#ai less whumptober

[topguncortez]

Sleep When You're Dead || Whumptober Day 2 - B. Floyd

Whumptober Masterlist || Whumptober Taglist Form

synopsis: Bob has had a hard time adjusting to life after a tragic accident. Every time he closes his eyes, the nightmares come flooding back.

@ailesswhumptober prompt: insomnia

warnings: mercy killing, graphic details of injury, physical violence, nightmares, choking, panic attack, character death, insomnia.

word count: 5.2k

Bob Floyd didn’t let a lot of things bother him. He prided himself on being the cool, calm, and collected WSO in the box. Yes, he was one of the younger ones in his squadron, but he had the intellect of someone who had been flying for all their life. He was able to direct his pilot through the most successful situations and get them both back on the carrier in one piece. 

But that had all changed in the blink of an eye. 

The 4th gen had come out of nowhere. Bob would’ve certainly seen it on the radar and would’ve directed his pilot on how to get out from under the missile lock. 

Bob could remember the burning scent of flesh as their jet went spinning down to the ground. He could remember the pain that shot through his whole body as he ejected from his seat, and crash-landed on the side of the mountain. He could remember running through the rough terrain trying to get to his pilot but finding nothing but mangled plane parts mixed with human body parts. He could remember trying to pull his pilot out of the damaged cockpit, but his brunt skin slid off in Bob’s hands. He could remember trying to keep the wildlife away from the crash, yelling and clanging against the side of the destroyed jet to make the vultures run away. 

Bob had managed for two days to keep the wolves away from his pilot’s decaying body, until one night when he finally closed his eyes. He woke up to the harsh growls and snarls of the wild animals tearing the man’s body apart and having a feast. Bob could do nothing but sit from afar and watch and pray that someone was on their way to get him. 

— — — 

The sun had just risen above the clouds, bathing the whole house in a warm glow. Bob used to love the early mornings. It was one of the few fleeting moments that he got to truly spend with you. As soon as the two of you would roll out of bed, everything became a blur of trying to get out the door on time to get to work. And nights were always filled with long, tired sighs of just trying to keep your eyes open long enough to make dinner and take a shower. But mornings, you two felt like you had all the time in the world to hold each other in the warm light. 

That all changed after Bob’s accident. 

He no longer was there beside you when you opened your eyes as the sun poked through your white blinds. You stretched your limbs out, missing the warmth from your partner on the other side of the bed. A frown crawled on your face as you gently placed your hand on his pillow, seeing as it was cold and looked untouched. Just like how it had been the morning before, and the one before that, and the one before that. 

You didn’t know much about Bob’s accident, and you were kind of happy that you didn’t know the true horrors that he went through. You knew the basics; he and his pilot crashed into the middle of the mountains, they were there for five days due to their location beacons being crushed, his pilot was badly injured, and Bob had some burns and minor injuries. Bob had tried to save his pilot, but all attempts were futile. Bob had also been diagnosed with PTSD. 

“He’s going to be different from the man you once knew.” 

His psychologist had sent you home with a folder full of information about how to handle someone with PTSD. How one minute, they could be the person you’ve always known and the next they are someone completely different. Truthfully, it worried you to have Bob home. Of course, you had begged and wished for the day he came home when he was missing in god only knows where. But having him home, in the house that you shared, you were scared. You could tell something was different about him. 

Slowly, you made your way downstairs of your two-story home, wrapping your robe around your body. You found Bob in the place you found him most mornings and throughout the day, sitting on the front porch step, looking out at the bird feeder. His blue eyes were locked on the squirrels that were trying to figure out how to get into the feeder. You could remember when Bob bought the “squirrel-proof” bird feeder and how happy he had been to put it up in front of the large bay window. 

“Baby! Look! My birds don’t have to fight with the squirrels anymore!” 

You wanted to cry at the memory. At how light and bright his eyes had been holding the box in his hands. How that night the two of you sat on the porch swing until it was dark, watching the sunset and the birds. Bob held you so tight that night, right against his beating chest. He took you inside when it had gotten cold, and made slow, sweet, passionate love to you in bed. Keeping his eyes locked on yours, as he intertwined your fingers and held your hands above your head. You closed your eyes, putting your hand on your neck as if you could still feel the feeling of his hot breath on your neck. 

But when you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of a man who hadn’t even hugged you since he came back. 

Oh, how you ached to be held by him again.

Pushing those thoughts out of your head, you walked towards him, gently calling out his name. You had quickly learned that you couldn’t walk up behind him anymore. You had done that once and it sent him into a full-fledged panic attack and he locked himself in the bathroom for three hours. 

“Bobby,” You called out. It took a moment, but Bob turned his head and looked at you over his shoulder. You smiled softly as you took a seat in the spot next to him on the stoop, “Gorgeous morning.” 

“Squirrels are in the feeder,” He said bluntly, ignoring your comment. 

You swallowed and looked down at your hands, “Yeah. Damn, squirrels.” 

Bob just nodded, his blue eyes not looking from the bird feeder. 

You weren’t sure how long you had sat by Bob’s side this morning, but eventually, you had to get up and start your day. You were working from home, taking time off so you could stay with Bob until he could be trusted to be home alone. The psychiatrist had told you that Bob was still in a fragile state of mind and that being home alone might be a trigger for him. Bob usually sat on the couch all day, watching the birds outside the window, or sat in your office, on the loveseat that you could remember cuddling on, with a book. As much as you loved having Bob back home, having him sit in your office made you so nervous, that you started to tell him that you had important meetings that you needed to be alone for. 

“Are you still hiding from him?” Natasha asked over the phone. 

You frowned at her words, “I am not hiding, Nat. I just. . .He’s just not the same. He just sits and stares at the birds all day. I wish he would talk to me. Hell, I wish he would fucking hug me! It has been so long since I’ve had any sort of human contact.” 

“Awe babe,” Natasha cooed, “Have you told him that?” 

You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see you, “I’m scared too. Doctor Sam said I need to let him have control over what happens. I just need to wait for him to talk to me, to hug me, to. . .” Your voice broke as tears welled in your eyes, “To love me.” 

“Stop that,” Natasha commanded, “You know he loves you. There is nothing on this earth that Bob loves more than you.” 

“He doesn’t even lay in the same bed as me anymore,” You said barely above a whisper. “I just want my old Bobby back.” 

Natasha had been your closest confidant after Bob’s accident. She had blamed herself for everything that happened, telling you that if she had just been with him. If she hadn’t been on leave to help her ailing mother. If she had told Bob to sit this mission out and wait for her. If she had been the one to be out there for five days instead of him. But you told her she couldn’t dwell on all the “what ifs”, that wasn’t going to change anything that happened. You feared that maybe if she had been with Bob, it would’ve been her funeral they had to attend. 

“He will come back,” Natasha assured you, “He is still somewhere in there. He just needs to heal a little more.” 

You agreed with her, even though you didn’t want to. You wanted to yell and say that the man you once knew is completely gone, replaced by the cold-hearted barely functioning robot in your living room. 

You parted ways with Natasha, telling her that you want to get together for a girls’ night soon, and made your way downstairs to check on Bob. He was sitting on the couch, with a quizzical expression on his face, staring at the wedding photo on the wall. You wanted to say something, to ask him anything, but you decided against it, going to the kitchen and making lunch for the two of you. 

— — — 

Bob hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on your conversation. 

He had planned on coming to actually talk to you, to have a real conversation. He felt like he was making good progress in therapy with Doctor Sam. He no longer saw the lifeless, half-eaten body of his pilot every time he closed his eyes. The blades of the ceiling fan no longer represented the helicopter that came to rescue him. The birds outside in the bird feeder no longer looked like the vultures that came to pick over what was left of his pilot. And the recurring dream of you being the one he had to fight wolves off and bury. 

But Bob had always been raised to be respectful and wait until someone was off the phone to enter a room. So he waited and heard every single word you had said. 

“I just need to wait for him to talk to me, to hug me, to. . . love me.” 

“He doesn’t even lay in the same bed as me anymore.”

 “I just want my old Bobby back.” 

Bob knew this couldn’t have been easy on you. He knew the type of person you are. All sunshine, and rainbows, and bright smiles. You were his sun, the light that shined so bright. The infectious warmth that you couldn’t help but be drawn to. But he knew that you couldn’t shine on your own, you needed the people around you to shine. Which was why the two of you fit so well together. Bob was like the moon, quiet and mysterious and you helped illuminate him. 

Now, it was like a cloud had covered the both of you. Not letting either of you shine. 

After a painstaking lunch, where neither of you said a single word, Bob had retreated back to the couch, as you went back to your office to finish up a couple of things for work. The words you had spoken over the phone still danced around in his head. 

 “I just want my old Bobby back.”

Bob bit his lip, closing his eyes and thinking of the things he used to do when he noticed your light starting to dim. Images of him cooking, you sitting on the kitchen counter next to him rambling about whatever had upset you filled his mind. The scent of rose petals filled his nose as he could remember bubble baths, filled with entirely too much water and bubbles. Then he could feel the imaginary touch of hands, running down his back, and your legs locking around his waist as he could remember making love to you until your mind had completely gone blank. 

Bob wasn’t sure if he could fulfill all of those memories, but he could at least help with one. 

Easily, Bob found his way around the kitchen, pulling out the skillet and various items needed to make your favorite dish; spaghetti with bow tie noodles. He worked in silence, letting the kitchen fill with the scents of oregano and garlic. It wasn’t long after Bob started to stir the pasta around the pot that you came walking into the kitchen, a look of surprise on your face. 

“You’re cooking?” You asked. 

Bob nodded his head, mustering up the smallest smile he could give, “You’ve been making all the meals. It’s not fair.” 

“I-it’s fine, Bobby,” You said, pulling at the sleeves of your sweatshirt, “I don’t mind.” 

You were nervous. Bob hadn’t noticed it before, so locked away in his own mind, but you were nervous to be around him. He could see the fleeting glance in your eye as you fiddled with your sweatshirt sleeve. Bob sucked in a breath and walked over to you, gently touching your hand. 

“It’s the least I can do,” Bob said softly, “Please. Come sit.” 

You looked up at him, your eyes soft and teary. You licked your lips, and nodded, letting Bob gently pull you over to the island. His hands gently rested on your hips as he helped you up, sitting you on top of the island, just as he had a hundred times before. It was silent for just a moment as Bob turned back around to the pots and pans he had on the stove. You weren’t sure what to say, but then Bob looked over his shoulder. 

“Tell me about your day.” 

You smiled at him and nodded your head, “So, I started working on this work project, and let me tell ya this. . .” 

The rest of the night was filled with you telling Bob about your day, and him listening intently as he made dinner. He plated the delicious meal and set the dining room table as you rambled on about this work project and how your jerk of a boss wasn’t pulling his weight and putting it all on you. Bob didn’t say much, but his eyes said everything, which was enough for you. You truly missed nights like these, where he just listened, giving you a safe outlet to release all the tension you had been carrying. The meal he had made was utterly delicious, with homemade tomato sauce and meatballs. If there was one thing about Bob, he knew how to cook. 

The two of you finished up dinner like you always did, doing the dishes together. You washing, and him drying. However, as the night dwindled down, the dread came rising back in your body. What was going to happen next? Were the two of you going to retreat back to the silent corners of the house and pretend like you hardly existed? Were you going to go back to just surviving instead of truly living?

When the last dish was put away, you turned around, leaning against the sink as you watched Bob. He gently shut the cupboards and then heaved in a breath, his shoulders rising and falling sharply. You rolled your lips together, waiting for him to silently walk out of the kitchen, and out the front door to go look at his birds. But instead, he turned around to face you, blue eyes looking more lively than they had in weeks. 

“I would like to join you in bed tonight,” He said and then reached a shaky hand out to you. You didn’t even hesitate a moment, rushing over to him and taking his hand. Bob flinched at the contact but held your hand tightly. He leads you down the hall to your once-shared bedroom, pushing the door open softly. 

He had dreams of this room, most of them nightmares now, of finding your body on the white comforter, contorted and twisted in the metal of a jet. Bob closed his eyes as you let go over his hand, and quickly started your nighttime routine. He sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the soft cotton of the comforter under his hands as you danced around the room and got ready for bed. The mattress felt a lot softer than the couch he had been sleeping on. 

You quickly changed into some sleep shorts and a large T-shirt which Bob quickly realized was his. You piled your hair up on your head, tying it into a bun with a velvet scrunchy. Bob still sat on the edge of the bed, stoic, as you pulled the blankets back on your side, ready to climb into the awaiting warmth. 

“Bobby,” You called softly, making him jump a bit. Guilt filled your heart as you looked at his stiff frame. You suddenly felt bad for how excited you had been to have him sleep next to you. He looked like the scared boy that you found lying in the hospital bed after being assumed dead for five days. 

“You don’t have to-” 

Bob stood up abruptly and turned towards you, “I need to.” He bit his lip and hesitated for a moment before grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head revealing his toned stomach. You tore your eyes away from a sight that made you weak in the knees. You cursed yourself for getting turned on at this moment. Bob rid himself of his pants, leaving him just in boxers, and then climbed in bed next to you. 

The two of you lay with a palpable distance between you. You had never been so close but felt so far away from him in your life. However, you didn’t want to make the first move. You knew that you needed to let Bob control the scene. So, you just laid there, with your arms down at your side, staring straight at the ceiling, with the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.  

��Can I turn the light off?” You asked. You knew that when Bob did sleep, he slept with at least one light on in the living room. 

Bob swallowed and then nodded his head, “Yes.” 

Sighing, you reached over and flicked the light off, letting the darkness of the night swallow you both. The tension seemed to rise even more as you two laid with at least a body’s width in between the two of you. Your nose started to burn as tears welled up in your eyes. You felt so selfish, but all you wanted was for Bob to hold you. Laying next to you was such a milestone in itself, but you wanted his strong arms wrapped around you, fighting off the imaginary monsters of the dark. 

Your lips trembled as Bob shifted closer to you and whispered, “C’mere,” Holding his arm out and letting you curl into his side. You sobbed as you placed your head on his chest and wrapped an arm around his warm body. Oh, how you have missed this. You sucked in a breath of his scent, pine mixed with the faint smell of jet fuel. Your ear was pressed against his chest, feeling his beating heart and the warmth of his blood, lulling you to a long-awaited rest.

— — — 

“We’re going down, Floyd! We’re going down!” 

“Jackson! We need altitude! Pull up! Pull up!” 

“I-I can’t! I can’t! We’re gonna die!” 

“Jesus Christ, help us!” 

The impact of the crash hurt worse than the time he had to eject from the bird strike. He had barely been able to get out on time, pulling his ejection handle and punching out. His blue eyes searched the terrain for any sight of his pilot and an extra parachute.  

“Jackson!” Bob yelled, running through the snow-covered woods. There was a trail of burnt-out plane parts that led him to the mangled piece of metal sitting in the middle of the woods. Bob felt sick as the scent of burning flesh and jet fuel mixed in the air. He didn’t hesitate and ran straight towards the jet. 

The sight was even worse up close. Bob couldn’t see the lower half of Jackson’s body, but he knew that he was pinned under the 13,000 kilograms of metal. His face had been burned, the white snow around his head bleeding. His chest heaved up and down, as he tried to catch his breath from his lungs being crushed. Bob fell to his knees at his side, looking over the wreckage, trying to decide what he could do. 

“Okay, okay,” Bob shook his head. His mind was running a mile a minute. He gripped his hair tightly, “Fuck! I’m going to try and slide you out.” Bob shifted so he was kneeling at Jackson’s head, his hands going under his armpits. But even the slightest movement made the pilot cry out in pain, “I’m sorry. Take a deep breath. . . ready, on 3, I’m going to try and move you.” 

“Please, Floyd, I don’t want to die,” Jackson cried, tears mixing with the blood and dirt on his face. 

Bob nodded, moving so he could get a better grip on the pilot, “One, two. . .three.” Bob tried to shuffle backward with his pilot’s body in his hands, but the thing that happened was the sickening sound of the jet bending and moaning, and Jackson’s screams of agony. 

“Fuck! Fuck! You’re ripping me apart!” Jackson yelled. Bob immediately set him down, tears in his eyes as he looked at the scene. 

Bob had always believed that he could do something in every situation. He never felt like he was truly and utterly helpless. 

Until now. 

Bob felt helpless. There was nothing he could possibly do to save his pilot. He knew it and Jackson knew it as he turned his head to look at the quiet WSO. Bob sat down in the snow, leaning up against the jet, holding his head in his hands. 

“H-hey,” Jackson called out, “It’s okay, Floyd. You tried.” 

Bob shook his head, “N-no. I can get you out there. I know I can,” Bob quickly moved to his feet, his hands going to a part of the jet, “I-I just need to l-lift it, and I-” 

“Floyd.” 

“I’m going to lift it. Ready? One, two-” 

“Floyd!” Jackson yelled, which was followed by coughing. Bob’s jaw clenched, the adrenaline starting to wear off and his body becoming heavy as he sunk back down in the snow. It was quiet for a moment, as the two of them let the gravity of the situation fall around them. They were in the middle of nowhere. No location beacons. No landmarks that could possibly giveaway to where they are. 

“Floyd,” Jackson whispered out, “I-I need you to do something.” Bob nodded, getting to his knees, “I. . . I’m gonna suffer. There are wolves out here. . . I don’t want to die by being a wolf’s last meal.” Bob felt like he had gotten hit straight in his heart. His eyes grew wide at the gravity of what Jackson was asking of him, “I need you to-” 

“I can’t,” Bob shook his head, “I can’t do that. I can’t- I won’t!” 

“Please, Bob,” Jackson sobbed, “I don’t want to suffer. I don’t want to lay here and wait for-” 

“I’ll be here. I’ll protect you!” 

Jackson shook his head, “You need to get out of here.” 

Bob looked at the man who was entrusted with his whole life. There was a special bond between the pilot and WSO. The pilot was ultimately the one responsible for the WSO’s life. Every decision a pilot had to make was not only to ensure their survival but also their backseater’s survival. And now, Bob was being challenged to take the life of the person who was supposed to get him back home safely. 

“Please,” Jackson reached his hand out. And for the first time, Bob noticed the black wedding band on his finger. Guilt filled his body, realizing that Bob hardly got to know the man before climbing in the plane behind him and setting off on this mission. Bob didn’t know if he had kids, how long he had been married, or what his favorite color was. But there was one thing that Bob did know, and that was he could grant him his last rights. 

Bob grabbed Jackson’s hand, holding it in his own for a moment and squeezing it. 

“You’re a good man, Bob Floyd.” 

Bob clenched his jaw, as he positioned his body so he was straddling Jackson’s. His foot planted on the ground and kneeling on his other knee. Jackson’s brown eyes trained on the sky, as one of Bob’s hands clasped down on his mouth and nose, the other going to his throat. 

— — — 

You jolted awake, feeling the pressure of another body on top of you. You gasped as Bob’s hand tightened on your throat, your eyes wide in panic. Your arms and legs failed as you tried to push him off, slapping at his skin. But the look in Bob’s eyes told you that he was anywhere but here in this dark bedroom. 

Your lungs burned as you tried to keep fighting for air. Bob’s large hand pressed down on your windpipe, his hand held tightly over your nose and mouth. Tears were running down your face as your vision became blurry. Bob’s cold blue eyes bore into yours as if he were looking right through you. 

This was not the man you loved. 

Your body began to feel heavy, as your head started to swim from the lack of oxygen flowing to your brain. You struggled less and less as your brain had come to the conclusion that you were going to die. Right here, in the same bed, you were sharing with your husband, at his own hand. 

“Bobby. . . “ You somehow, managed to squeak out Bob’s name, hoping that maybe, just maybe you could reach to him, get him to wake up. Hoping that maybe, he would be able to save you. But the blank look on his face told you that your greatest fear was coming true. 

And the moment before you could give up, the door came crashing open. Bob’s body was tackled off of you, and you felt air rush into your lungs. You sucked in a deep breath, which was followed by a series of coughs as someone sat on the bed next to you, wrapping you up in their arms. You covered your mouth as sobs racked your body, your heart rate beating erratically in your chest. You looked over to the side of the bed, where Jake was tackling a screaming Bob on the floor. 

“Don’t,” Your voice was hoarse as you tried calling out to Jake to stop hurting Bob. 

“Shh,” You looked up to see Bradley, holding you tightly against his chest, “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.” 

“He wanted me to! He said to! He said to kill him! I had to!” Bob yelled, his body flailing against Jake’s stronghold, “He told me-” Bob’s voice was cut off by the sickening smack of Jake’s backhand hitting him across the face. You flinched at the sound as Bradley led you down the hall towards the living room. 

“It’ll be okay,” Bradley whispered in your ear, running his hand up and down your back. 

Hours had passed, and you were still sitting on the couch, now holding an icepack to your swelling throat. Jake was still in the bedroom with Bob, and you had guessed by now, that Bob had finally calmed down. For a while, you heard yelling as Jake and Bob argued, and then what sounded like Bob sobbing how he didn’t know what he was doing. You sat motionless on the couch, as Bradley had turned on some late-night rerun of the Phillies game. He had encouraged you to go to the emergency room, but the idea of having to explain what happened made you nauseous. Besides, it was an accident. You knew it. But you knew others would think so. 

Bradley looked over at you, for probably the tenth time in the last twenty minutes, “Your eyes might take some time to heal.” 

“I don’t,” Your throat killed you to speak. You took a swallow, “Plan on going anywhere,” You whispered out. 

Bradley frowned, “I think you should. I know someone who won’t say-” You shook your head, shutting down the conversation that had come up several times already. Bradley gave you a court nod before turning back to the game. The silence stretched over you again, until you shifted on the couch and patted Bradley’s arm. 

“How did you know?” You asked softly. 

Bradley sighed, “Jake and I were watching a movie, you must’ve accidentally called him,” He looked down at his fingers, picking at the callouses on his hand, “We could hear some struggling, coughing and all that. Jake didn’t even think twice when you didn’t respond to him calling your name. He got up and ran right over.” 

You were suddenly very thankful to have Jake “Hangman” Seresin as your next-door neighbor. You don’t even remember clearing off your bedside table in a fit of panic, reaching for your phone to call someone. Anyone who could come save you. You felt an immense debt of gratitude towards Jake for saving your life. 

The door to your bedroom opened and sucked the air right out of the living room. Bob had looked like he had been to hell and back. His cheeks were red, his eyes bloodshot, and his knuckles bloodied. Jake looked pissed as he stood behind him, his jaw clenched shut tightly. Bob walked with his head down towards you, standing in front of you, his body visibly trembling. 

“Y/N, I. . .” Bob opened his mouth, but sobs escaped. All you wanted to do was wrap him up in your arms, but something in your conscious told you to stay put. Bob cried and rubbed at his eyes as if he were a child. He looked so small and fragile as he stood in front of you, “I’m so sorry.” 

“You didn’t have to go to bed with me, tonight,” You spoke, “Why did you?” 

Bob shook his head, his hands fisting his hair, “You said you wanted the old me back and I-I thought I was doing the right thing.” 

You stood from the couch, “Look at me,” Bob shook his head like a petulant child. You grabbed his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. His blue eyes took in the sight of the handprint on your throat, already starting to turn purple. The blood vessels around your eyes had popped, leaving them looking red and angry. 

“God, I’m so sorry,” Bob sobbed out. 

“You don’t get to place the blame on me because I said I wanted the old you back. I know I am never going to get him back. We can both learn to move forward,” Bob nodded, “But you need help, Bobby. You can’t get better on your own.” 

“I don’t like how-” 

“Then I will leave,” You silenced him, “I will leave and never come back.” 

Bob looked into your eyes, tears blurring his vision. He sucked in a breath and nodded his head.

whumptober taglist: @els-marvelvsp @sarahsmi13s @topgun-imagines @xoxabs88xox @cassiemitchell @seitmai @a-reader-and-a-writer @bradleybeachbabe @kmc1989 @senawashere @beautifulandvoid

[tsubaki94]

2 Overworked/ Insomnia/ Exhausted

Ai-less Whumptober23

[lattewritesthings]

Back tracking a little bit on the list. This was a good time to write! Black blood infected Shadow :::::)))

Fandom: Linked Universe

Characters: Four, Shadow

Summary:

When he finally looked at Four again, the tenderness was gone. “Fine. I can fix this. I didn’t think I’d have to, asshole, but I will.” He flexed his fingers, and his claws extended out from both hands. His approach this time was slower, more focused. “We’ll have our happy reunion after I cut the rest of them out of you."

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptober2024 | Day 9 | The Bee's Whumptober Masterlist

The Giant Won't Save You

AI-less Whumptober: Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

Whumptober: OBSESSION | Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

* * * * * * * *

“You're so beautiful,” the creature boomed above them. “I've been looking for a specimen like you for years, no, decades, you're going to revolutionize–..”

Their voice practically cut through whumpee's eardrums, shook their entire soul in their chest as they sat shivering and pinned in the giant's warming hands. They knew they should run. They knew they should fight the hands and bite and kick and punch until they were free to fly away. Right back out into the cold. Into the frigid air that practically pierced through their skin.

Made them unable to fly.

Unable to get home.

Unable to escape.

They should fight.

But they were so, so tired. Even the jumbling around of the giant as they ran who knows where didn't rouse them from the impending unconsciousness, the dip into the dark. The blackness closed in on them, just like the hand that had snatched their frigid and fragile body out of the freezing snow.

Then suddenly there was bright! And warm, even warmer, not just the hands enclosing them, but the very air around them was warm.

They must be in a home of some sort. A home of the giant's.

Their heart skipped a beat as clarity flooded through their head.

No.

No no no no NO.

They needed to get out NOW before it was too late.

They started kicking in the giant's grasp, and the giant recoiled slightly, their hold growing looser so that whumpee felt the joy of promised freedom. RIght before the hand closed around them even tighter, pinning them completely.

“OW!!” The giant cried. “NO, no, I'm sorry, no escaping for you. I need you here. And you're in no shape to be by yourself anyway! Just let me help you, I want you to be the best you can be!”

Whumpee wanted to cry. They didn't understand a single word the giant was saying, the language a constant patter of deep vowels and slewed gibberish. Pain and surprise laced through their voice as they reprimanded their tiny captive, but somehow, thankfully, not anger. If anything, there was a sort of tenderness to their booming tone. As if they were another Faery, speaking to one of their young.

Whumpee spotted a golden cage. They were headed right for it.

I'm going to be caged like an animal.

They tensed, frozen not by the icy freeze that still hung around their body, threatened their fleeting consciousness, but by stone-cold fear.

“Oh!” The giant seemed to remember something, then suddenly their course altered, and Whumpee was staring at a wall. Their energy continued to sap out of their body and into the imprisoning hand. “This is where you're going to go! Well, not now of course, just when you die. Hopefully that won't be for a long time...”

Whumpee's heart seemed to stop beating. Their eyes widened as they beheld the sprawling wall.

Wings. Butterflies. Pinned. Pinned up on the wall. Faery wings. All types of wings with little placards explaining in foriegn type and blocky, unrelenting letters, sprawling out and out seeming to go forever, so many wings, so many insects, their fragile blood seemed to all but drain from their face, they shook at the sight, so many wings so many wings, they looked like whumpers wings was this what was going to happen to them was the booming giant going to hang them up alive and let them suffer pinned up until they die?? They fought and they fought within the grasp but it did absolutely nothing and they still remained pinned in the vice grip and their blackness threatened the edges of their vision, threatening to swallow them entirely, forever–

Then the wall was gone. They saw the cage. The booming voice of the giant rumbled through their body like wind through rickety tree branches, soothed their chest, filled their being as their limp body was laid among some sort of surprisingly soft furs and leaves and dry, comfortable down. They were still so cold.

“Sorry. Guess that must've been upsetting, I should've guessed. I'm not going to hurt you, though, I promise. You're safe here. You've had a long day now, so just go to sleep, recuperate, get warm... Science is going to love you, little creature.”

Whumpees head laud heavy against the plush they laid upon. They tried to move, but their body simply shook with violent protest. The cage door closed gently, almost daintily between the giant's forefinger.

They settled deeper into the cushions. So comfortable. Thr darkness swirled around them. Inviting. They really should try to escape–...

They jerked awake. Had they nodded off? No. Dont–... dont–... dont give in don't let it–

Then they fell away into a warm, plush, comfortable nothing.

* * * * * * *

Whumptober Taglist: @whumperofworlds | @whumptober-archive | @regular-whump-sfx | @whumpninja

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[electrikworm]

What Lies Within: Part 1

Relationships: Echo & Hunter & Omega & Tech & Wrecker

Content Warnings: Blood and Injury, Parasites, Discussion of Death, Discussion of Suicide, Cannibalism (at least kinda... Adding it just to be safe)

Summary:

After Omega falls into some water during a mission, she starts acting strange. The Batch soon learn that Omega's caught a parasite that occasionally alters her behaviour and, if not removed, will cause her death.

Written for day 18 Mind control and Possession for @ailesswhumptober

Word count: 5,321

Read on Ao3

Wrecker just manages to bite back a yelp as he turns to find Omega standing right behind him.

It's the middle of the night and he'd just come out of the refresher. Wrecker hadn't expected to see Omega up.

She's hanging her head slightly, just at the edge of the white light coming from the small refresher. She's standing still but her chest is heaving with heavy breaths. Either Wrecker woke her by moving about or she had a bad dream.

“Can't sleep, 'mega?” Wrecker asks, speaking softly. Omega doesn't react, just looking at the floor. Usually when she wakes up at night, she's carrying Lula about. Something, must have spooked her. Wrecker assumes he's the culprit. “Did I wake you?” Wrecker tilts his head towards her, waiting for any reaction. It's worrying, how quiet she is.

Then Omega springs into action, rushing at Wrecker. His first thought is that she's going for a hug, but he is quickly proven wrong when Omega wraps her hands around Wrecker's left wrist, dragging his arm to her level. He lets her, not expecting her to do what she does next, bite him.

Wrecker laughs quietly. Omega's clearly joking about, or entering a biting phase like both Crosshair and Hunter went through. It's harmless, so he might as well let it happen.

But Omega doesn't let up, just biting down harder.

“Omega?” Wrecker asks, still laughing slightly, patting her arm to get her attention. Crosshair had to be told to not bite so hard at the start as well, Omega's just not aware of the limits just yet.

She doesn't even seem to hear Wrecker, still sinking her teeth into his forearm. It's really starting to hurt.

“Hey, 'mega,” Wrecker says, trying to keep his growing discomfort out of his voice. “mind letting up a little?” He laughs, trying to put her at ease. Wrecker doesn't want her to feel bad about something silly like this.

Still, Omega doesn't listen.

“Omega?” Wrecker tries again, shaking her shoulder lightly. He can't even see her face with the messy mass of blond hair covering it.

Then Wrecker's skin gives under Omega's teeth, spilling blood down Wrecker's arm.

“Kark,” Wrecker hisses, “Omega, stop.” Can't she feel the blood running down her face? Can't she taste it in her mouth? Why isn't she stopping?

If any of his brothers did something he didn't like, went too far, Wrecker would just push them off. He can't just push Omega off, Wrecker isn't going to hurt her. Carefully, he tries to pry her hands off his arm first.

“Stop Omega,” Wrecker repeats, “it's not funny any more.” The words almost hurt to say. He doesn't want to make Omega feel bad, but she has to know she can't bite people like this.

In response to Wrecker's words and him trying to get her to let go, she digs her short fingernails into Wrecker's arm, knuckles going white. She readjusts the way she's biting Wrecker, moving a little and biting down just as hard. Wrecker swears under his breath. There's no way she can't tell she's breaking skin.

What's gotten into her?

“Omega, please, let go!” Wrecker says, trying to pull her away from himself without grabbing her too hard.

With a grunt, Omega suddenly pulls away from Wrecker, taking a large chunk of his skin with her. Wrecker hisses, clutching his hand over the open wound. Blood spills between his fingers, glistening in the light from the refresher.

“'mega?” Wrecker asks, looking up. She's backed away, just out of the light pooling around him. Wrecker's eyes aren't adjusted to the dark enough to see her clearly, only making out her hunched form. Her hands are near her face, seemingly covering it. Is she crying? “What's wrong? Did I do something?”

The only logical conclusion for Omega biting Wrecker like that is her wanting to break skin. She's never been really mad at Wrecker before, so he can't rule out that this is her way to deal with something like that. Only problem is, he has no idea what he could have done.

It happened once when they were cadets that Crosshair had a dream where Wrecker annoyed him and he proceeded to refuse to talk to Wrecker all day, so that could be the case here. It's a bit of a stretch though. It's more likely Wrecker did something to annoy Omega without noticing.

He crouches down, hissing as he moves his injured arm. “Can you tell me what's wrong Omega?” he asks.

Omega doesn't say a word, so Wrecker moves a little closer. Every nerve in his body is telling him not to, but this is Omega and she's clearly distressed. Her biting him is hardly the worst that could have happened.

Hunter shot Wrecker once, even if it was an accident.

Seemingly hesitant, Omega steps into the light. Wrecker can see her for the first time now. Her pupils are wide and unfocused, looking right through Wrecker. Blood is smeared across the lower half of her face, dirtying her blond hair. Something feels very wrong.

"Omega?" Wrecker asks. There's no recognition in her eyes.

Wrecker wants to back off, but he's too late. Omega lunges at him again. He tries to pick her up, same as he always does, though this time with the intention of keeping her from biting anyone else. She's squirming, slamming her fists against Wreckers arms. She's not strong enough to really harm Wrecker this way, likely hurting herself long before she'd cause any real damage.

"There's something wrong with Omega," Wrecker shouts, looking around for his brothers. If Hunter were awake like he said he'd be, he would have been here long ago. Wrecker struggles to find any satisfaction in the fact that Hunter was getting some much needed sleep in right now.

There's movement from the bunks, Echo and Tech's forms rising slowly. The moment Wrecker takes to look over to them leaves him distracted enough to allow Omega to wiggle free, just enough to bite the hand that had been holding her.

Wrecker swears, certain he can feel the way his bones grind against each other under the pressure. He can't just pull his hand from Omega's mouth, worried he'll hurt her in the process. She could loose teeth doing things like this.

With Omega flailing the way she is, the risk of her hurting herself is increasing rapidly. Wrecker decides to do possibly not the smartest thing, but the what minimizes the risk of harm coming to Omega.

Wrecker hugs her to his chest. Omega screams, sounding more like an animal than herself, clawing and biting at Wrecker's arms as he holds her. Wrecker doesn't want to hold her too tightly, so this gives her room to kick at him, having endured much worse. He drops himself to the ground, not wanting to drop Omega if she'd manage to wiggle free.

The Marauders light is suddenly switched on, making Wrecker squint.

Echo and Tech are standing there, confusion, perhaps horror, on their faces. Hunter's shortly behind, arriving from the other side. Wrecker's sure he looks as lost as he feels as he looks between his older brothers.

"What the kriff is going on here?" Echo exclaims, gesticulating adamantly.

"She just started biting," Wrecker says, voice cracking.

"What do you mean, she just started biting? Why?" Hunter hisses, still looking and sounding half asleep.

“I don't know,” Wrecker whines, hating the tone of his voice. The last mission was long and exhausting, he's barely slept, they haven't eaten a real meal in days and now this. He's tired and unable to come up with a single coherent idea for what might have gotten into Omega.

Wrecker's brothers seem lost as well, none of them moving to do anything. Omega makes a noise concerningly close to a snarl, elbowing Wrecker in the ribs surprisingly hard.

“Help?” Wrecker asks, a little desperately. What ever is wrong with Omega's gone on for far too long and Wrecker's a little sick of feeling this helpless. That seems to knock his vode out of their stupor.

“Sedating her would be the best course of action,” Tech says, already rushing off to find their medkit.

“Is that really necessary?” Hunter asks. Wrecker can't say he loves the idea either, though he struggles to think of an alternative.

“She's tearing chunks out of Wrecker's arms with her teeth,” Echo counters, “keeping her conscious won't benefit anyone.”

Hunter seems to really look at Wrecker and Omega, only just comprehending the scene in front of him. The last while's been hard on all of them, but Wrecker's aware of just how little Hunter's been eating or resting.

Hunter swears under his breath.

Tech trying to sedate Omega predictably does not go well. Soon as he's close, Omega switches to trying to bit him, snapping her teeth at him. In the end, Wrecker has to put his hand in front of Omega's mouth to get her to stop squirming long enough for Tech to get a needle in her neck.

She struggles for a little while, getting progressively weaker, until Wrecker's sitting on the floor with Omega limp in his lap. He knows it's not her blood, Wrecker witnessed up close and personal how Omega got covered in it. It's still horrifying to see her like this, so still, her face and sleep clothes soaked in red.

She looks tiny. Omega does so most of the time, but especially in her improvised pyjamas. They hadn't had the time or money to find her something that fits yet, she's just wearing a pair of Tech's shorts that go way past her knees , that only fit because of the drawstring and one of Hunter's shirts, that Wrecker shortened and took in, but not enough to not look huge on her.

Wrecker stands up, cradling Omega in his arms. He barely feels the pain radiating through his limbs as he carries her to the lowest sleeping rack. “What's wrong with her?” he ask, placing her down on top of the blanket carefully. It feels like one badly calculated move would be enough to do irreparable damage to Omega right now.

“I will find out and come up with a solution,” Tech says, determination set in his expression.

Wrecker brushes a bloody strand of hair out of Omega's face. He can't help but wonder if it's their fault she's like this. Parenting isn't exactly something they were trained for, but Wrecker would hope that their best is at least good enough to keep Omega alive, as safe as possible and happy. It doesn't feel like they've done that.

He always thought to himself, that at least they're not as bad as the trainers and staff on Kamino. They'd never hurt Omega, Wrecker can't even imagine being mad at her. But what if they did something really, really wrong? Something any natborn would know to avoid, something they were blind to because of the way they were raised, because they were bred for war. Nausea claws its way through Wrecker's chest at the thought.

When Wrecker stands up straight again, he stumbles backwards, black spots dancing in his vision, room seeming to spin around him. He just about manages to lean on a wall.

“Wrecker, sit down,” Hunter orders. “You're losing blood.”

Without thinking, Wrecker lets himself slide along the wall to the floor. He leans his head backwards against the surface behind him, keeping an eye on Omega. Echo is gently wiping blood from her face.

Wrecker's arms tremble as Hunter takes the first into his hands. The damage done to his skin isn't even visible under all the blood, but Wrecker can feel it. Every inch of skin on his arms seems to sting and ache .

Hunter's hands shake more than the usually do as he starts cleaning Wrecker's arm, but Wrecker doesn't point it out.

“Make sure to clean those wounds thoroughly, Hunter.” Tech interrupts his work on Omega to look over to them. “The human mouth contains multiple billions of bacteria in upwards of 600 species, Wrecker's at great risk of infection.”

“I know Tech,” Hunter grumbles.

“You should wash them with soap, Hunter,” Tech says, adjusting his goggles as he speaks.

“I can handle this just fine!” Hunter hisses. “Go back to helping Omega.”

Despite his frustration, Hunter listens to Tech, getting up, helping Wrecker up after him. As much as he'd rather stay where he can see Omega, Wrecker still follows Hunter without protest. He guides Wrecker to the refresher. Wrecker feels dizzy, unstable. He's very grateful that Hunter lets him sit on the closed toilet lid as he washes Wrecker's arms in their tiny sink.

They only own one type of soap suited for usage on skin, both shampoo and body wash in one and only mildly scented. Hunter can't stand any of the strong smelling stuff. Despite lacking an intense smell, it still stings horribly in Wrecker's open wounds.

As water is splashed over his skin, more and more bite marks are brought to light. Omega tore a few large chunks of Wrecker's skin off. He already knows those will leave ugly scars. There are a few almost perfect imprints of her teeth on his arms. Wrecker's convinced he could count her teeth from the injuries alone. Omega also left some surprisingly deep scratches in Wrecker's skin. With how blunt her nails are, those really speak for her determination.

“Where's the disinfectant?” Hunter yells into the other room, making Wrecker jump at the sudden loud noise.

“We ran out two missions ago,” Echo shoots back.

Hunter groans, running a hand across his face. He smears some of Wrecker's blood across it. Wrecker doesn't feel like pointing that out will improve Hunter's mood.

“What bout that cheap liquor Cid gave us? It tastes like osik anyway,” Wrecker offers instead.

Hunter's brows furrow in thought.

“Can we use alcohol?” Hunter shouts, leaning towards the open door.

Wrecker can hear Tech sighing from the other room. “It's hardly advisable.”

“Got a better idea?” Hunter responds.

For a while, silence answers them, then Tech sighs again. “No.”

Telling Wrecker to stay put, Hunter walks off. Wrecker watches blood lazily spill from the bite marks on his arms. He flexes his hands, tugging the wounds on his palms. Those probably hurt the most, thought the areas where big sections of skin have been bitten off are fighting valiantly to match that pain. Wrecker lets his hands rest in a relaxed, open position, clenching them hurting too much.

Hunter returns, brown bottle Cid had gifted them in hand. She'd called it a bonus for the good work they did on a mission. Wrecker thinks she was just trying to get rid of the stuff. The smell of the off coloured fluid is enough to prove the low quality of it, but Wrecker took a sip of it out of curiosity after Tech and Hunter confirmed that ingesting it probably wouldn't cause any harm. It was awful. They've been to some really low end bars over the years, but nothing compared to this. It tasted almost chemical. They only kept it because they might use it to clean something. Wrecker hadn't planed for it to be used like this.

Wrecker bites the inside of his cheek as Hunter tips a large quantity of the alcohol over his outstretched arms. It tastes a whole lot better than how it feels in an open wound. The burning feels like acid, somehow finding its way into any tear or crack in Wrecker's skin. From the angle Wrecker's sitting, he catches a glimpse of his own pained expression in the small mirror above the sink. He looks pathetic, Wrecker can't stand seeing the reflection any longer than he has to.

Hunter empties a good third of the bottle over Wrecker's arms, using the corner of a towel soaked in the liquor to make sure the wounds are thoroughly scrubbed. Wrecker's skin feels raw and irritated by the time Hunter pats it dry.

Hunter spreads a thin layer of bacta on the worst of the bites, entirely leaving out any of scratches. Wrecker can almost feel how hard Hunter is thinking. He keeps hesitating. Normally, Hunter wouldn't use bacta as sparingly and it's clear that's bothering him. But they're down to the last of their supplies, with no credits to spare for a restock. And with Omega sick, wasting medical supplies isn't something any of them want to do.

They're not exactly swimming in bandage material either, so Hunter covers the deepest wounds with gauze pads and wraps Wrecker's arms with the reusable bandages they own. Those would usually be used to stabilize painful or sprained joints and are thrown in the wash with the rest of their clothes between uses. They're rougher than single use bandages, feeling unpleasant against the uncovered wounds, especially when Wrecker moves.

Wrecker's had worse, this is nothing. He won't even complain. Doesn't feel right to do so when something is horribly wrong with Omega.

Hunter puts a hand on Wrecker's arm, letting it linger before helping him back to his feet. The blood loss is still getting to him, but the feeling will pass soon enough.

Back in the main body of the Marauder, both Tech and Echo are glued hip to hip, studying the screen of the med scanner together. Tech's muttering quietly to himself.

“What's wrong with her?” Wrecker asks, approaching the sleeping racks rather than sitting down like Hunter wanted him to. Dread settles in Wrecker's stomach as his brothers turn to him, grim expressions on their faces.

“She's got a parasite,” Echo says, lines on his forehead very visible with the way his brows are furrowed.

“What?” Hunter asks. “How?”

Wrecker shares the confusion his ori'vod feels. They've all been eating the same thing, nothing but rations. Omega did eat more than they did, but it is still implausible that she picked a parasite up that way. As far as Wrecker was aware, she didn't come in contact with anything that could have given her one. And even if, their squad has caught parasites before and they've never caused something like this.

“A possible method of infection is the water Omega fell in last mission,” Tech says.

“She was barely in it for two seconds,” Wrecker says. Omega slipped and fell into a small pond, but she was hardly under for long.

“That's all this parasite needs,” Tech says.

“What-” Hunter begins, pausing to breathe deeply. “What's going to happen to her?”

Tech's expression darkens as he glances at Echo. “The parasite, commonly referred to as the Alloyan worm, infects its host through water, as previously stated, usually through ingesting the liquid containing it. Once inside the hosts body, it makes its self at home in their stomach, feeding off of anything the host consumes. If the parasite feels it is not getting enough nutrients, most of all protein, it will induce phases of extreme aggression in the host, driving them to find an alternative food source. This includes living things.”

Wrecker stares down at his arms. He didn't consider that Omega might be trying to eat the flesh she managed to bite off of him.

“When the parasite has reached its full size, it will lay eggs. Once those hatch, the young will begin consuming parts of the host, avoiding the most vital organs, keeping the host alive for the entire process. Finally, the original parasite will drive to host to drown themselves with any means possible, allowing the young to find other victims to infect.” Tech clears his throat, looking at his hands. “This is way some locals refer to it as the 'suicide worm'.”

Wrecker feels sick. This can't be right, it can't! Omega can't die! Wrecker's chest is suddenly very tight, like his ribs barely expand any more, trapping his lungs. He stumbles forwards so he can see Omega, almost peaceful with how she's been wrapped in a blanket, face relaxed.

Just a few hours ago, Wrecker was messing about with her like always, listening to her make up increasingly impossible missions her trooper doll might have went on. Wrecker added details, escalating Omega's over the top ideas even further and making her laughs.

Now that the thinks back to that, Omega had seemed more tired than normal. Was that a symptom of the parasite Wrecker had missed? Kark, he should have done something. A better man would have noticed and took action. Wrecker simply attributed Omega's calmer behaviour to the exhaustion of the mission and the low amount of food she'd consumed that day.

“There has to be something we can do to save her,” Wrecker whispers, extending an arm, stopping just shy of brushing his fingers across her forehead.

Wrecker looks to Echo and Tech, silently begging them to please have a plan, a way to fix this. He glances to Hunter as well, the oldest of their original squad, their leader. He's frozen in place, hands trembling at his sides as he stares past Wrecker at Omega.

Tech hunches somewhat, eyes focused on the datapad he's holding too close to his face. "The parasite is native to Volnaryl, found on no other planet. There is talk of a cure, however the information is far from detailed. Every report of the parasite lists it as extremely resilient to any other method of removal." Tech pauses, momentarily looking over at Omega. "The only chance we have at finding a safe way to cure her is going back to Volnaryl."

"What are we waiting for?" Hunter asks. "Turn the ship around."

Tech nods, hurrying to follow Hunter's order.

"What if she wakes up and is still," Wrecker pauses, inhaling slowly as he tries to think of the correct word, "aggressive?"

"We've got to hope that she won't be," Echo sighs. "If she is, the blanket we've wrapped her in may act as a restraint. As a last resort, we could sedate her again."

"Have we even got sedative left?" Hunter asks.

"Barely," Echo answers. They hadn't used any in ages, just in case they'd need it for something more important. The time for that had apparently arrived.

The whole ship shakes as the Marauder drops out of hyperspace, turning sharply. When Tech re-enters hyperspace, Wrecker is almost knocked to the ground by the jolt of it.

"Getting some rest in is important," Hunter says. "We have a long couple days coming at us. But someone needs to keep an eye on Omega constantly."

If Hunter hadn't suggested the idea, Wrecker would have offered to watch her either way. He's sure each one of his brothers would have done the same.

Wrecker sits against the wall next to the sleeping rack, near Omega's head. He carefully puts a hand on her shoulder. Even through the blanket, she feels warm.

"How long?" Wrecker asks, watching his brothers settle down near Omega's unconscious form as well. When none of them respond, Wrecker elaborates. "How long until that thing starts killing her?"

"Technically, it is already killing her," Tech says. Those words seem to burrow their way into Wrecker's chest, constricting his organs steadily and violently. "You are however likely referring to when the parasite will reproduce, which isn't a question I posses a concise answer to. The duration seems to vary from patient to patient.”

Wrecker exhales hard, leaning his head against the wall, tapping his foot on the floor. It's a good few hours back to Volnaryl. They won't be able to do anything for Omega if she starts dying while they're in transit.

“If it's a comfort, the infection usually takes longer than hours, days at least,” Tech says. It isn't, but Wrecker doesn't bring it up.

How can anything be a comfort when he knows that thing is in Omega's stomach? Wrecker should have noticed sooner, should have stopped her falling in the water in the first place. He was walking behind her, if he'd watched her better, been more alert, he could have prevented this from happening.

Wrecker wants to slam his fist against the floor, hard enough to really feel it, hard enough to leave a mark in the metal as well as on his hand. Maybe that would help cover the way his insides feel like they're dissolving. But Wrecker won't be unnecessarily loud when everyone's already stressed. Instead, he wraps his arms tightly around his own chest, putting more pressure on the injuries than is comfortable.

Why did it have to get Omega? Even if they're little family doesn't live a safe lifestyle, they've been doing everything they can to keep Omega out of harms way, putting her first in every way they could. They're all new to this, having a child on the squad and they've all made mistakes, but they've been improving. Why did Omega of all people have to be infected by a deadly parasite?

Wrecker would much rather it would have got him, though he shudders to think what would happen if he was put in an aggressive state by the parasite. When the chip took control of Wrecker on Bracca, he nearly killed his vode. If something like that happened on the Marauder, in such a small space, the end result could have been catastrophic.

Hunter suggests that he take the first watch, which the rest of them agree to. Wrecker doesn't sleep, not really. At first, he's tormented by thoughts of Omega's state, then the few times he manages to doze off, dreams of her dying horrifically. His mind conjures up copious amounts of images of Omega's potential death, her drowning herself, a large bloody hole left instead of her stomach as the parasites eat away at her, even Wrecker killing her in a failed attempt to get her to calm down.

Wrecker startles when Hunter shakes him from his thoughts, getting Wrecker's attention for his turn to be on watch. He half expected Hunter not to exchange shift with any of them and attempt to stay awake all night. Wouldn't be the first time he pulled something like that.

The watch isn't eventful, all Wrecker does is stare at Omega in the dark, only accompanied by his brother's breathing and the rumble of the ships engine. Omega's breath is shallow, Wrecker keeps having to check if she's not stopped doing so entirely, fear spiking ever time he holds his hand close enough to her face to feel for the exhale of air and has to wait a moment to be sure of what he feels.

Wrecker has to lean forward to activate the screen on Tech's datapad to check the time. It seems to move impossibly slowly.

Once his watch is over, he leans forward to shake Tech awake, sending a flare of pain up his spine as he does too too quickly. He doubts Tech was truly asleep. He usualy snores when he is.

From then on, Wrecker left even more restless. His legs and back cramp from the way he sits, but Wrecker can't bare to move further away from Omega. The dreams and his thoughts only get worse.

When morning hits, everyone's thrown into sluggish but agitated motion. Omega's still out cold and they'll still be in hyperspace for a few hours. Wrecker wants to say something, talk with his brothers, the silence is killing him.

But everything he can think to say feels wrong. He doesn't want to talk about Omega's possible death, that'll only make it feel more real. Wrecker doesn't want to talk normally either.

So he keeps his mouth shut.

His body aches after the fitful nights rest. Having spent an extended period of time with his chin resting on his chest, Wrecker's back feels strained. The bandages have been soaked through in certain spots and the rough material rubbing against his open skin is driving Wrecker a little bit mad.

All that discomfort is promptly forgotten when Omega begins to stir.

At first, she just squirms a little, groaning as she moves. She doesn't even open her eyes. All her brothers watch carefully as she wakes, no one daring to breath.

Then Omega really starts to struggle against the blanket she's wrapped in, but nothing like the aggression she showed in the middle of the night. Panic crosses her expression as her breathing becomes too quick. Mumbled please for help leave her mouth.

“Hey, hey, Omega, it's alright,” Wrecker tries, similar attempts to calm her coming from his brothers. Nothing seems to get through to Omega as she just continues to struggle.

Wrecker can't stand it.

He makes the decision that this is too dissimilar to how she'd acted before and that he'd rather take the risk of her biting him again than putting her through unnecessary stress.

Clearly his brothers feel the same, as when Wrecker moves to help Omega out of the blanket, his vode do the same.

Omega bolts upright as soon as she's freed, only to crumple in on herself with a pained gasp. She curls up on her side, clasping her stomach.

“It hurts,” Omega mumbles, barely audible. Wrecker feels entirely useless. Omega looks up at them, eyebrows drawing together as she spots their concerned expressions. “What happened?” She sits up slower this time, remaining leaned on her left elbow.

Wrecker can't speak. Even if he could force words past his lips, he's not sure there's anything he can say that'll help. He puts a hand on Omega's shoulder carefully, trying to comfort her at least.

After a pause, Tech explains the situation to her. It sounds almost cold, the way he tells Omega about her impending death and slim chance of survival, but Wrecker knows better than to think that of his brother. Tech leaves out the bit about the parasites eating Omega from the inside and making her drown herself, shortening that part to simply informing her that the infection will end in death. He also only briefly touches on the fact that Omega had a phase of aggression the previous night.

Omega nods along as she listens, though her eyes glaze over. It's a lot to process.

She doesn't say anything once Tech's done, only nods again.

Painkiller is another thing they can't afford currently, so the dosage Omega is given is the second to last they have on the ship.

None of them leave Omega's side unless absolutely necessary. It's hard to tell how she's doing emotionally, what with her barely speaking, but once the pain killers kick in, she at least moves a little more freely.

She complains of feeling extremely hungry after a while. They get a good amount of rations into her without a problem, all adult members of the squad skipping the meal themselves. Hunger's been gnawing at all of them near consistently now, not that they'll mention that around Omega. Wrecker's not sure he could force himself to eat anything whilst knowing Omega's life is at risk.

When Omega spots the bandages on Wrecker's arms, he regrets not putting his long sleeved blacks on to cover them. She immediately makes the connection.

“Did I do that?” she asks, voice small.

Wrecker wants to lie, make up another reason for his arms being wrapped, anything but make Omega feel guilty. But she already knows the truth.

“It's nothing bad, you barely got me,” Wrecker laughs weakly. It sounds hollow.

Omega still picks at her hands, mumbling an apology.

“Don't,” Wrecker says softly, taking her hand in his. She nods, even as the guilt is still clear as day on her face.

Once they're finally back where they finished their mission the previous day, Tech leaves to land the ship. Exchanging looks with his brothers, Wrecker prepares for the new mission ahead of them. By the looks on everyone's faces it's clear that none of them are going to rest until Omega is safe again.

[shywhumpauthor]

Didn’t Mind It

Cw: isolation, starvation, restraints, dehydration, vague implications of drugging

Whumpee didn’t actually mind the first few days alone.

The first eighty-something hours were quiet. Still. Not necessarily peaceful, but almost serene, in the same sense one might strike as they are faced with an inescapable death. The foreboding of tranquility during the fall as the ground rushes closer.

Eventually the gnarling twists of hunger in their gut turned to soft, occasional aches. The throbbing behind their eyes eased into a slow pulse. There was a point where they became so used to the dryness in their throat, the metallic taste that coated their tongue like sandpaper where they stopped noticing it. At some time they had gotten so used to the cold, the damp air that they stopped shivering. Grown used to the heavy weights of cuffs shackles around each wrist, ankle, they were almost able to lift their arms.

They’d gotten used to it. To the quiet so thick the only thing they could hear was the occasional creak of a pipe in the ceiling above, the frigid air that leaked slowly from the vent in the corner, the sound of their own thoughts spiraling until eventually falling silent. They had never heard the quiet so loud. It pressed against them, a weight draped around their entire body, once that once had made their skin crawl in its confining suffocation, but now was almost comforting. In a sense.

For a while they’d begged to be let out. Maybe the first hour or two. They had longed for freedom for the first day, tugged at the shackles until their wrists were raw and bleeding. Then they had settled down, soothed into a stupor of silence by the low whispers of the vent and the faint hints of sweetness in the air. It made their thoughts heavy, lulling them until they slipped away.

They didn’t mind it so much anymore.

[sushimango]

Whumptober Masterlist!

I'm so glad I've finished the whole Whumptober challenge on time

[labyrinthdancer]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Twilight (Linked Universe), Legend (Linked Universe) Additional Tags: Whump, Twilight (Linked Universe) is a Little Shit, Twilight (Linked Universe) Has a Bad Time, more tags to be added later, more like most, Original Character(s), no beta we die like men, Injury, Broken Bones, Legend is a real one Series: Part 13 of Tiple Time AU, Part 1 of horrible times in the spooky season(Whumptober 2024) Summary:

Twilight knew doing business on this side of the river was dangerous; Shade had warned him not to go over here too many times to count. So why was he surprised when he ended up running for his life?

[honeylashofficial]

I never imagined these silly little one shots would go anywhere. We’re in March for crying out loud! This is whumptober stuff. Regardless, thank you guys. I really appreciate it. /:)

~~~~~

Ao3

A Plateful of Hermits with a Side of Whump and Angst

~~~~~

Tumblr

MASTERPOST (under construction)

[tsubaki94]

1 Sick/ Poisoned

AI-less Whumptober 2023

And so it begins. I'm taking water over my head again and going for both the AI-less Whumptober prompt list and the EctoberHaunt as well.

I'm going to be doing this list traditional with inks and promarkers and try to do the shorter Ectober digitally. Lets see how it goes.

[lattewritesthings]

I cannot believe I forgot to post about this one, this is one of my favorites this year

Fandom: Linked Universe

Characters: Legend, Curio Lady

Summary:

“You’re a hero, yes?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I can tell, that sword on your back and the magic I sense coming off of you are pretty obvious tells. You also have a certain air about you. If you don’t mind me saying, you look tired. Not ‘didn’t get enough sleep’ tired, but…existentially tired. Like you need a vacation, or to retire.” Legend blinked a few times. At some point during her speech, his eyes had drifted back towards the gem, and her words had mixed together a little bit. “You could say that.”

Formerly titled "Shopkeeper (Legend)"

[mania-sama]

rule #13 - waterfall

Rule #13 - Waterfall - Fish in a Birdcage

➼ information ❧ Jujutsu Kaisen ❧ Pairing: Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji ❧ Tags: coma, japanese literature, character study, references to depression, survivor guilt, angst, post-culling games, gross overuse of italics ❧ Summary: Sukuna is successfully exorcised without killing his vessel, but Fushiguro Megumi is left in a comatose state. His soul has a decision to make. ❧ Word Count: 2,022 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 27 December 2023

➼ whumptober 2023 ❧ Day 30: Coma ❧ Previous Day ❧ Next Day ❧ Masterlist

"The boy has not a suggestion of a smile. No human can smile with his fists doubled like that,” Itadori reads, his index finger carefully underlining the words on the page. “It is a monkey. A grinning monkey-face. The smile is nothing more than a puckering of ugly wrinkles.”

Megumi listens intently and waits patiently for Itadori to arrive at the end of the paragraph, where he is sure to take a pause and regather his breath and thoughts. He’ll steal a glance at Megumi, then continue on.

Except this time Itadori does not continue when his finger falls off the page after reading: “ I have never seen a child with such an unaccountable expression.” The blue bookmark, tasseled with intertwining crimson and gold, slides into the crook between the pages, bumping into the inner spine. The light pink and coral book gently collapses to hold the bookmark in place, saving Yuuji’s spot for when he would like to return to it next.

It’s not like him to stop reading so abruptly unless there’s an emergency of some kind. Megumi thinks it's unlikely considering his phone hadn’t gone off, nor had a staff member or fellow sorcerer barged in to alert him of an impending situation.

Itadori rests the book on his lap and methodically runs his thumbs on the edge of the paperback cover. Without looking up at Megumi, he says, “I really hate this author.”

This doesn’t surprise Megumi. Dazai Osamu isn’t known for theatrical and fun yet thought-provoking books like many other authors are famous for. His works are depressive and nihilistic, showcasing the cruel underbelly of human nature. In the months Megumi has gotten to know Itadori, he has always been one to keep his nose facing the sun.

“I don’t want to read this,” Itadori continues. “Just that one paragraph, and I—” He breaks off, his thumb pausing at the base of a flower bud on the cover. “Did you expect to find yourself in these pages?”

Megumi startles, and Itadori swallows thickly.

Did you expect to find yourself in these pages?

It has something to do with the way Megumi never smiled right, always full of anger and resentment and apathy for the man who raised him and the man who didn’t. He rarely attempted to express happiness, and when he did, it looked unnatural and foreign. 

“I… I don’t know,” he admits. His voice echoes as a snowflake falling in a powdered tundra.

Finally, Itadori tears his gaze from No Longer Human. He settles on Megumi, whose chest rises and falls in line with the beeping monitor tracking his heart. Megumi watches the exchange from the edge of the bed. Close to Yuuji, where if he shifted an inch or two over, he would contact Itadori’s knee with his own. Far enough from Yuuji, where they would never accidentally meet in the middle.

“Some of these books are hard to read. Not just because I don’t like them, but I have this feeling that… if you’re listening, and you’re hearing what some of these guys have to say, you won’t want to wake up.” His brown eyes are sincere and solemn, a combination that only he could earnestly achieve. Most people attempt to conceal a part of themselves; it’s a natural part of the human equation. Yet somehow, Itadori bypasses it entirely as if he was made using a different formula altogether.

Sometimes, it feels like Megumi will never fully understand Itadori. Their compositions are too fundamentally opposed.

On his left, his body breathes silently. Occasionally he can hear it as the state of his nostril and throat changes, like mucus build-up or tonsil irritation. Today he suffers from no ailment to cause sound. If he could somehow turn off the heart monitor, he could pretend that the only people in the room are Itadori Yuuji with the light pink and coral book and himself sitting on the edge of a normal bed in a normal room. Yuuji reads to him, tracking the words with his index finger and occasionally stealing warm glances at Megumi. He smiles despite the depressing contents of the book, like being in the same vicinity as Megumi is enough to bring him holistic happiness.

The heart monitor breaks his wistful daydream by beeping at a minimally quicker pace. Itadori turns his head to look at it, tracking the spiking red line like it’s worth anything more than the shitty, noisy machine that it is. His hand had jumped close to the red ‘CALL’ button on the side of the hospital bed. His finger hovers over it uselessly as the monitor slows down to his regular BPM.

Itadori uses the same hand to reach for Megumi, holding his pale, gauntly thin hand that resembles the rest of his atrophying body. Megumi can faintly feel the fingers intertwining with his own, and it simultaneously burns and freezes his skin in a frigid hellfire. When there’s nothing he can do but sit and experience it, he finds himself stuck between enjoying and cursing the sensation.

However, this is the better option for obtaining touch. The incorporeal form he possesses simply passes through living people. Contact dissembles his skin in a flurry of dust and scattered light while sending the other person deep, bone-chilling shivers.

“Wake up,” Itadori says. Their hands are lying together on the bedsheet, one sickly white from lack of a severe lack of natural Vitamin D and the other bone-white from how tightly he’s holding on. “Wake up so I don’t have to read this to you. I’ll read you something else if you like. Anything. But you have to be awake. I want to see you listening to me.”

Megumi wants to do that; listen to Itadori read any book of his choosing — not Dazai Osamu, certainly not his most depressing suicide note of a book — all day long. By itself, it would have been enough to wake him with the first sentence Itadori read of Norwegian Wood. 

The book itself, as Itadori explained when he sat down to explain his plans to Megumi, was chosen because of its inspirational message. The exact opposite of Dazai, really; it’s clear that Itadori was hoping to avoid this point.

“I did research,” Itadori had said, opening to the first page of what will become a stack of read books piled on the other side of Megumi’s hospital bed. “By that, I mean I read a Wikipedia page. Its message is to keep on living, which I think is better than some of the other ones you have on your list. I really hope this works.”

Then it began: “I was thirty-seven then, strapped in my seat as the huge seven-four-seven plunged through dense cloud cover on approach to Hamburg airport.”

If it were so simple, it would have worked.

Megumi doesn’t want to wake up.

It started from the moment he killed his sister. He gave up fighting Sukuna, knowing it would be useless. His power to manipulate the Ten Shadows technique alongside his given techniques and domain overshadowed any restraint he applied to his body’s cursed energy. Nineteen fingers eventually accumulated in his body. Mahoraga gave way to the world-shattering cleave. Tsumiki and Gojo died because of his abilities.

“It wasn’t you who killed them,” Itadori had explained early on, “it was Sukuna.” But Itadori didn’t understand that his words were null from the amount of hypocrisy poisoning them.

If waking up meant he could sit in one place for the rest of his life with Itadori’s voice reading him his favorite books, he’d do it. But being awake means facing the world again. It means confronting the shikigami that took his sister’s and Gojo’s life, as well as the countless others that Sukuna killed along the way. He’d have to return to Jujutsu society and continue this thankless, worthless life of exorcism, or abandon it all and live with the guilt of negligence.

But dying — dying meant losing this. Itadori would be alone, and Megumi would never hear the end of No Longer Human or The Setting Sun. He would never get to The Boy of the Winds which Megumi assumes Itadori is saving for last. He won’t get updates on Itadori’s trials and tribulations with schoolwork and exorcism. Maki comes to visit; he likes to hear her talk and interact with his comatose body. If he dies, there will be no family members left for her to relate to.

That’s the problem, the dichotomy of his situation where he is seemingly stuck between life and whatever comes after. If he could figure out how to die or wake up, he wouldn’t be here, stuck in his hospital room and watching one of only two people alive he cares about come to his room day after day to read him a book from Megumi’s to-be-read list. 

What Megumi does want, and it goes entirely unattested as embarrassing as it is, is to talk to Gojo.

He doesn’t know what Gojo would do in this situation, because he is certain that Gojo would never be in the same position. That man has always been one extreme to the next — to imagine his soul wandering the planes of the living is to ignore him altogether. If he were allowed just one conversation, he knows that Gojo would have him alive or dead before Itadori can finish one more paragraph of No Longer Human.

Then there is the quieter part of him that just wants to see him again. To see Gojo in whatever form he’s taken after death. And he recognizes that Gojo, the person he has modeled his every decision after when Tsumiki could no longer guide him, is the only person he will listen to. Anyone can tell him to live or to die, but Gojo is the only one Megumi knows he won’t fight.

It’s not that Gojo has made every correct decision in his life, but he is the closest thing Megumi has ever gotten to a father.

There is a saying: like father, like son. For the longest time, he had been unable to comprehend that phrase. He and Gojo aren’t blood-related. During his living days, Megumi didn’t have the time or motivation to reflect on the man who raised him. He understood that Gojo was the one around, his benefactor, and his teacher. His emotional capacity was unable to handle much more than that.

One year and three months and a stack of books have given Megumi plenty of time to reflect, and he is now intimately familiar with what it means when someone says like father, like son.

Not one person knows him better than Gojo Satoru.

“Okay,” Itadori relinquishes, letting go of Megumi’s hand. “Okay. Another day. I’ll let you have another day.”

Megumi doesn’t know how many more days either of them have left in them. It’s been a year and three months, and so far, Gojo Satoru has not come to visit to guide his soul as he once guided his life. It could be retribution for killing his only father-like figure, but he has this feeling that Gojo doesn’t blame him for it, no matter how much Megumi holds it against himself.

Like father, like son. Yet, the father raises the son to be better than himself.

Leaning back in his chair, Itadori reopens the light pink and coral book. In the fold of space between life and death, there are books and there is Itadori Yuuji. He cannot have these individually, nor can he hold them close. It’s a form of torment, a reminder that he is not meant to stay.

He listens from his seat at the edge of the bed as Itadori takes a deep, aching breath. He reads to the end of the prologue. When he’s finished, he looks at Megumi for a long time. His finger traces the inner spine between the thin pages.

Itadori continues with the first chapter: “Mine has been a life of such shame. I can’t even guess myself what it must be to live the life of a human being.”

[waywardsou2]

AI-less Whumptober 2024

I'm doing @ailesswhumptober's whumplist

Characters used: Peter "Spider-Man" Parker, Doctor Otto Octavius, James "Bucky" Barnes, Steven "Captain America" Rogers

Day 1: public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

Day 2: Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

Day 3: Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

Day 4: Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”

Day 5: Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

Day 6: Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

Day 7: Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

Day 8: Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

Day 9: Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

Day 10: Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

Day 11: Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”

Day 12: Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”

Day 13: Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”

Day 14: Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

Day 15: Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”

Day 16: Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”

Day 17: Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

Day 18: Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”

Day 19: Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”

Day 20: Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

Day 21: Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

Day 22: Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.”

Day 23: Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”

Day 24: Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”

Day 25: Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”

Day 26: Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

Day 27: Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

Day 28: Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

Day 29: Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

Day 30: Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”

Day 31: Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

[lozriftsintime]

Heart of Integrity

October 6: Self Sacrifice (AI-less Whumptober) and October 7: Magic at a cost (Whumptober) Running out of Supplies/Field medicine (AI-Less Whumptober)

As a battle starts to go badly for one of Ravio's allies he is once again faced with a choice. Do what is safe? Or do what is right?

Rank 3 in the Whump Scale (check series description for scale)

This is a Direct Follow up to Tea and Wings

If Ravio had hoped that things would be easier once they were off the giant floating islands he would have been sorely mistaken. There were more monsters for one, but that wasn’t even the worst part. No, what was far worse was that part of the way through the battle on the surface they were turned on by their own soldiers! The sudden and unexpected direction the attacks came from threw their entire plan of action by the wayside and Ravio soon found himself separated from the rest of his little group. It was bad enough he was having to be in this fight at all instead of staying back at the camp, but this? This was insanity. Pure and simple.

Unsure who was friend or foe and unwilling to stay separated from his group for too long, Ravio untucked his wings and shot into the sky once more. He couldn’t stay up there for long and needed to try and remain unnoticed, being the only flier made him an easy target for ranged attacks after all, but the height gave him the ability to scan his surroundings much better and get a real read on the battlefield. Which meant he could get a better idea on who was a threat as well as be more likely to locate—there!

Ravio’s breath caught in his throat as he finally caught sight of one of his friends. The Captain was down on one knee and surrounded by both monsters and soldiers who were clearly traitors. Ravio could see their newest companion, Fi, was nearby as well, but there was too many enemies around them for her to fully keep them off of the downed hero.  And they were too far away for him to get there before that lot injured the Captain further, which meant Ravio was going to need to do something drastic.

Read the rest Here

[imagionationstation]

I tried. I truly did.

The 2012’Tello brainrot lives rent free

I’m not strong enough to resist

[dogdaysareover365]

you know what? Screw it! I’m going to give you a snippet from all three

(I’ll do the Beetlejuice fic at the end since it contains Beetlejuice Beetlejuice spoilers).

title: I Don’t Do Sadness (Just Don’t Need It in My Life)

fandom: ghostbusters

day: 3 (shared trauma)

Phoebe felt her heart shatter at that confession. Phoebe let her proton wand fall to the side. This ghost wasn't a threat. She was a victim. "I'm not going to hurt you," Phoebe promised. "I can help you. I've helped ghosts move on before." "Pheebs, where are you? Have you found anything?" Phoebe saw the look of fear on Irene's face. "It's okay, mom," Phoebe called. "I have it." "You promised you wouldn't blast me," Irene muttered. "And I won't," Phoebe promised.

Surprise surprise. Phoebe is getting emotionally attached to another ghost girl.

title: Build a Better Self

fandom: ghostbusters

day: 15 (loss of limbs)

He wasn't dead.

No. He can't be dead. His body had only died. He couldn't reenter it, no matter how hard he tried. He refused to accept that he was gone. His family had a funeral for him, but he'll be back. He will find a way to come back.

He just needed new parts.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice spoilers below

Title: Let's Feel Together

fandom; Beetlejuice

day: one (alternate prompt - “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”)

Given that Lydia's job, which she had just sent her two weeks in for, involved finding ghosts, whether someone was breathing or not was a big indicator. Even before she got that job, she'd stay up late when Astrid was a baby, watching the small rise and fall of her chest.

It was a reminder that not everything was dead. Lydia had managed to create life. Life that Lydia had found so precious, and had promised to protect. Astrid was proof that not everything around Lydia was dead.

Now, all of these years later, Astrid was now sixteen, and Lydia was once again watching the rise and fall of her chest.