuffling around.

“But it needs to be done-“

“Alfred will do it.” Tim told you, placing a large hand on your shoulders and steering you away from the shelves after you had selected a book. A blue hardback covered dainty little flowers embroidered along the spine.

“But he already has so much to do.” You protested.

“It’s his job, y/n/n. And you need to get some sleep.”

You sighed. “I’m not tired, Tim. Seriously lay off it.”

He raised his hands in surrender and wheeled away in a huff. You settled down on the plush sofa, bringing your knees to your chest to read under the gentle light and revel in the silence for just a few moments. Tim settled opposite you, sprawling out across the other couch.

For the next few hours the only sound that filled the room was the gentle flick of turning pages. That was until the other three came bundling in, but you didn’t notice. You had drifted off into a mindless sleep.

You were woken to a a gentle nudge on your shoulder and you sat up abruptly.

“Hmm? What?”

“You fell asleep.” Jason told you.

“No I didn’t…” you mumbled.

Jason pursed his lips. “I think you did.”

You blinked at him.

“Seriously, y/n just go to bed.” Damian told you.

You contemplated for a moment before hauling yourself up onto your feet. You stumbled across the room when a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over you and you were forced to grip onto the counter to keep yourself upright. When you moved to take another step, dragging your feet along the carpet you stumbled again.

“Alright. That’s it.” Dick stood up and moved across the room with one big stride, picking you up effortlessly and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Hey! Put me down.”

Someone snickered behind you.

“No can do little bat. You’re going to bed.”

He hauled you off to your room ignoring your remarks and pointless excuses. When he reached your door, he threw you over his shoulder and onto the bed. You tried to crawl away, but he just grabbed your ankle and pushed you back onto your pillows.

“Sleep.” He told you firmly, using his voice that only came out when he was ordering the rest of you around during a patrol. You pouted, glaring at him through hooded eyes, but he just gave you a little smirk, drew the curtains and moved to the door ignoring your antics.

“Goodnight, y/n. Sleep well.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 25 ⛤ DAY 27 ->

Taglist:

@deans-spinster-witch

@senjoritanana

@amaryllis23

[whumpypepsigal]

Whumptober 2023 | No. 26

Working To Exhaustion

The Flash s04e15: “I've been at this for a while.”

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

[aceofwhump]

Whumptober 2023

Day 26: Working to Exhaustion

9-1-1 3x03

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

[gierosajie-art]

Whumptober 2023 Prompt List | No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.” | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

"We're banning you from paperwork for the rest of the week."

Oh how the turntables have turntabled

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2023

No. 26 Working to exhaustion

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (platonic/early relationship)

Setting: Prison era

Warnings: Symptoms of sleep deprivation

“This has been the worst day!” You drove your knife into yet another softened skull, instinctively angling your head to keep the dark blood and rotten brain matter from splashing across your face. The walkers were overwhelming the prison fences again. It was taking more and more manpower to get it under control each time. 

Daryl scoffed from your left but said nothing, simply stabbing any corpse within reach. Carol was on your right, nodding with a quick ��sure is” in between pushing back against the failing steel and thrusting her own knife forward to keep blood-and-death-stained teeth away from her hands. 

It took hours to get the situation under control, nearly dusk before the fence workers hauled themselves inside with collective groans and shuffling feet. Dinner had come and gone but everyone was too tired for food at this point anyway. 

“Who’s on watch tonight?” Rick queried while rotating his sore shoulder. Daryl didn’t respond verbally, just raised a loose fist in the air while trudging up the stairs to his perch. You came up beside the former sheriff, both of you watching the archer disappear at the top. “You’ll be with him?”

“You know it.” You answered with a nod. Rick patted your shoulder and you parted ways. When you reached the top of the steps, you had hoped to find Daryl resting on the mattress. No such luck. Well, he was on the mattress but sitting propped against the wall, checking over his crossbow. He was undoubtedly getting ready to head up to the tower early. 

Daryl hadn’t slept in at least three days. You weren’t sure what was keeping him awake, but you’d hear him at night, moving around the prison like a restless spirit. Only you knew what to listen for when it came to the archer. 

The way he tapped the railing rhythmically on his way to the upper level and back down again. His blunt nails made little noise but it was enough. 

His steps were damn near silent save for the small scuff of his boot when he seemed to favor his left leg in the slightest way. Maybe an old injury. Maybe just the way he walked. You never asked and figured if he wanted you to know, he’d tell you. 

You knew he had been pacing the prison over and over, keeping watch without anyone knowing. He always seemed to be in his perch when people began to shuffle out of their cells in the morning, none the wiser. 

Except you. 

He looked almost ready to keel over, at least to your eyes. Rick and Carol were worried too. The archer had stumbled at the fence today. Just…off balance, giving a walker the chance to grab his wrist. You had sliced through the decomposing flesh so quickly and closely that you were afraid you had actually cut him. But if it had scratched him…

“Hey, you.” You plopped down on his mattress hard enough to jostle him on the other side. You earned an irritated scoff but he kept to what he was doing. He really did look poorly. The circles around his eyes were so pronounced, how could anyone not notice them? Maybe they did and just didn’t find him approachable or feared what he would do if they snitched to Rick. He wasn’t the friendliest of chaps to those outside of his inner circle. Hell, sometimes he was even less friendly to those closest to him. 

“Ya need somethin’?” He regarded you with a sidelong glare and a raised brow. He was usually never so coarse with you. 

Sleep deprivation. You told yourself. “Just the pleasure of your ever-inviting, always hospitable company.” You smiled as he scowled. He really was a sourpuss tonight. Biting your lip, you watched him get his things together and quickly shuffled over on your knees to stop him when he made to stand. “So I was thinking,”

“Don’ hur’ yerself.”

“Ha Ha. Dixon’s got jokes.” You deadpanned. When he rotated his hand in the air to signal for you to continue, you wrinkled your nose at him and stuck out your tongue. “Anyway, I was thinking I’d take first watch tonight. You could come hang out up there with me, catch some z’s.” He already appeared prepared to balk at the idea. You sighed and sank back to sit on your heels. “You look tired, Daryl.”

“M’fine.” He muttered, a little too quickly. 

“You’ve been on three runs in two days. You clear the fence. You hunt. You dug most of the graves for the ones who died of the flu. You fix shit when it’s not working. You take double watch shifts. You…wander around when you should be sleeping.” 

His expression morphed right in front of your eyes: indifferent to angry in 0.025 seconds. “Ya keepin’ tabs on me?”

“No!” You shook your head adamantly. This was not going well. “I just…notice things.”

“Righ’.” He sneered. The archer grabbed his things and stood. “Good talk.” He snapped. You were up and laying a hand on his arm before he could take the first step toward the stairs. 

“Daryl, we’re just—”

“We?”

Shit. “Yeah, we. Your friends, Daryl. We’re worried about you. Ever since—”

“Don’ go there, Y/N.” You watched his hackles rise: muscles tensing, shoulders leveling just below his ears. You had hit a nerve. 

“So, this is about Merle.”

“Don’ say his name like ya gave a fuck ‘bout ‘im!” 

He spun on you so quickly that you actually thought— even if only for a split second— that he was going to hit you. You reeled, the back of your foot hitting his mattress. Off balance, you fell onto it and stared up at his looming figure with wide eyes. 

“Daryl.”

“I don’ need a babysitter!” He hissed. He swayed a little and blinked hard before turning away with a grunt. You watched him go, still shaken by his behavior. Daryl hadn’t acted that way toward you since the early days on the Greene farm. There was very little time you spent apart, aside from runs you weren’t designated to go on. 

Since Merle died, the bowman had become distant, withdrawing from everyone. You tried to keep him grounded, but it only seemed to irritate him more. 

Regardless, your worry outweighed the hurt. 

You pushed yourself up and ran down the steps, sorting through things you could say or do to convince him that he needed to rest; that he didn’t need to do this alone. Aside from using the stock of his crossbow to knock him out so you could drag him to bed, you weren’t coming up with much. 

No matter what, you weren’t leaving him in that tower alone tonight. 

It was well past sundown, darkness covering the prison. You hadn’t brought a flashlight. Actually, you hadn’t brought anything. It shouldn’t have surprised you when you didn’t see Daryl until you almost tripped over him. He was just sitting on the ground near the tower, his knees up, arms laying across them. His head was down. A fresh wave of worry nearly knocked you over. 

“Daryl?” You approached him slowly, almost like a wounded animal. When he looked up, you couldn’t make out much. 

“M’fine.” His voice had lost all the heat it had fired at you only moments before. 

“Okay.” You didn’t push, fearing it would only make him withdraw further. You sat down a few feet away. “Forgot my flashlight.” He only hummed but you could see as he lowered his head again. 

The two of you sat in silence for a while, long enough for Glenn to come down from the tower. As he approached, he raised his flashlight. You couldn’t see his face but knew he had to be wondering why Daryl hadn’t already shown up early as he normally did. Your eyes flickered to the archer, his head still bowed, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. He wasn’t asleep. The slow flexing of his fingers told you that much. His usually keen senses were dulled from exhaustion. 

Your gaze shifted back, your head shaking slowly. You jerked your chin toward the prison, hoping Glenn got the message. He must have picked up on something because he nodded at you as he passed by, waiting until he was sure you could see him. A concerned look was thrown toward Daryl as the flashlight was passed off to you but then he pressed on toward the metal door. 

It wasn’t until that door closed with a dull thud that Daryl flinched, raising his head and looking around somewhat wildly. You were quick to reach out but drew back your hand just before your fingertips could stroke across his bicep. 

“Hey.” You whispered, directing the beam upward so as not to startle him further. He slowly turned his head toward your voice, his muted ocean eyes blinking slowly. Weariness was settling on him heavily. The way his eyes would close for a few seconds and then quickly nictate was a sure sign of microsleep. Daryl was dangerously close to collapse. You needed to get him inside. “Daryl?”

His eyebrows raised at the sound of his name but his gaze remained unfocused. You chewed on your lip, weighing your options. 

“Daryl, let’s go inside, okay?”

The archer tilted his head, moving a little quicker. “Got watch.” He rasped. It almost sounded like a question. 

“No, Maggie’s gonna take it.”

“Nah, s’my watch.” Daryl climbed to his feet in slow, tremulous movements, swaying backward like his crossbow was weighing him down. He staggered toward the wall, slapping his palm against it to keep his balance as he inched toward the tower. 

“Daryl, you’re exhausted. Your body’s going to shut down if you don’t rest!” You followed at his side, hands hovering as if you could hold him up when he inevitably fell. 

“M’fine, Y/N. Gotta be.”

“But why? Why do you have to be fine?”

“Stop.”

“Are you trying to die?” Your voices were crawling higher while Daryl’s steps were growing slower. 

“Leave it, Y/N.” The archer stumbled to a halt, wiping at his eyes and blinking furiously to clear his blurred vision. 

“What if you fall from the tower? Down the stairs? What if you pass out on the run tomorrow when there’s no one to keep the walkers off you? What if—”

“We was gonna rob the camp.” 

Your back went straight, head shaking in perplexity. “What?”

“Merle n’ me. We was gonna rob ya’ll n’ take off. Leave ya with nothin’. Leave ya— the kids—” He couldn’t meet your eyes, his own betraying him with hot tears that he was fighting like hell to hold back. 

Your expression softened, everything suddenly making sense. Nothing from the quarry mattered now. You were all together. He had stayed when he never meant to. “Daryl, you—”

“Never told Rick or…or Carol. Never told you. I gotta make it righ’, Y/N. Fer me n’ fer…fer Merle..” The look he gave you was desperate, pleading. You realized instantly that this was a glimpse into Daryl’s soul, laid bare in a moment of weakness he’d hate himself for later. 

With tears in your eyes, you did the only thing that felt right in that moment. You closed the space between you and hugged him, slipping your hands beneath the crossbow to hold him tight. “You’ve made it right, Daryl. A thousand times over, you’ve made it right.” 

The archer crumbled, the only things holding him upright were the wall at his back and you pressed against him. 

“Merle was… he didn’…” 

He slipped into silence after that, never bringing his arms up to hold onto you. You knew it was because he just didn’t have the energy. 

“It’s okay.” You soothed, just listening to him breathe while you figured out what to do next. The door to the prison closed, the sound audible to you from around the corner. Maggie would appear any second, likely with Glenn in tow. “Daryl.” He didn’t respond. Had he passed out? “Daryl, can you walk with me?”

Relief washed over you when you felt some of his weight shift, followed by a resigned “yeah.” When you maneuvered away from him, you slid yourself underneath his arm, continuing to offer support. Just as you took the first step, the beam of Maggie’s flashlight danced from around the corner. You could only pray she would recognize the delicate situation and act accordingly. 

When two silhouettes came into view, you held your breath. They were headed straight for you. Daryl was weak and pliant at the moment but should he realize someone other than you could see any vulnerability, it was unlikely he would remain that way. 

You saw the very moment that Maggie— thankfully — grabbed hold of Glenn’s arm and steered him away in order to give you and Daryl a wide berth. You finally breathed again once you had rounded the corner and the archer remained quiet at your side. 

He was clumsy on the steps leading to the door and again on the stairs to his perch, but you managed to keep both of you from face-planting. It was necessary to keep him standing for a while longer. If you allowed him to sit on the mattress, he could just fall over and you’d never be able to get his crossbow off his back. 

“You with me?” You asked softly, ducking from under his arm to stand in front of him. He was doing well keeping himself on his feet even if he was swaying. When you cupped your hand over his chin and tapped your thumb against his cheek, his eyes focused and found yours. “I need to get this, okay?”

Hazy blue orbs followed you while you lifted the strap over his head, forced to stand on your tip-toes. It was a graceless but successful effort. Once the weapon and his bag were on the floor, you indicated for him to sit. He complied but not without a weak scowl. 

“Don’ need ya ta baby me. I got it.” He said, with little to no bite. 

“I’m not babying you, Daryl.” You crouched in front of him and brushed at his hair. It had grown just enough to be in his face. It was soft against your fingertips, if not a little greasy. You absently wondered how long he would let it get. With a smile, your attention returned to the task at hand. “I’m caring for you. There’s a difference.”

Your eyes locked, neither of you daring to look away. A moment that should have felt uncomfortable bordered on a version of intimate. Daryl looked away first, a light flush coloring his cheeks. Your tongue slid across your bottom lip, finding it suddenly dry. 

“Let’s take off your boots.” You reached for the laces but he slid his foot out of your reach. 

“Why?”

“Because you’re about to crash and burn for quite a while and you can at least do it comfortably.” It was reasonable, but so was his excuse not to. 

“Need ta be ready. Anythin’ can happen.”

You mulled it over and nodded. “You’re right. How about this?” The archer was swaying where he sat now, fading fast with the temptation of a mattress and pillow just behind him. “You take off your boots and I’ll leave mine on.” The perplexed expression on his bone-weary face was almost comical. 

“The hell you havin’ yer boots on gonna do ta help me all the way up here?”

“Because I’m not going anywhere.” You stated firmly, intense gaze daring him to argue with you. You expected he would and prepared yourself for it. 

But he was just too damn tired. 

“Alrigh’.” 

You smiled at the top of his head while clumsy fingers worked at the laces, taking longer than necessary but still ending with his boots sitting against the wall. 

“Great.” You weren’t about to tell him how to go to bed. The less he had to argue about, the better. You watched him crawl toward the pillow and all but collapse once he reached it, facedown with a smothered groan. 

His blanket was like all the others, thin and itchy, but you could probably cover him with garbage bags at this point and he wouldn’t care. You pulled the material up to his shoulders and then climbed over him to sit on the other side with your back against the wall. 

After a moment, he turned his head toward you. “Ya really gonna sit there the whole time?”

“Every minute.” You chuckled when he pulled a face. “I promise not to be a creep and stare at you.” His features relaxed. He even offered a shadow of a smile, eyelids appearing to grow too heavy to keep open. 

“Ya… really don’… hafta stay.” He muttered between breaths, sound asleep just as the last word left his lips. 

“I know. I want to.” I’ll always stay. For you. 

[losthavenmine]

Whumptober 2023 Day 26 || Working to Exhaustion

Fathers and Daughters (2015)

[whumpetywhump]

Whumptober Day 26 - Working To Exhaustion

At A Distance, Spring Is Green - Ep. 4

Memorist - Ep. 11

Racket Boys - Ep. 15

The Glory Of Youth - Ep. 11

Tokyo MER - Ep. 5

[one-piece-aus]

Day 26 of Whumptober with Uta X reader please?

Of course! (Apologizes for the delay)

Whumptover Day 26

Uta x Male!Reader

"Uta!" You casually wave at the pop star.

She gasps, "[Y/n]!" She rushes over and embraces you.

"I knew it was you, how have you been?"

Uta pouts as she pulls away to fix her hat and sunglasses. You could only laugh since it's not your fault the disguise was easy to see through. Then again, you have known her since you went to middle school together, perhaps you recognized her better than others.

"My cover could've been blown because of you," she said, dodging the original question.

"My bad." You held your hands up, chuckling as she glanced around paranoid. "Look if you're that worried, here."

Uta yelped in surprise as you swung your big [f/c] jacket over her shoulders. Her pale cheeks began glowing red when she glanced away in a tsundere manner. "You didn't need to do that."

"You're welcome." You grin, linking your arms together and start walking. "Where ya headin'? I'll walk ya there."

"Hmm, fine. But don't expect me to buy you anything."

"Why would I expect you to buy me anything?" You give her a weird look. "I'm just walking you there."

"O-oh..." Uta retracted her tongue and thought for an answer. "Well, who would walk someone somewhere without wanting a treat out of it?"

"Uh, hello, maybe I just want to hang out with you," you replied. "What kind of friends have you been hanging around? It's not good to hang around the bad crowd, you're better than that, you know what I'm saying."

Uta stared at you. How long has it been since someone saw her as a person? Days, weeks, months, years? You act the same as you did when you were in the same class with her, casual, chill, you're the reason she went through that tomboy phase. Now she's an idol, a person you see everywhere, yet you see her. Just her.

Uta glances away, blinking to grasp reality. She hadn't realized how tiring the route was...

"Hey, you good?" You ask, noticing her spacing out.

"no- Yeah, I'm good." She pats your arm. "It's just been a while since I had... you around. It's nice."

She smiles. Smiling to mask the pain. Smiling to hold her tongue back. Her pride too strong to show you how tired she is of the idol life. Her pride too strong to let her call out to you, tell you how much she lost herself to fame to the point she can hardly recognize who is looking back in the mirror.

[isharaneith]

Whumptober 2023 – No. 26

“Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

Like, reblog or comment if you save, please.

[atimeofyourlife]

Whumptober day 26

rated: t | wc: 691 | prompt: Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.” Steve working himself until he collapses from exahustion post s4

Steve felt lost after the first battle with Vecna. He felt helpless against everything that was thrown at the group. So he threw himself into anything and everything that he could, taking as little time to himself as possible. It started with the volunteering. Family Video was shut for a couple of weeks for repairs to the minor damage that had happened, so he didn't have any work to do. So everyday he was at the school, offering any help that was needed. It was repetitive, mind-numbing work, but it was something to keep him busy.

It wasn't enough. The days at the school were almost too easy. Just standing behind a table, folding and sorting donated clothes. So he offered to help fix up Hopper's cabin once he was done with volunteering. Something a bit more physical to help wear him out. And he knew they needed all hands on deck to make the cabin properly habitable for at least five people, as well as how it was almost becoming a hub of activity for making plans for what would happen next. Steve might not have known much about property repair, but he was pretty good at following instructions and at being the muscle, lifting and carrying the heaviest items to where they needed to be. It helped to wear him out, but it still didn't feel like enough. He still needed to be doing more.

As soon as Max and Eddie were cleared for more visitors, he started spending time at the hospital with them. When the others thought he'd gone home to sleep. He would sit by their beds for as long as he could without anyone else coming in. Trying to reassure himself that they were going to be okay. He tried to formulate plans in his head, on where they could go after they were discharged. As long as his parents stayed away, they could stay with him. But he knew there would need to be some adjustments needed on the house to make it suitable for them. And he wasn't sure if he could manage it, or even if he could, if his parents would accept him making such alterations to their property.

Then Family Video reopened. Steve took on as many shifts as he could around volunteering, helping fix the cabin, and visiting the hospital. And there were plenty of shifts to go around considering most of the staff had vacated Hawkins after the earthquake. They were operating on a staff of three, so even with reduced opening hours it kept them all busy. Even with everything he had taken on, Steve still felt like he could be doing more. No matter how tired he was starting to feel, he needed to make sure he was doing everything he could to help.

Once the patrols were established, Steve was one of the first to sign up. Hoping that would make him feel more fulfilled. He was running on very little sleep, rarely getting more than an hour or two a night. The patrols pushed his body to the edge, spending hours almost everyday wandering around Hawkins. Checking the gates for activity, checking the woods for decay, checking everywhere for creatures that should not be there. He was really starting to feel the effects of all he was putting his body through, but he didn't know how to stop.

Until a planning meeting. He'd been busy for the whole day before, the he'd been out at three am for a patrol, then he spent a few hours at the school helping with the volunteer efforts, and then he had a four hour shift at Family Video. He was dead on his feet by the time he walked in the door of the cabin, but did his best not to let it show. He could follow the conversation at first, but soon everyone's voices blurred into a dull mumble. His vision went blurry, and it felt like the room was spinning. He tried to move to a chair, but his limbs felt heavy and uncooperative. And then everything went blank as his body hit the floor.

[rd-eternity]

Whumptober Day 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.” | Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Getting back into the feel of high school is a tall order for Liam, who has more than enough on his plate, on top of dealing with most of his classmates previously trying to kill him. Luckily, Theo has a few ideas.

Liam wakes alone, a blanket tucked around him, sun still flooding his room with light.  He blinks a few times, seeing Theo at his desk on his laptop.  “I can’t cuddle you from over there,” he groans, voice rough from sleep.  “Come here please.” Theo gathers a stack of papers from the desk and closes the computer.  He gets out of the chair, sitting next to Liam, hand stroking through his hair.  Liam leans into it, clutching onto his legs.  “You slept less than half an hour,” he says.  “It’s Friday, which means you can do homework later in the weekend.  I want you to sleep tonight.” He shakes his head, forehead brushing Theo’s thigh when he pulls himself closer.  “I have homework to get done, I need to be better at lacrosse, go on patrol-” A finger pressing against his lips stops him, eyes snapping up to meet Theo’s.  “What-” “Come on.”  He gets up, leaning over Liam, who flops onto his back.  Theo rolls his eyes.  He scoops one arm underneath his knees, the other around his upper back, lifting him from the bed.  Liam shrieks, wrapping his arms around his shoulders to keep himself attached.  “If I knew you liked being carried around, I would’ve bribed you with it sooner,” he teases, making Liam hold the stack of papers while he princess-carried him out the room and down the stairs.

[whump-me]

Whumptober Day 26: Working to Exhaustion

This is a standalone story in my original Mind Games universe, a modern-day sci-fi/fantasy thriller setting about ordinary humans with superhuman abilities and the people who want to use or destroy them. Full description in my Whumptober masterpost, which is linked in my pinned post.

This story contains: whumper turned whumpee, sympathetic (former) whumper, overwork, emotional whump, minor whump mentions

Words: 1800

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Wesley leaned in closer to his computer, ignoring the growing ache at the base of his neck. He squinted at the grainy satellite images. “Here,” he said, jabbing a finger at the center of the screen. “This looks like it could be one of their facilities.”

He paused to rub his dry eyes. After hours of staring at the screen, they felt like they were full of sand.

“See this giant clearing fifteen miles into this middle-of-nowhere forest? That’s exactly the kind of location they like. And the clearing is too symmetrical—it looks man-made to me. This building here could be another logging camp, but I don’t think so. The shape is all wrong, and if you look over here…”

His voice trailed off. Mary wasn’t answering.

“Hey, are you listening?” He looked over his shoulder at Mary, who was working at the other computer on the opposite side of the small room.

Mary didn’t answer. Her chin was slumped forward onto her chest. She let out a soft snore.

Who could blame her for sleeping? It was the middle of the night. Or at least, Wesley thought it was still the middle of the night. He’d been at this so long, he had lost the ability to keep track of time. His watch said two o’clock, but it was anyone’s guess whether that was a.m. or p.m.

His desk was cluttered with energy drinks and empty bags of chips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper meal. For that matter, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cracked open a bag of chips.

He reached into the grocery bag at his feet. It was empty. He was pretty sure it had been empty the last time he’d reached for a snack, too.

As he straightened back up, he caught a whiff of his armpits and wrinkled his nose. When was the last time he had showered? Sometime before his last full meal. Other than that, he couldn’t say.

He grabbed the closest energy drink can and tipped it to his lips. It was empty. He grabbed his coffee mug and did the same. One sad lukewarm drop hit his tongue.

“The dancing cows are what?” Mary mumbled. Her chin jerked up. “Wait. Where am I?”

“You were asleep,” said Wesley.

She rubbed her eyes. “How long was I out?” She checked her own watch. “It’s two in the morning.”

“Or the afternoon,” Wesley pointed out.

“No, I actually have a modern watch, unlike that ancient thing you insist on holding on to. It says it’s morning.” She swiveled her chair around to stare at him. “Have you been awake this entire time?”

“I guess I have.”

“For that matter, did you get any sleep the night before?”

Wesley thought back, but couldn’t remember. The hours and days blended together into one undifferentiated time soup. He didn’t answer.

Mary heaved herself up from her chair with a groan. “Get some sleep,” she urged as she stretched her arms above her head with a yawn. “You’ve been working too long.”

“Just a little longer.” He pointed at his screen. “I think I may have found a PERI facility.”

Mary didn’t even look. “It’ll still be there after a good night’s sleep. And if you keep pushing yourself like this, you’ll make mistakes.”

Wesley shook his head. “The kids in those facilities can’t wait.”

“A few hours won’t make a difference. And you won’t be any use of those kids—or anyone else—if you collapse.” She held out a hand to him. “Come with me. I’ll help you find something to eat—how long has it been since you’ve eaten actual food? And then you’ll sleep. Real sleep, not a nap. Five hours minimum.” She glared at him with mock sternness.

He waved her hand away. “I need to do this.”

If he had been less tired, he might have been able to disguise the intensity in his voice. As it was, Mary drew back, startled. She narrowed her eyes at him, studying him with new curiosity.

When she spoke again, her voice was gentler. “You lost a kid to PERI, didn’t you?”

How he wished it were that simple.

He thought about saying yes. But he was too tired to lie.

“I have to help these kids,” he said, “because I used to be one of the people who abducted them.”

He hadn’t picked the targets for abduction. He hadn’t analyzed the blood test results covertly collected from hundreds of pediatricians’ offices around the country. He hadn’t spent hours per day poring over human-interest stories in small local newspapers, searching for something that might indicate a child with a psi ability.

He didn’t even understand all the details of how the Enhanced gene work. Only that it was present in a small subset of the population; that, when activated, it led to the development of a single psi ability, the nature and strength of which could not be reliably predicted; and that, for national security reasons, the Psi Enhancement Research Initiative wanted the existence of this gene kept secret at all costs.

And, of course, he knew what PERI did to the kids. The ones whose abilities were strong enough and useful enough, and who proved cooperative enough, got sent into black-ops training starting at age five. The other got sent to the labs or the breeding programs.

He had known what he was a part of.

But he hadn’t picked the targets. He hadn’t made those choices. He had just been the muscle, and he had convinced himself that somehow made it better.

He had used all the old tricks. Telling kids their parents had been in a horrible accident and they needed to come with him to the hospital. Asking them to help look for his lost dog, complete with a leash and a bag of dog treats as props. But most kids were wise to those tricks by now, after decades of stranger-danger assemblies in the schools. More often than not, he had to wrestle them down and shoot them full of sedative.

He still remembered the feeling of how it felt to hold a small, squirming body down while he waited for the sedative to take effect. That was the kind of thing it was impossible to forget.

He blinked away the memories. Mary was staring at him. The concern in her face was gone, replaced by something harder. Her eyes were knives of accusation. They were dark pools of grief.

“My daughter was taken.” Her voice could have frozen a volcano. “Ten years ago. That’s why I originally joined up with this group—because they said they could help get her back. Six months later, they finally tracked her down. It was too late. It had been too late before I joined. She wasn’t operative material—she was only a weak telepath. They sent her to the labs. She died there.”

“I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing anymore,” Wesley said. “That’s why I’m here now.”

“How many kids did you have to kidnap before your conscience started bothering you?”

He didn’t answer that question. She wouldn’t have liked the answer.

“I’m trying to atone for what I did,” he said instead. “I’ll work myself to the bone for the rest of my life if I have to.”

“The rest of your life won’t be enough.” Her voice hadn’t warmed a single degree. “You can never atone for what you’ve done.”

She stalked from the room. She didn’t ask him to follow her.

He stayed where he was. He rubbed more sand from his eyes and kept on scrutinizing the satellite images. If this was a PERI facility, where was the road leading in? Or was the road at all? That square spot off to one side—was that a helipad? If so, reaching this facility would be nearly impossible.

But they would try. He already knew the other would be on board. They all had their reasons for fighting PERI. Most had a story similar to Mary’s.

A few had a story similar to his.

He marked the image for further evaluation and went back to scanning the backlog of unexamined footage. Maybe in another week or two, he would work through it all.

He found another clearing, in another dense forest, and zoomed in closer. Close enough to see haunted-eyed children marching in straight lines. Close enough to see inside the blocky rectangle of the central building, down to a basement lab where a child lay on a cold metal table.

She looked up at him with eyes as cold as Mary’s. “You can never atone for what you’ve done,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Wesley said.

“If you think that’s enough to make up for what you did, you’re dreaming,” she said. Her mouth didn’t move, but he heard the words anyway. “Wake up.”

The color leached from her skin until it was a lifeless gray. Her body was too still. Only her eyes still had life in them.

“Wake up.” The voice was Mary’s now. “You’re dreaming.”

Wesley’s eyes snapped open.

He looked down at his watch. Now it said six o’clock. He still didn’t know if it was morning or night.

“Look at me,” Mary ordered.

Slowly, reluctantly, he looked up.

Mary had changed clothes. That wasn’t all that had changed about her. Her eyes weren’t quite so cold anymore. Neither was her voice.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said before,” she said. “I know you’re not the only one here with a story like that. Mostly, I try not to ask. Losing my daughter is a pain that never goes away. When something pokes too hard at that pain, I bite.”

How many people had he caused that same pain for? More than he could count.

“You were right, though.” His quiet voice was rough with exhaustion. “I can never atone for what I did.”

“No,” she agreed. “You can’t. All the all-nighters in the world can’t make up for what you did.”

Maybe he had imagined the hint of warmth in her voice and in her eyes. But he didn’t have the right to complain. She was right to condemn him. He felt the truth of her harsh words in his aching bones.

Then the ghost of a smile came to her face. “So you might as well get some rest,” she said. “Seeing as you’re damned either way.”

She offered him her hand. This time, he took it.

---

Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @gala1981

Ask to be added or removed from my Whumptober 2023 taglist.

[bumblingdragon]

Whumptober - day 26 - working to exhaustion

weapon's training himself into heat stroke

For a while (before getting top surgery) Ilmryn was stealth at the guild house, which meant improperly binding and wearing a lot of large heavy clothing regardless of the weather. Shae suspected he might have a heart condition with how breathless he'd get during weapons training, but he wouldn't let her give him a medical exam. It took an instance of passing out from heat stroke for her to get the truth out of him.

[ice-cap-k]

The Engineer that Couldn't

Really feeling the burnout. Only a few more days left.

Cross-posted to AO3 here: The Engineer that Couldn't

______________________________________________

The panel dropped back into place as I pulled the lever. The floor heaved beneath me, almost sending me stumbling back into the engine car’s door. My free arm braced against the wall, refusing to let go of the lever even as I felt it twist in my palm. "Come on. Come on. You got this…"

I willed it to work with everything I had in me. I prayed, I begged, I wished… All my knowledge on how to run this train wouldn’t matter if I couldn’t get it to start. The universe answered in kind. The engines whirred to life in a flurry of blinking lights and fluttering gage needles. The floor lept beneath my feet once more. This time, I couldn’t keep my balance. My legs slipped out from under me and I hit the corrugated metal with a grunt of pain. That was going to leave a bruise.

Wrought metal groaned as wheels began to move somewhere beneath me. It worked!  So I let go of the lever, letting it flick back into place. The familiar rattle of the old RBBX was music to the ears. The engine room hummed all around me as lights blinked in lazy, brightly colored patterns.

A laugh bubbled up from deep inside my chest as I looked around. I was so tired. It had taken all night, but I had finally done it! The train was finally functional once more. 

I slapped my hands against the denim covering my knees and pushed myself back onto my feet. A flick of a few switches later, and the car powered back down. The main control panel was a little warm to the touch but not enough to be a cause of concern. She would be fine. Despite knowing that the train couldn’t feel it, I felt the need to pat the edges of the main control table fondly as if to congratulate it on the job well done. “Good to have you back.”  

The motors began to slow to a smooth hum. 

Once the last of the clicks and groans died out, I flipped the latch on the door of the engine room. The morning sun was blindingly bright compared to the cozy little car. The light highlighted every grease smear I had accumulated along my arms and down the legs of my pants. They hadn’t been as noticeable in the dim cab. I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. Keeping this thing running was always messy work.

The train was like my baby. It was my pride and joy. As the engineer who ran it, it was my responsibility to keep her as happy and healthy as a train could be. It hasn’t always been easy, though. It was old. Really old. Old enough that replacement parts were no longer in production. It was getting harder to find usable components, but lately I had been finding ways to get creative. This wasn't the first time I’ve managed to repurpose a few loose scraps of iron.  

I was just in the middle of admiring my own work, taking in the sight of the old train framed by the nearby trees when I heard the telltale sounds of grass shifting. It was subtle, but it was there. Someone was coming up from behind, and their wheels sounded a little squeaky. I smiled, wondering if I had left a can of oil back in the engine cart with my toolbox. I could fix that squeak in no time. 

"I saw those lights flash a moment ago," a familiar voice asked from somewhere behind me. "Did it work, Impulse? Was it the starter thingy like you thought?"

"It did.” I could feel the smile stretching across my face. "It was."

"Look at you! Amazing!"

"Thanks, Scar." One of my cheeks was beginning to itch in the slight morning breeze. Without thinking, I reached up to scratch at it absent-mindedly.  My blackened fingers came away smudged, and it dawned on me that I still hadn’t cleaned up. There had to be grease marks on my face by now. "At the very least, it will last us until the next town if we have to leave."

Scar rolled up closer until I could see him through the corner of my eye. The other man was already dressed in his elaborate red tailcoat. His signature top hat was sitting on his lap, half obscured by the armrests of his wheelchair. The ringmaster looked just as pleased as I felt. "Appreciated. I don't plan on us having to pack up right away for any reason, but it's good to know she'll live to chug another day."

There was a flutter of red as Scar offered up the handkerchief from his pocket. I flashed him a grateful smile before reaching out and plucking it from Scar’s hands. I didn’t want to get any grease on him. Scar had a show he was preparing for tonight and other things to worry about. I didn’t need to add ‘accidental grease stains’ to the list so I was careful not to accidentally bump his fingers with my own. 

At least the scrap of fabric worked surprisingly well to rub away the layer of black and grey coating my hands. "Alright, Scar. You caught me in between projects. What do you need?" 

When I was done, I offered the soiled handkerchief back out to the other man. "Well…" Scar took it with a thinly veiled look of disgust and a shrug. The look on his face almost made me laugh as he draped it across one of his armrests instead of returning it back to his pocket. "I know you’ve been busy, but now that you’re finished with the train, could you take a look at one of the rope thingies in the big top?”

I felt my own eyebrows raise. Scar was no expert on tools. That’s why the ringmaster and many other members of the circus came to me for help. I was the guy who made things happen, that way the people who actually performed in the show could do so without a hitch. But I still needed more information to go off of than that simple description. “Rope thingies?” 

“Yeah! You know, the thing that pulls the rope up when we raise the tent. It’s like a big fishing reel, but for rope instead of string.” 

“You mean the winch?”

Scar snapped his fingers and grinned. “That’s it! That’s the thing. The wench!”

“Winch,” I corrected softly, fighting to hold back a snort of laughter. “Why? What’s wrong with it?

“Oh. Well, there’s smoke coming out of its side, and something definitely fell from the east pole."

That wiped the smile right off of my face. That didn’t sound good at all. “You mean one of the poles propping the tent up? That east pole?!?”

“Yeah. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Uh… yeeeeah,” I said nervously. There were any number of pulleys, hooks, or ropes on that pole that were meant to be supporting the tent. The rigging had to be carefully placed to keep the heavy canvas held in place.  And if the winch was failing, then that end of the tent was probably going to-

Someone shouted from the edge of the big top. “THE TENT!” I whirled around to see Pearl and Grian come rolling out from under the tarp making up the side wall of the tent. As soon as they managed to crawl clear of the fabric, they scrambled to their feet and backed away just in time to watch one of the ropes holding up the canvas snap. 

I broke into a run. In retrospect, I feel bad for leaving Scar where he sat. He couldn’t keep up with me on his own, but my brain was short-circuiting with all the panic. I couldn’t just sit there and watch. I had to do something.

I tore my way across the open field towards the two performers.  The tent was starting to wobble on its supports as I got close. I cupped my hands around my mouth to make myself louder and shouted “Get out of there! The whole thing’s coming down!”

Pearl and Grian had enough sense to back away from the tent as quickly as their legs could carry them. A few other people came streaming from the front entrance as it started to sway. I could see Stress among them, and behind her came Wels and Ren. They were having some difficulty moving considering the three were in full makeup and costume, but they still managed to clear the tent flaps. It vaguely occurred to me that they had probably been practicing their act, but that train of thought went abandoned when the east support wobbled.

The center of the tarp was dragged back and forth, back and forth, back and forth with the motion of the pole. Half the tent collapsed in on itself as it finally tilted a little too far. It knocked into the center and westward poles like dominos. The tarp they supported came fluttering back down.

Surprised shouts and startled screams of the circus workers still inside reached my ears.

It kicked up a massive breeze as all the air was pushed out from under the falling canvas. The center fell flat like a deflated balloon so that only the outside edges of the fabric propped up on smaller stakes around the tent border remained standing. 

My feet carried me to its edge a few seconds later, Grian and Pearl rushing into action beside me. “I don’t know what happened,” Pearl said, voice wavering. Grian shoved aside the fabric covering one of the poles so we could get to the underside of the fallen tarp. 

“I think I do,” I said. Without waiting, I rushed through the opening Grian was holding and started shoving my way forward. I reached out ahead of me as I moved, heaving the canvas up over my head so I could keep making headway. The effect was almost claustrophobic. The fabric pressed in ahead of me and fell away behind me like the tunnel of a cave. Pearl brushed past the fabric at my side, rushing head-first under the canvas as well. “Let’s just get everyone out,” I said, falling in behind her. “And then I’ll fix this.”

_______________________________________________________________

Turns out, they were pretty lucky.

Most of the people who had gotten caught under the fallen tent were close to the sides when it came down on top of them. Nobody had gotten hurt. Just a little shaken. 

Helping with hauling the pillars back upright was a lot of hard work. They were extremely heavy and tall, so everyone in the circus pitched in as well. We had to clear away the tent tarp to hook loops of rope into the top. Then the base had to be grounded in place and tilted upright once more. 

But now things had settled down. The beams were back upright, but the tarp still had to be pitched. The others were dispersing, leaving to go back to whatever they had been working on before the big top fell down. Scar was redirecting people to take care of the equipment that had to be dragged off the train just so they could lift the pole. I managed to catch his eye with a wave of my hand. Scar nodded in acknowledgment but was still busy talking to Gem and Etho about where the truck they had used to redirect the poles was supposed to be parked. 

I took that as my que to go find the winch. It would still need fixing, and now that the tent cover was back on the ground they would need it more than before to help heft the fabric back up to its place on top of the supports. When I started shouldering my way through the crowd, away from the truck, someone else fell in my wake.

“Hey Impulse.”

“What’s up, Grian?”

Grian stepped up alongside me with a smirk. “Nothing much. What about you? Where are you going?”

“Not far. I’ve got a winch and pulley system to check before the tent can go up again.”

“Yeah… about that…” He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. To my surprise, he pulled out an entire pulley block that looked two sizes too big for his pocket. “This thing nearly got me in the dome before the whole place came down.” He held it out for me and I took it, turning the block in my hands to get a better look.

The oblong object had two large pulleys nested in a black casing that ended in a large loop meant to clip onto a bracket. The loop itself was broken. The clasp hung uselessly from its hinge. That would need fixing. “Dangit,” I hissed. The hinge practically fell to pieces when I poked at it. “Well, it’s no wonder that the tent fell.”

Grian froze at that. There was a guilty look in his eyes as shoved his hands into his pockets. “I take it that means you’re going to be busy with that for the rest of the day?”

“Nah. It will take a bit of time to weld up, but I should have it fixed in no time.” I decided to leave out the part about the winch. Grian was following me towards the back of the half-pitched tent where it was supposed to be. First I needed to check how extensive that damage was, but it probably wouldn’t take too long to get running once more. “Then we can get the tarp back up.”

The guilt in Grian’s eyes immediately shifted to excitement. “Great! And what are you doing after that?”

Oh. So Grian actually wanted something from me. That nearly stopped me in my tracks. I stumbled a little but corrected myself. Considering a recent crash the pilot had been a part of, I had an idea of what was coming. 

The winch was in sight by now. So was a trail of smoke coming out its side. I nearly let out a whistle in awe. Scar sure hadn’t been kidding. That wasn’t a good sign at all. 

Still, that winch wouldn’t take too long, right? What else did I have on my list of things to do today? Sleeping would have been nice, since I didn’t get much last night. Getting the train functioning again was more important, though. I could live without sleep. Then there were the lifts and the pyrotechnics that the acrobats used that still needed to be set up for tonight. And Etho’s spinning mechanical see-saw that needed to be hauled out of the storage cart and checked for damage. And the spinning target wheel for Cleo and Jevin’s act needed to be assembled…

“Uh… Maybe fixing a few things here and there,” I finally answered. “Why? What’s up?”

��Well, as you know, there was a little incident with my plane the other day,” Grian said, drawing out his words with a knowing smile. 

“Mmmhmm.” I nodded, fighting back against the urge to roll my eyes. He wasn’t fooling anyone. 

Grian’s act was a dangerous one. He was a barnstormer. He earned his living by flying an old Jenny propeller plane that was even older than the RBBX train. Once in the air, he was supposed to set the controls so the plane would fly itself while he crawled out onto the wings to perform tricks. 

We all knew he had accidentally forgotten to check the autopilot before taking off. 

“And until my plane can get back in the sky, my act is grounded,” he continued. “So I was wondering if you could take a look at it and see if it’s something you could fix up quickly? I really want to be part of the show tonight if I can.” 

“I thought Mumbo was helping you fix that thing up?” 

Grian let out a heavy sigh. “He was,” he huffed, sounding a little bored. “I guess he still is, but lately he’s been busy with some big new project of his. Besides, you’re much faster. Everyone knows that you’re the guy to go to for help. Especially this kind of stuff.”

“Well, yeah,” I admitted. I scratched at the back of my neck as if that would help hide the fact that I wasn’t feeling confident about this at all. “But an entire plane in a day, Grian? That’s a bit of a tall order…”

“Please! Just a look.” His dark eyes grew wide and pleading, sparkling like a puppy begging for a scrap of food. It was a powerful look, and it was working.

What’s one more thing on his plate?

“Maybe just a peak,” I said, giving in. “I’ll take a look after I’m all caught up and see what I can do.”

“YES! Hee hee heeee!” Grian threw both fists into the air. He shook them excitedly before bouncing over and gripping my shoulders. It didn’t hurt, but he gently shook me with a smile like it was meant to be some sort of hug. “Thank you, Impulse! You’re the best.” He let me go, only to turn back towards the remaining few people lingering by the truck. “I’m supposed to be helping False, so I won’t be able to help you right now. I’ll check in at five and see how it’s going. See you then?”

“I’ll be there,” I say, backstepping. I couldn’t help but spare a glance at the broken pulley block still in my hand that I somehow needed to get fifteen feet up in the air and attached to the load-bearing rope. “See you then.”

_______________________________________________________

The winch was finally fixed. 

It took me a few hours, but the winch was fixed and the pulley block was in place. Both were working hard to haul the tarp back up to its rightful place. I was working alongside a few other circus carnies, making sure the ropes didn’t become tangled with each other as the machine spooled them. With a heave, I used a metal bar to pry the bindings apart before they could overlap. By the time the tent was back in its place, it was past noon and I was exhausted.

“Nice work,” Beef said, shaking out his arms to loosen up the muscles after pinning the rope to the ground with a rod and a few swings of the sledgehammer. “Looks like we’re back up and running.”

“Great,” I said, dropping my makeshift crowbar and moving toward my toolbox. “Now back to work.”

“Work?” Doc stepped out from behind the winch, where he had been keeping an eye on the newly replaced motor gearbox in case any more issues reared their ugly head. “I thought I was the one who was always on the grind. Where are you off to, man? It’s show night.”

“Exactly.” My arms protested under the weight of the toolbox, but I ignored the aching soreness. “I’ve still gotta go take care of some things.”

“Like what?”

“Oh you know, the usual. Someone needs to check the lifts to make sure they’re safe. And Etho’s rig needs to be tested. And I’m pretty sure Jevin and Cleo’s wheel still needs to be put together. I didn’t get around to that last night. Oh, and Grian asked me to take a look at his plane too.”  

Beef and Doc shared a glance before turning back to me. I smiled and shrugged at the concerned looks they were giving. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but clearly, they thought otherwise. “Uh, that sounds like a lot, buddy,” Beef said, picking up the prybar I had just dropped. “Are you sure you’ll be able to get all that done on your own?”

Doc nodded. “Do you need some help? We could probably take care of a few things, and Etho knows his way around redstone signals, too.” Beef snapped his fingers at Doc, smiling as if he had just realized something. “Good point! He could probably take care of his own machine tonight.”

“It’s fine. Thank you for the offer, but you both know I don’t mind helping out. I do need to get a move on, though, so if you gentlemen will excuse me…” They frowned as I pivoted on my heel. There were a few footsteps from behind me, but whether they intended to follow and decided against it, or just shrugged it off and moved on to their next task, I wouldn’t know. I didn’t look back, and by the time I had made it three steps out from under the big top, Gem appeared.

“Hey Impulse,” she said, practically skipping up. “How’s it going?”

“Hey Gem,” I hummed back. I didn’t slow down for her. Instead, she quickened her pace to walk alongside me. “Going great. How about you?”

“I’m good. Actually, I was just talking to Scar about starting a petting zoo.”

“Oooh, and how did that go?”

“Not so great.” Her eyes narrowed and nose scrunched up as she spared a look towards the ringmaster’s personal train car. “He’s worried about transporting the animals, but we already have an entire cart dedicated to Bdub’s horses. I didn’t think it would be that difficult to find some space for a couple of goats and chickens.”

“Is that all he’s worried about?” I chuckled. “I could probably whip up some automated holding pens.” It wouldn’t even be that difficult of a task. There was always room in the stable cart’s loft. 

“Well, he did mention having to buy feed as well, but I think it would be worth it. We could always charge to feed the animals. Just think of all the kids that come to the circus. What little kid wouldn’t want to pet a goat?” She huffed. “Maybe you could talk to him  about that holding pen tonight?”

“Tonight?!”

“Yeah! Of course tonight. And you know Scar. He’s going to want to see what you mean. If you could have an example made up by then, then there’s no way he’ll think it’s a bad idea if you’re the one doing it. You always have good ideas. Maybe you could convince him that it would be worth it?”

She wasn’t pulling out the puppy dog eyes like Grian, but this was Gem. Gem was great, and a good friend. We got along well, and when she set her sights on something there was no changing her mind. She also knew how to butter me up. “Alright,” I agreed, adding another mental note to the growing checklist of things that needed to be done.

“Thank you, Impulse,” Gem beamed. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was not surprised that I had given in so easily. “I’ll see you tonight after the show. Are you going to be in the stands?”

If I had time to watch the show, I would. But that’s not what I said, though. 

“I’ll be there.”

_____________________________________________________________________

“Hey Impy! How’s it going?”

Tango’s blond head appeared upside down in front of me so suddenly that I nearly jumped out my boots. The socket wrench dropped from my hand as I scrambled backward. “AHHH!”

“Hehhehhehhehheh,” he giggled, swinging back up out of sight. “Sorry! Sorry, but man you should have seen the look on your face. I really got you there.”

“You did not,” I snapped, snatching the wrench back up. “I was just super focused. That’s all.”

When I looked up, I could catch flashes of his red pants and bright hair through the trusses beneath the lift. He was lowering himself from the top of the counter weight. The metal bars clattered as he climbed through them with ease. I would have said something about how dangerous that would be if the lift started to move. It was a good way to get yourself squished. But Tango knew what he was doing. He had a good eye for circuitry and electronics, just like me. He knew that the lift was fully powered down for the moment. 

I could still hear him laughing from somewhere above me. “Hhmhm hmph… Sure you were.” 

The bars clattered again. I had just enough time to step out of the way before Tango slid down the set of ropes tethered to stage weights beneath the platform floor. He lept off before he could hit the ballast I was working on and dropped down next to where I had been standing. “Whoah!” He rocked on his heels, struggling to maintain his balance. Arms pinwheeled as he tried to right himself. 

I had half the mind to give him a little push. Nothing hard enough to hurt, but just enough to tip him over the edge. What I actually ended up doing, though, was reaching out to give him my hand. 

He grabbed on tight, and I held firm while he used my grip to anchor himself. I let go when he had both feet stable on the ground. “Thanks, man!”

“Looks like you need more practice before the show tonight,” I teased, turning back to the lift. There was a snag in the motion of one of the ropes that I was trying to get to the bottom of before they started admitting audience members. It wasn’t about to take care of itself. 

Tango waved my words off with a brazen grin. He made himself comfortable instead, sitting down on one of the scaffolding poles holding up the stage around us. “Nah. I’m not interested in becoming a flier. My act is still on the ground for now. At least until we can figure out the best way to keep the ropes from catching on fire.”

“Stress would thank you if you could keep your clothes from catching on fire first.” 

Tango only shrugged. “Hey, these things happen sometimes. It’s an occupational hazard. Now what are you doing?” He leaned in a little closer as I loosened the bolt on the side of the ballast. There was a curious glint in his eye as I pulled the box open to check inside. Sure enough, the stacked weights were tilted. It wouldn’t cause any damage to the finely tuned weight system, but the uneven balance had caused the ropes to pull unsteadily. Thank goodness it was such an easy fix.

“Trying to make sure everything checks out alright for tonight,” I said. The ballast door slammed closed a little harder than I intended. “Why? Do you need something?”

“Nah. I’m good. Just thought I’d keep you company. Maybe ask if you wanted to hit up this restaurant I’ve been hearing about since we rolled into town… Why do you ask?”

I thought of Scar and Grian and Gem. Enough people had come by asking for things that I must have just come to expect it. “I guess I just thought you might have needed help for some reason. I’ll have to pass on lunch, though. There’s too much I gotta do, still.” Once the counterweights in the ballast were righted, I swung the door shut. It hit harder than I expected. Both me and Tango winced as it slammed into place.

The smile dropped off of Tango’s face, only to be replaced with a confused frown.  “Lunch? Buddy, it’s six in the evening.”

Six? 

“You’re kidding! No, it’s not…”  I looked at my watch. Sure enough, it was ten minutes past six. “Oh my gosh, it is.” Where had all that time gone? At least I had managed to check the gas lines and Etho’s rig hadn't been oiled. But I still needed to set up the sparkler machines and I had promised Hypno two hours earlier that I would finish hooking up the spotlights for tonight's show. Not to mention that I hadn’t even started looking at Grian’s plane or Gem’s holding pens. 

Grian! I had completely forgotten about meeting up with Grian at five!

I had to get this thing closed up and rush to the next thing, and fast. The show would be starting in two hours. That wasn’t nearly enough time to get everything done. So I stuck my socket wrench over the bolt and wound it up as fast as I could.

“Hey, if you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast then I can help out with something,” Tango offered, standing back up. Oddly enough, I couldn’t remember if I actually had breakfast at some point. I suppose the snack I had at midnight when I took a break from rewiring the train counted as breakfast. “Hand me a wrench or something and we can get this done,” he added, holding one hand out, ready for me to give him a tool.

“Thanks, Top, but I’m fine, really.” The bolt finally stuck in place. I pulled off the socket wrench and tossed it into my toolbox. He dropped his empty hand back along his side. “I just finished up here, actually. Now I just gotta go on to the next task.” I made to move through the path between the scaffolding, but Tango stepped in my way. I nearly grit my teeth in annoyance. He was purposely blocking my path and eating up precious seconds.

“Well, what’s that? Maybe I can help you with the next thing on your list?”

“I’ll be fine,” I say a little more harshly than I intend. The frown on Tango’s face deepens. It makes me feel a little bad, but I’m also relieved when he makes no move to stop me as I push past him. “It’s my responsibility. I said I would do it, and I’ve gotta stick to my word.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but I cut him off as I quickened my pace. “You’ll have to tell me after the show what that restaurant is so I can try it later. Good luck! You’ll do great tonight!”

And then I turned away. Tango, usually so bright and sunny, almost seemed to dim when I did. 

I didn’t really wait for a reply from my buddy, although he did actually say something. I had heard his voice shouting back at me, just not the words. I didn’t have time for that. Somehow I would make it up to him later. We could hang out when Skizz got here and I had fewer people depending on me. 

I made my way through the dark underworkings of the stage towards the opening in the side of the tent. As I walked, I couldn’t help but wonder what I looked like to Tango as I ran off. Did I look nearly as exhausted as I was feeling? 

__________________________________________________________

I couldn’t do it. 

There was only a half hour left before the show.  It had gotten to the point where I was trying to juggle two things at once.

The plane had been stashed in the back of a hollow shed that the circus had thrown together as a cheap cover for the assets that were too big to keep hauling on and off the train. Beside the bi-plane were also False’s hot air balloon and a number of very large automated puppets Mumbo had once built for a show. It also made for a make-shift workshop where me and the other carnies could work in peace without worrying about the public seeing. Right now, it acted as a good way to hide my shame as I struggled to remove most of the damaged plane’s parts while also putting aside anything salvageable that I could use to make Gem’s gate.

While most of the damage had been limited to the outer body, Grian's Jenny was still in shambles. The framework for the wings was broken and would need replacing. Same with the propeller, and when I pulled open the casing over the engine, an entire piston fell out of the engine block. 

I couldn’t keep convincing myself that the damage was small enough to have it finished in time for tonight’s show. But I also hadn’t run into Grian either. He must have been too busy helping Scar prep for the show.  I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t even do my job right. I was letting people down…

I was so tired.

“Impulse?”

My heart sank when I heard Grian’s voice. 

“Are you in here?”

That sounded a lot like Gem too. Were they both here together?

“You should come out.”

“We heard about everything you’ve been up to. We’re here to help you out.”

Huh? That was Doc and Beef. They didn’t normally hang out with Grian and Gem. What were those four doing together?

As embarrassed as I was, the curiosity won out. The circumstances were too weird not to address. I poked my head out of the cockpit to see a small crowd of my fellow carnies coming in through the open shed door. Doc, Beef, Gem, and Grian were among them, but I could also make out Tango, Etho, Scar, and Zed. It was like half the circus had come for me. 

That thought was intimidating. 

“What are you guys doing here,” I asked, feeling a little shy with all those eyes on me. They weren’t unkind, but there was a firmness there. It almost made me feel like a child about to be scolded. “Shouldn’t you all be getting ready? The show’s about to start…”

“Which is why you shouldn’t be worrying about my plane,” Grian said with a smirk. 

I shrank back. “I know I won’t have it done in time, but I can still fix it up for you,” I offered. “I can get it up and running for you by the next performance night.”

“Or Mumbo can,” Doc said firmly. “Or me. Or Tango-

“Or me,” Etho butt in. “I heard you’ve been the one doing the maintenance on my wheel of death. You know I can handle that on my own.”

“Or all of us together, even,” Doc continued, one corner of his mouth pulling up into a half smile. “At a time that works for us and without… ehm… without overworking ourselves…”

“And you don’t have to worry about the pen,” Gem chimed in. “You should have told me you had so much on your plate. My silly little idea isn’t that important.”

“But Gem,” I say, climbing out over the plane’s side. “It isn’t a silly idea. I want to help you out.”

Scar nodded. “We know. And we know that you’re really good at what you do. You helped save the day first thing this morning, after all. But we don’t want you going and over-exerting yourself.”

This was starting to sound like an intervention. My eyes went to Tango and Zed, who had been silent up until now. Tango was guiltily looking down at his feet, not willing to meet my gaze. Zed, though, stepped up and spoke up.

“Tango told us about how you didn’t eat today.” Now it was my turn to feel guilty. My stomach growled just then as if Zed’s words had reminded me that it was empty. Gem and Grian even looked a little ashamed of themselves as well, rubbing at their arms and looking at anything other than me. 

“And I know you didn’t sleep last night,” Zed continued. He gave me an impish grin as he added teasingly, “kept me up all night with that racket a few carts down. But at least I still got a few winks of shut-eye.”

I sighed. It didn’t seem as bad as they were making it out to be. I was just trying to help. There was a lot to do, sure, but I could get it all done if I just kept at it. 

They were making some good points here, though. So I tried to put myself in their shoes. If one of them hadn’t slept all night or eaten at all the next day, I suppose I would be concerned too. “I guess I am a little hungry…”

“A little?” Tango finally managed to look at me. He couldn’t resist the urge to poke fun, and that made him a little bolder. “I could hear your stomach growling all the way from the other side of the big top.”

As if to highlight his point, my stomach growled once more. I laughed. Some of the others even laughed along with me.

It was like someone had flipped a switch. The tension left the room in a rush. Everyone’s mood immediately lightened. Everything was going to be alright.

“Come on, you,” Zed said, throwing one arm around my shoulder. I let the toolbox drop from my hand as he and Tango led me towards the door. “Let’s get you something to stuff in your gob. Me and Tango brought back something from dinner for you that we think you’ll like.”

“That will be perfect. I can heat it up while you guys go onstage.”

Tango nudged me in the ribs with his elbow. “Oh no you don’t. You’re going to eat, and the three of us are going to hang out.”

“But your acts-?”

“Are later in the show,” Tango said, cutting me off. “Bdubs or someone can come get us when it’s almost time to perform.”

“And after that, you need to go to sleep, mister," Grian said, following behind. “Leave the plane until tomorrow. Doc and Etho already offered to help, so you better let them.”

“And you really don’t have to worry about the pen,” Gem added. She elbowed Scar in the shoulder as he rolled up alongside her. “Me and Scar talked it out and I managed to convince him to start with a few animals!”

Scar nodded. “She drove a hard bargain, but I think we can make it work. And a petting zoo will make a nice addition for the kids.”

I would have gladly helped with her animal pen idea, but I wasn’t too disappointed with the fact that I no longer had to build an animal pen. It was good that the two of them worked it out. And it was a relief that Grian didn’t seem to mind that he would be sitting tonight’s show out. Oh well. No barnstorming performance tonight. 

But now that I finally had the chance to think of something other than the next job I needed to get done, it dawned on me how exhausted I really was. I found myself yawning, looking forward to a chance to sit down. Hopefully I could stay awake long enough to eat the food Zed and Tango had saved for me.

With another yawn, I brought my arms up around Tango and Zed’s back and pulled them in tight. 

“Thanks guys.”

[l4ndojpg]

Whumptober 2023, Day 26: Working to exhaustion/"You look awful."

fandom: criminal minds | characters: spencer reid (centric), jennifer jareau, david rossi, aaron hotchner | ship: none | trigger warnings: ableism | content: on a case, local officers treat the team badly, dad!hotch, team as a family | word count: 1.7k.

“You look awful,” JJ says seriously, pulling up a chair beside the table Spencer’s working at. 

“Thanks,” he says, pulling a face at her. She doesn’t smile.

“No, seriously, Spence, did you get any rest last night?” 

“A little,” he says, avoiding her gaze and studying the geographical profile in front of him, “but this is more important.” He rubs a tired eye and chews on the end of his pen. 

JJ sighs. He really does look awful, dark purple bags under his eyes and two days worth of stubble littering his chin. He’s wearing his glasses - further proof he didn't sleep last night and forgot to put in his contacts this morning, and he’s got on yesterday's clothes. 

“This case isn’t more important than your well-being,” she says gently. “And you know you work better with sleep and food in your system. When was the last time you ate?”

Spencer shrugs nonchalantly, ignoring most of her words, and pushes himself out from the table, standing up to study the board, frowning. She can see the gears turning in his mind as bounces up and down on the balls of his feet adding up whatever it is in his head that is starting to come together. But she can’t ignore how obviously tense he is, how his fingers tap agitatedly against one another, the permanent frown creased between his eyebrows. How jumpy he’s been. Something is clearly wrong. 

“Come and take a coffee break with me,” she offers, but he shakes his head. 

“I’m okay, thanks.” He doesn’t look at her. She exhales heavily and pushes herself up from the table, re entering the main room the team are using. Hotch and Rossi walk in at the same time as her from the other side of the room. 

“Did Morgan and Emily go take a look at the first crime scene again?” she asks tiredly. 

“Yes,” Hotch says. “Can you two go look at the second one? I think they both need re inspection.” He gestures to both Rossi and JJ, who nod. 

“Where’s Reid?” Hotch asks, frowning.

“Still in there,” she jerks her head towards the breakout room Spencer’s working in. “I couldn’t convince him to take a break.”

Rossi sighs. “Kid’s overcompensating for something,” he says wisely. “Someone’s gotta talk some sense into him before he collapses from exhaustion.”

“I don’t think he’s going to listen,” JJ replies, pursing her lips and wiping a hand across her face tiredly. She’s been growing more and more concerned about Spencer as his behavior has become more self destructive the longer the case continues, and they’ve all approached him without much luck.

“I’ll speak to him soon,” Hotch promises resolutely. “Go look at the Walters house again and let me know what you find. Check in with Garcia, too.” 

JJ and Rossi nod and take their leave. After a moment, Hotch sighs and enters the room Spencer’s in. 

“Reid,” he says, and Spencer jumps about a foot in the air, an expression of fear flitting across his face when his name is said, before he realizes Hotch is the one saying it. Hotch frowns. 

“Hotch!” He attempts to straighten up without much success, and rubs at his eyes as though it’ll get rid of his tiredness. “I think I’ve got something here. Depending on what Morgan and Prentiss find-,”

“Reid,” Hotch says again, more seriously. “I appreciate that this case is important and that we’re running out of time. I would like to hear your theories in a moment. But please,” he gestures to the chairs at the table, “sit down a moment.”

Spencer advances to the table cautiously, like he knows he’s about to be lectured. He all but melts into the chair when he’s there. Hotch takes up the chair next to him, scans him concernedly for a moment, then speaks. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” He asks.

Spencer grimaces, and his eyes flick away from contact with Hotch’s. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “Why would something be wrong?”

“You’re overcompensating,” Hotch echoes Rossi’s words from earlier, “and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

“I’m not,” Spencer says, rapidly tapping his foot on the floor, “I just want this case to be over.”

“Why?”

“I just-,” Spencer exhales, still not looking at Hotch. It takes him a moment to gather his words. “I really want to go home,” he says finally, in a small voice. This is not what Hotch expects him to say. His eyebrows raise in surprise. 

“Is everything okay? Is your mother alright?” He says quickly, his mind jumping to the worst conclusions possible. Spencer nods, still avoiding Hotch’s gaze. 

“She’s fine. I just, uh. I don’t like it here. Much.” His anxiety is obvious now, his fingers shaking and interlocking and repeating the process, his leg bouncing up and down. 

“I know when you’re not telling me something,” Hotch keeps his voice gentle. “Please, Reid. Spencer. You can talk to me”

Spencer exhales heavily, rubbing at his forehead. 

“I just - you’re just going to make a big deal out of it. And I don’t want that. I just want to prove that I can solve this case and get out of here,” he says, a little bitterly. Hotch’s surprise grows by the second. He reflects on Spencer’s words: ‘I want to prove I can solve this case,’ and something clicks, suddenly. 

“Did someone say something to you?” Hotch says, trying to keep his voice even. “One of the officers?” Small town local officers are always difficult to work with and this bunch have been no exception. They’re often made up vastly of backwards thinking older men, who feel emasculated by the FBI coming in to solve their case for them. He’s already had a few harsh words with one of them after he overheard them using derogatory words to describe Prentiss and JJ. Hotch knows his team can all take care of themselves, but there’s always a risk that Morgan or Prentiss will blow up at them and get in trouble with the Bureau, which he doesn’t want. He’s been careful to keep an eye on his team, but Reid has been glued to the geographical profile while the rest of them have been out in the field, so there have been plenty of chances for one of the officers to have had a chance to say something to him that Hotch hasn’t caught. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Spencer murmurs, staring at his knees, wrapping his arms around his midriff. 

“Spencer,” is all Hotch says, his voice low. Spencer looks up, finally, and makes eye contact with Hotch, sighing shakily and gives in to whatever has been eating away at him. 

“I know that I’m smart,” he starts. “I know that. It’s an incontrovertible fact. I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute. I know I can do things  that no one else can. That’s the beauty of our team. We are all exceptional at different things, it’s why our success rate is so high. But when-,” he inhales shakily, and Hotch’s frown deepens, “but when people who don’t know me meet me they make… assumptions. They only see the things they don’t want to. Like when I stim. Or when I refuse to shake hands with them. These officers,” he gestures vaguely at the door that leads into the main part of the station, “they don’t like people…. like me. I heard them say…” His voice cracks, and he pushes up his glasses, blinking and looking away, clearly unable to go on. 

Hotch’s blood boils. He’s known Spencer for close to six years, knows all of his quirks and needs, is in constant admiration of the work his youngest agent does and the compassionate person he is. Spencer is as much a part of his team - his family - as any of the others. There is nothing he could do or say to change that. The fact that Spencer has been subject to such blatant ableism after so many years of incredible work for the Bureau - hell, even if he’d never worked a day in his life for the Bureau - makes Hotch furious. He swallows down his anger, knowing Spencer doesn’t want him to make a big deal out of whatever it is he’s heard the officers say, and knowing full well he’ll see to it the officers will not get away with it. 

“I’m sorry they said that, Reid,” he says, doing his best to keep the anger out of his voice. “They will not go without consequences, but that’s not for you to worry about now. What I want you to do now is take care of yourself. You have nothing to prove to anyone that cares about you, and those are the only people whose opinions you should care about.” 

“I know,” Spencer mumbles, looking down at his hands, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “They made me feel stupid. I’m not stupid.” 

“No, you’re not,” Hotch agrees. “But I bet you are tired. You’re overworking yourself to prove to them that you’re more than what they say, and I understand why. But you’re not going to be able to keep this up much longer Spencer. You’re hurting yourself.” 

“I know,” Spencer whispers after a pause, looking up. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Hotch says firmly. “Those officers are the only ones who need to apologize. Look, I can see that you’ve made several connections here, and the others will be back from the crime scenes soon. I’m going to get you and I some food, and leave you in here for a moment with the blinds closed so you can do whatever it is you need to do to decompress. When the others are back, we’ll talk about what you’ve discovered and if we solve this any time in the next hour or so, you can keep working. You can’t go out into the field in this state, but if we go back out, I will not leave you alone here. Someone will stay. If it looks like we’re going to be here a while longer, you’re going back to the hotel and getting some rest, because I can’t stand seeing you like this,” Hotch says. He doesn’t mean to say the last part aloud, but he does. Spencer’s eyes widen for a moment at the slip in Hotch’s tough facade, then after a moment, he nods. 

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you, Hotch. Really.” 

“Of course,” Hotch says, standing up and squeezing Spencer’s shoulder. “Of course.”

[darkkitty1208]

Entry for Whumptober 2023, prompt no. 26: Working To Exhaustion.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Doctor Strange (Movies), Iron Man (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Characters: Stephen Strange, Tony Stark Additional Tags: Mentioned Wong (Marvel), Ficlet, Exhaustion, Humorous Ending, Stephen Strange is So Done, Tired Stephen Strange Series: Part 19 of Whumptober 2023 Summary:

To say Stephen is exhausted would be an understatement.