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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 2 years ago

Note

Also, "wracked with chills" and "body aches" for whoever you choose

ohohohoho Dany's turn!! reminder that this is non-canon, I have something different planned for The Big Event (emotional or physical) during the autumn part of the story proper. but for the sake of whump...

The fall is a relief. After fighting through the heat of summer by the skin of her teeth, cooler days and downright chilly nights are more than welcome. Dany relishes in the ability to wear her coat again. She feels right for the first time in a while.

They'll be sleeping outside again tonight. She doesn't see any nearby towns on the maps, no motels or cabins to take cover in. Hopefully it won't rain. It's already cold by mid-afternoon, as Dany and Robin sit perched on the maintenance platform of another train car. Robin is wearing a grey sweatshirt, zipped as high as it can go with the hood over his head, underneath his letterman jacket. Even Dany is shivering periodically, much as she's enjoying herself.

Sometimes, the rumble of the trains over the tracks can lull her into distraction or sleep. Just now, she's staring silently into the cloudy grey the train is departing. The diffuse light is giving her a headache. She shuts her eyes, since she doesn't have sunglasses, and listens to the clacking of wheels over the tracks. Now that her eyes are shut she realizes how tired she is. She doesn't usually sleep on the train, but between the sudden exhaustion sweeping over her and the throbbing building in her head, she's almost willing to let herself drift off.

She shifts position, tries leaning her head back against the ladder she's sitting against, but it juts into the back of her neck. The metal is icy cold, triggering a deep, convulsive shiver down her spine. She doesn't open her eyes to button her coat, just does it by feeling. Her fingers feel stiff as she feels for the buttonhole. She'll need to dig her gloves out of her bag here soon.

Maybe it's the silence, the fact that Robin is just as zoned out staring into space and thus not talking or making much of his presence at all, the empty space to be aware of her body, but the longer Dany sits still like this with her eyes closed, the more her head and neck hurt. There's a building pressure in her sinuses, and tension in her shoulders. Sleeping on the ground will do that to a person, she supposes.

She almost drifts off. Almost being the key word, because the train goes over a hard bump and it jolts her awake, hard metal poking into a more and more sore body. She must have really slept wrong last night to feel this stiff and uncomfortable, or else something else is wrong, and she's both doubtful of that and wary of considering the possibility. She shivers again, pulls her coat closer around her, squirms to try and find a position that doesn't make every muscle in her body sore.

Robin says something and she doesn't hear it over the sound of the train. She opens her eyes, squinting and frowning at how everything seems out of its proper depth, how there feels like there's pressure behind her eyes. Robin is looking expectantly at her, like he's waiting for a response. Dany blinks hard and shifts forward a bit.

"What'd you say?" She asks.

Robin shrugs. "I said, you can like... lean on me, if you want," he offers.

Dany stares at him, opens her mouth to snark something sharp at him for even thinking she'd accept that, but. But. She's exhausted. She's sore. Her eyes hurt. Begrudgingly, but all too willingly, she moves closer to Robin and lets her weight drop against him. Her head on his shoulder, far more comfortable than before.

"You have a watch?" She asks.

"Yeah, why?"

"We need to get off in an hour." She explains.

If Robin says anything else after that, she doesn't hear it, too caught up in how poorly she feels. When Robin nudges her an hour later, she sits up, bleary-eyed for a few seconds, and winces with every move as she loads up her bags.

The jump from the train to the ground is far less graceful than she usually makes, and the landing sends her head spinning for a few moments. She stays on hands and knees, muscles trembling although she's been resting these past few hours, until the dizziness goes away. The ground is cold under her hands, dampness soaking into her trousers, and she shudders because of it. Robin disembarks just as gracelessly a few moments later and yards up the track, but he stands immediately and makes his way back down to her.

Of course, when she tries to stand, the world spins violently around her. Or, maybe, violet-ly, the color the evening is around them. Either way, it sends her lurching against the nearest tree, breathing carefully and deliberately until her head clears. When she looks up, Robin is watching her with a furrow between his brows.

"You okay?" He asks cautiously.

Dany nods, which makes her head hurt more. How did she not realize how cold it is out here until now? She's freezing. "Lost my balance," she says, which is true, but not entirely. "Come on, we need to find a place to camp for the night." She needs to get into a sleeping bag, is what she's thinking. She needs to get warm.

Every step is a challenge the way her joints throb as she moves. The trek deeper into the woods, into a nicely hidden spot where they can both safely sleep for the night, doesn't take that long, but it feels like hours. Dany struggles not to show how hard she's shivering, but her breath hitches with every shudder. She feels like she's never been warm in her life and never will be again.

When they set up camp, she snaps an order for Robin to start a fire. She knows he knows how to. She dumps her bags on the ground and unzips the large one as deftly as she can with stiff, shaking hands that barely obey her commands. By the time Robin has the fire started, with a nice ring of rocks around it to keep it contained, she's struggling with the sack her sleeping bag is in. The fabric is slippery, the plastic slider difficult for her to manage.

She eventually gets it open, though, as Robin is pulling his own bag out and rifling through it for his sleeping supplies. She sets up as close to the fire as she dares. She may be freezing, but she's not stupid. When she glances over at Robin, settling in a dip between mossy rocks that will probably wind up soaking his sleeping bag in the night, she doesn't move her head, but just the movement of her eyes hurts badly enough to make her grit her teeth.

She's only dizzy when she moves too fast, like when she tosses and turns in the night and tries curling herself up inside the sleeping bag to keep warm. The shivering is constant now, her breath hitching and teeth chattering when she isn't careful enough to stop them. She rolls over, tries placing an arm under a head that feels like it's about to explode, but as she blinks blearily at the weakening fire, the orange of the flames twists and swirls before her eyes. She closes them again.

She spends most of the night coiled as tightly as the sleeping bag and her proximity to the fire will allow, while Robin sleeps quietly, with only the occasional soft snore, a couple yards away. Dany's arms ache as she wraps them around herself, she can feel goosebumps on her legs. She doesn't want to rise, expose herself to the chilled morning air as the sun rises, but hopefully the light will make it warmer. As it is, for once Robin rises before her, clearly trying to be quiet for her sake as she lies uncomfortably on the ground, head lolling to the side as it throbs.

When she finally sits up, it's slowly and painfully. She keeps her eyes screwed shut as she pushes herself up on trembling, deeply aching arms. The hood of her sleeping bag is still over her head, and it slips off as she moves to extricate herself. She bites back a moan at the sudden cold, feels her entire body tense in a violent shudder. The chill turns into a searing heat for a moment that does make her gasp this time, as she's struggling to stand up.

"Dany, you okay?" Robin asks sharply. She's sure he's watching her, but she doesn't care right now.

She shivers and hauls herself up using one of the boulders he'd been sleeping near, keeps her teeth clenched so he won't hear them chatter together. She nods once, tersely, and immediately regrets it when a nauseating rush of dizziness overtakes her. She brings a stiff hand to her forehead, immediately registering the throbbing heat there as not a good thing, and feels her legs tremble.

Robin catches her before she hits the ground, awkwardly lowering her to the ground with his arms wrapped around her middle. Dany jerks away, brow furrowed.

"Don't touch me," she growls, half a pained gasp, because there's gooseflesh all over her body and wherever he touches her aches, like the careful way he caught her is going to leave bruises. When Robin lifts his hands and carefully releases her, she scoots toward the nearest tree and leans back against it, shaking all over.

Another hot flash grips her, followed by an even deeper chill. She tries not to think about how warm Robin's momentary touch was.

"Dany," Robin says slowly. "Hey."

She forces herself to blink at him, shoots a weak glare his way when his face stops swimming in front of her eyes.

Robin frowns at her, bites his lip. "You're sick," he says. It isn't a question. "Can I touch you?" He asks cautiously, misunderstanding why she'd jerked away before.

She catches herself before shaking her head this time. "No."

"Why?" It sounds almost challenging.

"Hurts," she grits out. Once she's admitted it, it's almost easier to continue. When he asks what hurts, she replies automatically, "Everything. Everything hurts and I'm," she closes her eyes again when the forest starts spinning around her, "So cold," she finishes in a defeated whisper.

"Okay," Robin says. "Okay. I'm gonna just..." She feels a cold hand touch her face and tries to move away, but Robin's other hand catches her by the shoulder before she can topple sideways. "Holy shit, Dany," Robin mutters. "That's not good."

"Fever?" She asks even though she already knows the answer. Her body is like a block of ice, but her whole head feels like it must be on fire. She lifts a hand and brushes her fingers against her own cheek, somehow feeling outside her own body in the moment. If only she could capture the heat from her face and spread it through the rest of her, at least she'd be warm all over.

"A bad one, I think," Robin says. "I know you don't like me going near the medical bag, but-"

"Just make it stop," she mumbles, hating herself for begging, but miserable enough to do it anyway. "It's- there's a list," she explains, voice low. The vibrations of her own voice seem to rattle through her entire body. "Of all the meds and what they do." She realizes she doesn't know off the top of her head what she needs. Fever reducers, probably. Something to make the aching go away.

She keeps her eyes shut as Robin moves away, rustling around in their little camp. She hears the bag unzip, bottles rattling as Robin goes through them and checks the labels. She knows what probably a majority of it is. Her father made sure they had extra. She wonders what else he packed in there. She should have done an inventory at the start of all this. The one time she tries to squint over at Robin, see what exactly he's doing, the movement to turn her head hurts so badly she wishes it was bad enough to make her pass out. She stares blankly at her limp hands curled in her lap until they go blurry and then the dizzy feeling returns, so she stops paying attention.

Robin returns a moment later, a bottle in hand. "Okay," he says. "Here." He takes her hand, turns it over and places two tablets in her palm. His hand under hers doesn't feel cold anymore.

When Dany slowly lifts the pills to her mouth, she feels a water bottle lifted in front of her face and to her eternal humiliation, lets Robin hold it to her lips. She reaches blindly for his wrist as he moves away again, weak fingers colliding with the sleeve of his jacket. His hand wraps around hers for a moment before he returns to the medical bag and she hears it zip back shut.

Dany lets her head loll to the side, focuses on listening to Robin move around instead of her own misery. She hears it the moment he lowers himself to the ground beside her. She doesn't risk opening her sore eyes this time.

"Hey," he says quietly. "Dany?"

"What?" She says.

"Can I touch you now? Please? It might help you feel warmer."

Dany is about to protest, but she hears warmer and her stubbornness dissolves. "Mmhmm."

Maybe it's because of how uncomfortable she feels, the exhaustion weighing down her aching limbs and keeping her mind sluggish, but she doesn't expect it when Robin wraps his arm around her back and pulls her nearer to him. She's about to push away, weakly snap something at him, but. But he's right. Her head rests comfortably against his neck and she immediately feels warmer. Her skin hurts when he first touches it, but he starts rubbing hesitantly up and down the arm that isn't pressed between their bodies, and it's shockingly comforting.

"Okay?"

Dany doesn't know if he'd said something before that or if it was the question itself, but she doesn't care. She mumbles an affirmative and for the first time all year lets herself be taken care of. She'll regret it layer. She knows that. Someday soon the bottom is going to be pulled out from under her. But for now, the fall is a relief.

#she is suuuuuch a mess #I keep thinking about ''delicate balance of denial and realism'' and like yeah that is SO dany #girl just relax!! you've got somebody who cares about you against all the odds so LET HIM!!!!!#Lu rambles #Lu writes #crosscountry apocalypse

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overflowing-with-words · 3 years ago

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befalling. | lloyd g.

[Lloyd, and his thoughts on being captured by Harumi. Again.]

A/N: mhm, mhm, we're tryna catch up on summer of whump, also this book has hit 30 chapters~ yay!!! milestone!!

• • •

Lloyd wakes up for a cage for the fifth time, head spinning with confusion and anger and hurt.

The fifth time, he thinks dully, and reaches up automatically, hands hitting the cold ceiling of metal around him.

His shoulder twinges with pain, and and he claps a hand to his mouth, muffling a whine of pain. It's only then he notices the blood pooling around his shoulder, leaking in a small pool of crimson, and suddenly wishes a whole lot more he'd paid attention to Zane's first aid classes.

He presses a hand to the wound cautiously, a wince escaping as he does, and pulls out a bright dart, coated in a layer of thick blood.

"You're up!" A bright exclamation rings out behind him, and Lloyd falls back against the bars with a loud sigh. He knows that voice, has heard it a few too many times, both in real life and in his nightmares.

Harumi.

"Acute observation, really," he remarks as casually as he can, and watches her walk over from the doorway, steps light.

She raises a eyebrow, face painted with a malicious smile. "Has the green ninja found some guts? Not holding that little crush on my anymore?" There words are condescending; humorous even, but her tone slices into him like razors.

"Long gone." he says, trying to hold his voice steady.

The last time he heard her speak like that, he was about to drown in a cave, die in dragging dark waters. He wonders what's coming for him now.

"I wouldn't sass too much though." She smiles at him, sweet as honey, and it's the most terrifying thing Lloyd's seen in a while. Considering he's been in a room of his greatest enemies, too.

"You're gonna be stuck in this cage for a long while, and even though it probably won't take to much to get your little ninja friends running-" She pauses, and looks out the doorway. "You've pissed off a few people here."

"What makes you think they'll come for me?" Lloyd retorts, swallowing down a dry stutter of fear, because he knows that's exactly what they're gonna do. Rush into the hideout the instant the find it, all fight and no plan.

"What if I break out?" He forces a small smile, one that he hopes looks braver than he feels right now.

"You were always a dreamer." She gives a short laugh, and silver flashes between her fingers, a small blade dancing between her hands.

"You don't know anything about me." He says, voice hard and sharp. She doesn't. She doesn't know how much he's trained and cried and fought to get to this point, and she'll never get it.

"You're our hostage, Lloyd. Don't think too much about breaking out. You're alone, and beating even one of the villains here took all six of you guys." She tucks the glinting knife back away into her shoulder strap, and leans against the bars, fingers trailing lightly across the vengestone.

"For once, you're not going to be the hero you've always pretended to be."

There's a long silence, and Lloyd feels unwelcome tears pricking at his eyes, dangerously close to falling.

Hostage.

Hostage means helpless and useless and defenseless, against every danger he's up against. Hostage means he can't fight, can't help the others defeat everything they need too, means he's alone.

He hates it.

He hates it so much, and he can't do anything to stop it.

"Why can't you just let me go?" He stutters, voice breaking, and Harumi says nothing, just another small smile before she turns her back to him, striding across to the entrance.

"Please?" He begs quietly, just one last time, and the word is cut up with a sob he can't stop.

There's no response. Harumi walks out the door without a sound, and the metal slams behind her heavily, slamming the answer into his heart.

Everything hurts, and he just wants to go home.

His tears falls to the ground like broken glass on the floor, and he hates it.

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archies-litterbox · 3 years ago

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of poison, forest floors, and terrified wizards

Summary: Out all alone on what was meant to be a simple errand, collecting herbs for Merlin, Douxie is downed when some pickpocket throws a fistful of black powder in his face - a magic surpressant and poison to wizards, he comes to find out the hard way. Unable to move or use his magic, as attempts to do both cause nothing but agony, the moppet has no choice but to rely on the slim hope of someone finding him before the poison overtakes him.

A/N: This is my first toa fic! I’ve spent the past year mostly just doing fic for witcher, so this is a nice change of pace :) I had fun with this! I thought about what would happen if there was some sort of substance in TOA that acted as a poison/magic surpressant to wizards... and ofc it turned into douxie whump (but it’s moppet!douxie which is even more painful :( ). Enjoyyy!

[CW: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Poisoning/Sickness, Temporary Paralysis, blood mention (but no bleeding)]

---

All Douxie had been sent out to do was collect some herbs for Merlin. It wasn’t even in the uncertain ground like the Wild Wood, but a patch of forest he’d been sent to fetch ingredients from countless times. It should have been a simple enough task for the moppet, which is why he hadn’t woken Archie from his afternoon nap - which he was taking on Douxie’s bed - to have his familiar accompany him. And truly, the task itself was simple; it didn’t take Douxie very long at all to go into the woods and find a patch of the plants Merlin told him to fetch - something about a potion ingredient, the apprentice vaguely recollected.

Indeed, he found it without any trouble, but when he felt a figure speed past his back and steal away the little pouch of herbs he’d collected before speeding off into the woods, that was when the trouble started.

The rational part of him (which said exactly what he’d reckoned Archie would be telling him right now) told him just to pick more, but it was overshadowed by how downright insulting this woodland pickpocket was! Before he’d been taken in by Merlin, conning and using slight-of-hand to his advantage was one of his only means of survival, so to not only be stolen from, but in a way so lacking in cunning? The audacity!

It was the principal of the matter that sent him running after the thief, darting this way and that until he was lost in the thick of the woods, focused only on tailing the pickpocket.

“Hey! Stop!” Douxie panted, “You’re stealing from a master wizard!”

That didn’t seem to entice the thief to stop.

“Well… his apprentice, anyway!” he added for reasons unsure to even himself. Maybe honesty would help?

Well, thanks to his trusty, gangly legs, he caught up to the thief and got close enough to grab their wrist, and he thought it would be smooth sailing after that.

Yeah! Alright! I’ll just get my herbs back and deal with this thief and -

The thief turned around and threw a handful of black powder in his face.

Fuzzbuckets.

Douxie squeezed his eyes shut as soon as he felt them sting, coughing into his elbow to hack up the charcoal tasting powder that flew into his mouth and nose. That little trick stopped him in his tracks, but he wasn’t deterred. Not mentally. He still wanted to try to catch up…

...but his legs wouldn’t move.

No matter how badly he wanted - demanded his legs to obey him, they remained tense, frozen in that position of one in front of the other.

What?

One terrifying moment later, they did move. But not into the sprint he wanted to take - no, to do something worse: to buckle underneath him and send him falling onto his side against the forest floor.

And he couldn’t get up.

No matter how much he willed his body to do it, he couldn’t get up.

It was like when he’d have nightmares and he’d realize he was having a nightmare; it took forcing his body to toss and turn and shift from side to side as much as he could to rouse him back to the realm of the fully conscious.

But he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t rouse himself from this nightmare because he couldn’t push himself up.

Wait.

No.

He couldn’t move.

Nearing complete panic, he internally begged and pleaded to find some sort of mobility, but his limbs grew numb by the second, and wherever he still had feeling, it ached - utterly, reprehensibly ached. Not only that, but it was cold. So, so cold, despite the warm atmosphere of the summer afternoon that hung around him so tauntingly.

He’d never felt more scared in his life. Not even being threatened at swordpoint by Sir Galahad and his men, knowing that he’d be killed for something like a measly alley trick, was as terrifying as this - not even that made his blood run cold (literally, it felt like, as well as figuratively) like this did.

And he was sure that was clear to the thief he’d tried to catch. They stood over him, and he couldn’t see their face from where his head lay on the ground, cheek against the grass, but with his glassy, wide eyes flickering between straining to look at his poisoner - because that’s what this was, a poison - and darting around wherever they could look without him moving his head - because he couldn’t even do that - as black strands of hair lay loose on his cheek because he couldn’t lift a hand to move them, he was sure looked every bit as terrified as he felt.

The thief laughed. Laughed.

“A master wizard’s apprentice, eh?” they spoke, their voice dripping with mock fascination that made Douxie wish that someone, anyone would come to help him, “And your great master never told you to pick your battles? He must not have, if you felt so inclined as to chase me all through the woods for a plant you could have just picked a little more of. It was right in front of you, after all.”

The realization which dawned on Douxie would have made his blood run cold if it didn’t feel like it already was. They’d pickpocketed him because they counted on him pursuing them, even to the point of ending up in the thick of the woods, far away from where Merlin or Archie expected him to be - far away from where they’d know to look for him.

Douxie finally tried to shout for help, but his throat was just as tense - as frozen as the rest of his muscles, and his jaw was too tight to open as much as he’d need to scream. All he could do was gasp and force shuddering breaths in and out of his lungs, which was still a trying ordeal - too trying for something like breathing to have been.

“Trying to scream? Really?” the poisoner-thief asked as if it was an absurd thing to do in the moppet’s position (which it wasn’t), “Next thing you know, you’ll try mustering a spell.”

Against his better judgement, for trying a spell couldn’t have been a good idea if his own assailant was suggesting it, he tried to force a little magic to his fingertips.

It burned. Oh, sweet heart of Avalon, it burned. His hand hadn’t even hurt this badly after he’d botched a lightning spell and scarred his wrist in the process.

Douxie wheezed at the sensation, and the thief laughed again.

“Oh, this is rich!” they exclaimed, “this has already paralyzed you hand and foot, and you thought some conjuring would help? What do you think this was made to diminish, Apprentice of Ambrosius?

Douxie couldn’t even think of a swear worthy of this (“fuzzbuckets” was too tame), his mind still flooded with fear and his hand still aching from his botched magic attempt. How had they already known he was Merlin’s apprentice? Sure, he’d mentioned being an apprentice to a master wizard, but he wasn’t that specific.

But he wasn’t worried about that as much as what this implied about his magic, and what this - whatever it had been - was doing to it.

“This,” His assailant bent down and held up their fingertips to his face, showing him the black powder on them. “Seeps away your magic. Or poisons it, or diminishes it, or eats away at it - I’m not a poet, and apt synonyms aren’t my strong suit.”

They stood back up all the way, and Douxie wanted to plead, but the words wouldn’t come out. They wouldn’t even form. This - he couldn’t lose his magic. Not on something as measly as an herb collection.

“All of this-”

They gestured to his paralyzed, twitching form.

“Is just a side effect. A byproduct of attacking your magic.”

Douxie tried curling his hand into a fist. Not only were his muscles so weak that he could only curl his fingers for a second in what looked more like a spasm than a conscious movement, but grabbing the wrong end of a knife would have hurt less.

The powder-tosser winced mock-sympathetically.

“Shame, really. I hoped the master wizard you served could be the one to deal with this.”

For a moment, in his agony, he wished he was. Douxie squandered the thought as quickly as it came up, hating himself for conceiving it. He couldn’t wish this on anyone, least of all the wizard who saved him, who plucked him off the streets.

But why couldn’t he save him now?

“Ah, well.” They reached down to Douxie’s face and put a strand of hair behind his ear.

Douxie wanted to cry.

“S’pose you’ll do. It’ll be a kick in the teeth for him anyway, when you don’t come back from your little errand after hours and hours, and by the time they send out a search party…”

The smugness and certainty in their tone made Douxie whimper, the first vocal noise he’d been able to make in all of this, after naught but wheezing and gasping. Where was he going to get dragged off to? The Wild Wood? Were they in league with trolls, hoping to get an edge on King Arthur? Or were they a bandit, hoping to take all his goods off of him (which weren’t much, unless they counted the black cat fur on his vest) and keep him in some rackety shack until a ransom note made its way to Merlin?

(Would he even pay it, considering Douxie’s incompetence?)

“Well, they’ll find you right here, I’m sure, but…”

Douxie could hear them mock-wince again, and their implication was worse than anything he’d assumed in the moments before. He couldn’t hear the rest of their sentence over his own panic that, combined with the poison, made his head swim.

He wasn’t going to be taken anywhere.

He was going to be left here, to - to - to -

His panic pushed him to try his magic again on impulse alone, and it felt like both his hands were on fire. His throat, as tight as it was, finally let him groan through his teeth.

“An exercise in futility, little wizard.” his attacker taunted, “In fact…”

They took his bracelet - only three fingers wide at this point in his training - right off his wrist, which made him squeak as he tried, tried, tried to shake his head, and threw it into a bush in what was both further assurance of his powerlessness and an insult to injury.

“I would say you should try to get comfortable…”

They stood up and took a few steps back, leaving the little field of vision Douxie had from where his head lay on the ground.

“...But I suppose that would be another exercise in futility.”

He heard the poisoner-thief run off, their footfalls fading as the pounding of his racing heart, which drummed against his ears in sync with their steps, drowned out the noise until they were out of earshot.

He was alone.

He couldn’t move, some poison was seeping away his magic - his very lifeforce - and tensed his body up so rigidly that he couldn’t even scream, and he was alone.

If he could’ve, he would have curled up into a ball as small as he could make himself in hopes that the dangers of the woods and the dire circumstances of his situation would pass him by.

If he could’ve, he would have screamed, even though he knew he was far away from the earshot of anyone who might have come looking for him by that patch of herbs where he said he’d go, and he knew that Archie, who could have tracked his scent here, was still sleeping because, in his arrogance, he hadn’t thought to wake him.

If he could’ve, he would have dragged himself to his gauntlet, wherever it had been thrown, because even if it wouldn’t have done anything to get him out of this, at least he wouldn’t have felt so helpless, even though helpless was exactly what he was.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and feel his tears run down the bridge of his nose as his lips contorted into a grimace, the only two things he could do with his body where the movement itself didn’t outweigh how badly he wanted - needed to do it.

All he could hope for, against hope itself, was that he’d be found here.

Before all that could be found was his body.

---

He wished he could just sleep.

The grassy ground underneath him was soft enough, and his position on his side could have been comfortable enough. Maybe it would have helped pass the time until the poison ran its course, whatever that entailed.

But whatever this was, it didn’t even grant him that luxury. Whether it was an effect of the poison or a product of his own adrenaline and terror, Douxie was wide awake.

Not only that, but after what might have been an hour or two (judging by the sunlight’s reflection off the dewey grass), his body would periodically twitch because of the poison. Sometimes his leg would kick out like a dog, or his shoulder would seize up to the point where it touched his ear, or his hand would ball into a fist.

But his poisoned body didn’t care which of his movements were voluntary or otherwise - it stung all the same. Not like the horrific burning that came with his attempts at magic, but a grating, awful ache right down to his bones. The spontaneous twitches never let him even come close to unconsciousness, and maybe that was a good thing - every breath was more or less of a laborious gasp, a conscious effort of his, and if he’d lost consciousness and stopped forcing them in and out of his lungs… he didn’t want to imagine it.

He wished his panic would quiet enough for him to get bored laying here - he would have preferred it to this, and it would have made sense, considering that he was stuck staring at the same blades of grass and patch of trees that he’d been staring at for the past hour.

And they weren’t even particularly interesting trees or blades of grass, not that they would have distracted him very well if they were.

He wondered if anyone had started looking for him by now. Maybe Merlin was growing impatient without the ingredients he asked for, and maybe Morgana had started to wonder why “Little Douxie” hadn’t come back to the castle.

He wondered if Archie had woken up from his nap and noticed Douxie’s absence yet. If anyone could insist that someone go out and search for him, it would be his familiar. He didn’t want to delude himself by thinking it would help though.

He wondered the importance of those herbs he was collecting before. Were they really that important to whatever Merlin had been working on? Were they worth chasing that thief down? Were they worth all of this?

He was pulled from his thoughts when a shadow cast over the grass he’d been staring at - the shadow of a creature flying overhead and hovering above him.

If he could’ve curled into himself, just to look as small as possible, he would have. What if it was a vulture, waiting to scavenge him? What if it was a monster, or a winged troll, here to carry him off to some trollish nest in the Wild Wood? None of the thoughts that came to mind were soothing by any means. As the creature swooped down, all Douxie could do was squeeze his eyes shut and hope he wouldn’t be harmed any further.

Even when the figure landed in front of him and stepped closer and closer, he didn’t look at it. It wasn’t until he could feel it’s breath on his face, one of the only sensations of the past few hours that didn’t hurt, that he opened his eyes.

A face of black fur greeted him.

And yellow eyes.

And a round pair of glasses.

Archie!

He couldn’t even say the word, but a sob escaped his throat - a sob of relief? A sob of terror that this might have been the start of an onslaught of hallucinations, the first of which being a sign of rescue? He wasn’t sure. Either way, all he wanted to do was reach up and pet the cat-dragon familiar, or hug him and not let go, but he couldn’t. His arm felt like it weighed half a ton, just like the rest of his limbs.

So, he sobbed. It was all he could do.

“Douxie!” Archie cried.

Merlin’s apprentice could hear the worry in his voice as he stepped back a few paces, his ears back and his wings to his side. Of course, he’d shifted into his dragon form - he must have been able to track Douxie’s scent like that. But Douxie hated the thought of his familiar being in danger because he’d flown here. He was already suspicious enough as a black cat, since they carried the notion of being bad omens. What if he’d gotten taken down? He wasn’t worth that!

Douxie was too relieved - yes, he chose relief, not terror, because that’s all he could afford - to think about all of that though.

“Douxie, I’ve been looking for you! What’s happened to you?” Archie asked, “Merlin expected you back hours ago!”

The first thing that came to mind, despite everything, was an apology for his absence - an apology he couldn’t even say. He couldn’t even say what happened to him, not like -

A spasm cut off from his speeding, scrambled thoughts - a large one in his left arm (his right was still mostly underneath him) that reached all the way from his fingertips to his shoulderblade, forcing his hand to ball into a fist, his arm to fold so tightly that his fist touched his shoulder, and his shoulder to tighten so much that his shoulder pressed to his ear.

The sound of agony ripped from his throat was the closest to a scream he’d gotten yet.

Archie looked horrified, and Douxie could only imagine what the sight of him was like - black strands loose from his bun strewn over his face, his eyes puffy and tear-ringed, his lips contorted in a pained grimace. He imagined he looked as pitiful and helpless as he felt.

(In fact, he didn’t have to imagine it. He could faintly see his reflection in the lenses of Archie’s glasses, and he was right in what he pictured, save for the addition of smudges and speckles of that powder still on his face, the black splotches of dust contrasting his color-drained skin, pale as death.)

His arm relaxed again after a few agonizing moments, letting his hand fall in front of his face and leaving a throbbing ache down to his bones, and Douxie tried to collect himself. He had to tell Archie what was wrong. He had to try. If Archie knew, he could fix it. He could get Merlin to fix it. Right? Right.

“P-” he started, trying his absolute best to form words despite the constriction in his throat and lungs that barely let him breathe at all, “puh- poi-”

His own wheezing cough cut him off.

“Poison?” Archie asked, getting it right much to the little relief that Douxie could manage. He nodded - at least, as close to the motion as he could accomplish - and tried to hum a “mhm” of affirmation, since trying to talk hadn’t exactly worked. Far from it.

Archie stepped forward and sniffed his face. He immediately recoiled, his big eyes widening, and Douxie was proven wrong for thinking he couldn’t be more terrified.

“Oh, dear.” His eyes glanced to what must have been a few more clumps and speckles of dust on the ground, “Ohhh, not good. Not good at all.”

No. Archie couldn’t be scared. If Archie was scared for him, then this was so, so much worse than he thought. How could it possibly be worse?

Douxie squeaked out a whimper in fear, and Archie’s attention snapped back to him (as if it could have been anywhere else).

“Douxie, don’t worry.” he said, “You’ll be alright.”

Archie was never a good liar, much to Douxie’s dismay. If Archie was going to hide the truth to soothe him, he at least would’ve liked it to work. His immediately telling Douxie not to worry had the opposite effect of what was intended; it showed him his worry - his terror - was entirely warranted, which was the exact thing he didn’t want to know. Even if all he said was “You’ll be alright.”, the fear that seemed to bristle through his fur was indication enough of the contrary.

Archie’s eyebrows, indicated by the grey patches in the fur above his eyes, upturned as if in dread.

“...But I need to go.”

NO!

If Douxie could have screamed the word and reached out to hold Archie, he would have done it right at that moment, but all he could do was whine like a kicked puppy, his eyebrows raising as his head shook - an unconscious movement, minute despite his desperation.

“Douxie, Douxie, listen.” Archie said, softening his voice, “I can’t carry you back to the castle. I wouldn't be able to fly carrying you anyway, but especially not with your-”

Archie got cut off by another one of Douxie’s spasms - this one made his left leg curl up so tight that his thigh touched his torso, causing the apprentice to nearly involuntarily hit Archie with his knee, which the cat-dragon barely dodged.

“-that." Archie said, "Not with that.”

Douxie saw the sense in that, despite his panic. He did, he did, he did.

But -

He sobbed again.

-But he didn’t want to be alone.

Sweet heart of Avalon, he didn’t want to be alone.

The worst of his pain and terror wasn’t from the paralysis, or the aching, or the random twitches, or the burning that came from trying to use his magic, or even the tightness in his throat and lungs that robbed him of speaking or even screaming; it came from being alone in this - from wondering if anyone would come for him, or find his body; it came from knowing that there was nothing he could do but lay there, at the mercy of nature, the poison wracking his body with every beat of his heart, and the determination (or lack thereof) of someone else to find him.

And when he opened his eyes to find Archie there, all of that went away - all of that fear that told him he’d die alone here. He didn’t want it to come back. He would’ve rather the poison take him right now.

“I just need to go back to the castle and bring Merlin here. He’ll know what to do.”

Archie put his paw in Douxie’s limp, open palm. All Douxie wanted to do was hold it, and he so desperately hoped the next twitch would be in his hand so he could.

“I won’t be long. I promise.”

But what if it was too long, even if he hurried?

What if Merlin was too late, even if he hurried?

What if it took too long to convince his master to come here? Would the fact that he’d been poisoned and needed help be enough, or would Merlin refuse because it served Douxie right for his insolence?

(No, no, he wouldn’t do that. Merlin said that mastery over magic was mastery over life, and he had to learn how to live. He couldn’t learn to live if he died here in the woods.)

What if…

What if this killed him before Archie came back?

...No.

It wasn’t the same this time. Douxie wasn’t lost here, hoping against hope that someone would find him. This was hope - someone knew where he was, and help would come. He could handle a little bit more fear for that hope, he knew.

So, fighting the grating, awful ache in his bones, Douxie closed his hand around Archie’s paw and put on as brave a face he found himself able to muster, nodding as much as he could while causing as little pain to himself as possible.

He didn’t trust much in this - not even his own body to keep fighting the poison - but he trusted Archie, and he trusted his promise.

His familiar gently pulled his paw away before slipping it under the side of Douxie’s head, lifting it a little off the ground. The little apprentice was confused for a moment, until Archie reached behind Douxie’s head with his mouth. He could hear the sounds of the woods stifle as fabric came over his ears, warding off the now-coolness of the woodsy air around his head as Archie pulled the hood of his vest over his head and gingerly laid it back down.

Ah, he got it now - it was a little comfort, a little shelter from the world.

And of course he took it, hoping his eyes conveyed his gratitude.

He kept up his brave front as Archie turned away from him, something Douxie could tell he’d done reluctantly, and flew off. It wasn’t until he couldn’t see his familiar anymore - until the sight of the cat-dragon vanished behind the treetops - that he let it fall and shatter.

He just had to keep waiting. That’s all he had to do - wait and trust Archie to come back with Merlin. He knew that.

But he could still feel new tears come down his face.

---

Douxie wished he could see the sunset from where he lay. It would have been beautiful, he knew.

The spasms subsided a little while after Archie flew back, leaving Douxie limp on the ground - still unable to move without hurting himself or try to use his magic without thrusting himself into agony - with a lingering pins-and-needles sensation in his hands and feet that felt like it was crawling up from his ankles and wrists.

(Honestly, Douxie still wasn’t sure if the spasms had truly subsided for good, or if this was just a rather long interval between them. He hoped it was the former. The spasms never hurt any less as they went on, and he was so, so tired of the pain.)

Archie still hadn’t come back with Merlin yet, obviously, and at this point, it seemed like Douxie was fighting off his doubt more than the poison. At least he knew what the poison was doing to him - he could feel it every waking moment. But Archie… Douxie didn’t know what had happened to him, and he wouldn’t unless he came back.

(No, until he came back. Douxie had to keep that certainty alive in his mind.)

But how was he supposed to know that his familiar hadn’t taken a tumble? That he hadn’t been brought down by some witch hunter’s net? What if Merlin was being stubborn about coming for him? What if he’d been busy in another row with King Arthur?

...Indeed, he would have loved to see the sunset - to at least try to let it distract him from the tornado of worst case scenarios in his mind.

But he couldn’t.

For a bit, he tried distracting himself by thinking about how Merlin might’ve reacted to him being in danger - to hearing that he’d been poisoned. He sort of liked imagining how scared he’d be, for he preferred fear to indifference. The mental image of his master dropping whatever book he’d been flipping through and rushing to follow Archie… it was a comforting one, as strange as it might sound. That fear meant he mattered.

But Douxie soon grew tired even of that. He hoped he might’ve ran into a patch frequented by fireflies. Those would at least come low enough to dip into his line of sight, and they were always so beautiful, like stars visiting earth for a night before going back to the sky…

Douxie grew cold again at some point. Not just cold, but damp. Since it hadn’t started raining, fortunately, he rightly assumed that it was sweat. Perhaps he was finally sweating this out, like a fever, but that was too good, too fortunate to figure. This was another progression of the poison, he was sure. Just like…

Douxie noticed something in his left hand that lay in front of his face, something wrong…

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon.

His veins were black.

Hoping, begging, praying to be wrong, he pushed through that dreadful ache in his arm so he could pull it closer, but it only confirmed his suspicions - his dread - his terrors.

The veins in his wrist, in the creases of his knuckles - they weren’t deep blue anymore, just barely visible underneath his skin, but as black as that powder that got blown in his face. Ink could be coursing through them right now, and he’d have been none the wiser.

In that moment, Douxie was proven wrong once again for thinking he couldn’t be more terrified.

He gasped as much as his throat and lungs let him, and he didn’t stop gasping. But then his chest -

No no NO!

-his chest started to seize up.

He fought the growing tightness in his chest with every breath, forcing each one in and out like a wheeze, but it wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t tell if it was from poison or panic, but it wouldn’t go away. He’d even started coughing, which was inevitable, but the black splotch that splattered into his hand terrified him all the more.

This was it. He was going to die here. He was going to succumb to this. He’d never come back to the castle - to Archie, to Morgana, to Merlin - from a trivial herb picking. Archie would come back here, but all he’d find was - was - was -

“HISIRDOUX!”

Douxie burst into tears.

He could recognize the voice of his master - his father - anywhere, but he was so, so scared that it was a hallucination. The fear in his voice already sounded so foreign, coming from the great and powerful Merlin Ambrosius, and if the sound of his voice and his footsteps coming near him came only from his desperate imagination, then he’d - he’d -

A hand gripped his shoulder and turned him onto his back. Finally, he could look up at the sky, aglow with sunset, but his glassy eyes only saw Merlin kneeling down at his side, and Archie flying above him.

The terror in Merlin’s eyes was the exact opposite of comforting, but Douxie didn’t get to see it for long before Merlin conjured a damp cloth and wiped off his face what had to have been the rest of that poisonous powder. He hadn’t realized how flushed he’d been until that moment, when that rag felt so cold against his cheeks.

Merlin finished wiping off Douxie’s face and made the cloth disappear. Douxie missed the coolness on his face. He wanted it back.

“Hisirdoux, say something!” he demanded. But Douxie couldn’t - didn’t Merlin think he would’ve already been screaming his lungs out if he could?

“D-” he choked, “Da-”

He hacked up another throatful of black phlegm, whimpering as the violence of his cough made his torso curl up. Merlin dodged the cough, but put an arm under Douxie’s back before he could fall back.

An apology lay at the back of his throat - one he didn’t know the reason for, even if he could’ve said it.

Merlin brought his other arm behind Douxie’s knees and lifted him like he weighed nothing (and he probably didn’t weigh much to Merlin, being the gangly moppet he was). The edges of the plating of the master wizard’s armor dug against him uncomfortably, but it was the least discomforting thing about this, overshadowed near-completely by the comfort that came just by being held. But he was still scared - if more of that powder was on him, and Merlin touched it by holding him, then -

He stifled a cough, and his leg kicked out unconsciously like a thumping rabbit’s foot. He didn’t realize how badly he’d been tremoring until it was contrasted with the steadiness of Merlin holding him.

Yes… steadiness, safety - two things he’d wanted to cling to more than anything since all this had started. And now, he had them. He had his familiar, and he had his father.

His head, still covered with the hood of his vest, lolled back uncomfortably without any support, but he felt something soft push against the back of it- it was actually Archie, though Douxie couldn’t see it - until the side of his head lay against one of the shoulderpieces of Merlin’s armor, cushioned by the cloth of his hood.

He sighed as much as his tightened chest would allow.

He was so scared.

Douxie was still so, so terrified that Merlin couldn’t save him after all; that he’d die tonight; that he’d never use his magic again; that he’d never get to become a master wizard or get his own staff to wield; that he’d never again get to go back down to the marketplace and talk to that pretty girl who frequented the shops.

(What was her name? Zelda? Zona? Zola? Zo-)

He felt something warm settle on his abdomen - Archie had turned back into a cat and curled up on his tummy, purring as he nestled where Douxie’s legs curled.

At least, despite everything else he feared, he didn’t have to be terrified of being alone anymore.

---

Douxie wasn’t sure if Merlin used a portal, or the relief of being found by his master had finally let him lull out of consciousness for the length of the time it took to be carried back, but the next thing he knew, he was in Merlin’s study. Despite the fluttering of his eyelids, he could recognize the shelves, the desk, and the stained glass window letting in the last light of day.

Home.

He was home.

No matter what happened next, he was home.

“Douxie!” He could hear Morgana’s voice shouting his name in worry, followed immediately by her fast-approaching footsteps.

“Mmh…” Douxie whimpered. It wasn’t clear whether or not the noise was just a pained whine or an attempt to try saying her name - not even to Douxie himself. He couldn’t see her very well, but he could tell when she’d come to them, stepping to the side as Merlin walked forward to his desk.

“Is he alive?” she asked.

“Somehow, yes.” Merlin answered. Douxie hated that “somehow” and the fear it brought, but it was just a little more to add to the onslaught of the past hours. He could just add it to the pile, he supposed.

In the middle of the room, Merlin’s big desk was empty, so the wizard laid him down on the surface, having him lay flat on his back with his hands at his sides, his legs straightened out, and his head facing up. Now, he could fully see Morgana, the sorceress he’d come to see as something of a big sister just as he came to see Merlin as a father, looking down at him. Her face was upside-down from where she stood over him, but he could still see her upturned brows and glistening eyes, and the way she clasped her hands close to her chest so they didn’t even touch him. He hated that look of worry on her face. Seeing Morgana - always fearless, always grasping for more from the world than what others had permitted, always steadfast in her ruthless ambition - look so scared for him…

...It was worse, if such a thing was possible, than when he saw how scared Merlin was for him, and there was so much he wanted to say, but he was still just focused on trying to breathe as deeply as he could.

Archie got off his abdomen and sat next to his head, gently headbutting his temple before putting a paw on his forehead. It was a little comforting, almost enough to distract Douxie from realizing that Merlin wasn’t at his side anymore.

Almost, though. Not enough.

Douxie tried turning his head to the side, but Archie gently kept it still with his paw.

“He’s just finding a spellbook, Douxie.” he assured, immediately knowing what the apprentice was trying to turn his head for, “He’ll be right back.”

Morgana looked down on the little scene and closed her eyes for a moment, as if to quell her tears, before opening them again.

“You shouldn’t have held him.” she warned, turning her head to wherever Merlin stood now, “You know what that can-”

“I’m well aware.” Merlin interrupted from wherever he still was, “And you know I’ve little concern for that.”

Douxie didn’t understand. There was still so little he understood about whatever was doing this to him, and he didn’t know how to ask about it - he couldn’t.

But apparently, his upturned brows and whimpers of confusion were enough to indicate - at least to Archie - how lost he was.

“Douxie, that powder - it’s called Draining Dust.” Archie explained, “It’s a magic suppressant, and… a poison, as you know by now.”

“Witch hunters would put this in shackles.” Morgana said, finally speaking to him, “To nullify wizards’ and witches’ magic on their way to the gallows. Or the stakes.”

“Trace amounts, yes.” Merlin came back into his view, an open spellbook floating near him with a signature green aura around it, “Pinches of it, cast in the metal. It would suppress the wearer’s magic as long as it was on their body, with a few side effects. Fatigue, headaches, nausea…” he started listing as he flipped through the pages.

Douxie remembered the handful of the stuff that had been thrown in his face. That was far from a few pinches. And those side effects he’d started listing - they sounded tame, menial compared to what was happening to him now.

“But direct contact with raw powder…” Archie started. Douxie knew he was hesitant to finish that sentence, and it wasn’t hard to assume why (but it was terrifying).

“It’s deadly.” Morgana said, “Few wizards have ever survived inhaling or digesting it. More sadistic witchfinders have used that to-”

“Morgana!” Merlin snapped, urging her to leave off. But she didn’t.

“He should know!” she snapped back, “It’s already in his bloodstream, old man. It’s killing him, and he deserves to-”

Douxie started crying again at Morgana’s brutal honesty, as if this all weren’t brutal enough. His eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down his temples, but when he opened them again, it was darker, like he was looking through a veil. The sight made him want to cry even harder.

It was in his tears.

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon, the poison was in his tears.

It made sense now, why Morgana was so scared to touch him. His own body fluids - his blood, his tears, probably his sweat soon enough - were turning poisonous from this. The only reason Archie was still touching him was probably because he wasn’t a wizard, but a familiar, and this wouldn’t affect him so badly.

(It actually very well could have affected Archie for the worse, but watching Douxie endure this without any comfort would have been worse than any poison.)

“It’s not killing him.” Merlin denied as if he was trying to convince both Morgana and himself, “His death is not certain. If it were, I would have already placed a sleeping spell on him by now.”

Douxie clung to that little hope and tried to watch Merlin scan for the spell he’d been looking for. Merlin had a way to fix this, of course he did; it’s as he said - he would have already put Douxie to sleep to grant him some peace if he didn’t.

Douxie watched his master’s page flipping stall as his eyes scanned over one particular page. His face fell - a minute, near-unnoticeable change in expression, but one that made Douxie’s pounding heart sink.

“Merlin?” Archie asked, “Have you found something?”

Merlin said nothing at first, only taking his place by stepping right to the table’s edge, coming right to Douxie’s side.

“I’ve found a spell to expel the poison and it’s remnants,” he explained, still only scanning the book, “But purging it from his body when it’s progressed this far will be…”

His eyes fell on Douxie’s.

“...quite excruciating.”

But Douxie was already so, so tired.

Not physically - the combined force of the poison and his own adrenaline warded off any chance of fatigue - but in his heart. He was so tired of being scared. Of being in so much pain. He didn’t want to do it - he didn’t think he could…

...But he remembered something Merlin said to him before.

“If there is a universal truth in this world, it is that struggle is the flame which forges one’s soul into steel.”

Well, if there was something tougher than steel, that’s what his soul would become.

Because wizards were strong. Brave. Unrelenting to pain or fear. That’s how Merlin was, that’s how Morgana was, and that’s how he would be.

He put on a brave face - as brave as he could possibly muster in the face of what he’d endure - and nodded. He could do this. He had to do this.

And he would.

The green aura around the spellbook faded as Merlin set it down. Archie lifted his paw from Douxie’s head and stepped back a few paces.

“Morgana, keep him still.” Merlin said, “His thrashing may cause him to injure himself.”

Morgana nodded and brought her hands up, an unsaid apology in her eyes. Seconds later, Douxie felt warm, gentle heat around his wrists and ankles. It didn’t hurt, but it was unrelenting. He didn’t test the bonds, lacking the strength or any actual will to do so. Still under a sort of paralysis, he wasn’t scared of being pinned down, for he knew it was just a precaution; he was just scared of how bad the pain would be in order for restraining him like this to be necessary.

The precaution was far from unwarranted, he came to realize in the coming moments.

Merlin hovered one hand over Douxie’s chest and the other over his abdomen. Douxie watched him say some incantation, but he didn’t catch the words. He was too busy bracing himself for the pain as he saw the green aura of his master’s magic out of the corner of his eye, glowing above his torso.

Before Merlin even got to take a breath after the incantation, the pain started.

And no amount of bracing could have prepared Douxie enough.

The sudden agony in his torso ripped the breath from his lungs. He thought - hoped it would start small and get worse and worse, like a simmer that got hotter and hotter, but instead it was like a pot of scalding water got poured over his chest. No, even that would have hurt less. This… it started at the surface, but it bled deeper and deeper under his skin, and then -

Oh, sweet heart of Avalon.

-then it started to spread.

In moments, as if searing agony itself coursed through his veins, there was nowhere on his body that didn’t burn, not even his fingertips or the tip of his pinky toes. If he could feel it, it hurt, and it hurt unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

As the agony overrode his paralysis, he thrashed against Morgana’s magic that kept his wrists and ankles in place, arching his back one moment and curling forward the next.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to try to open his eyes. It hurt to keep them squeezed shut. It hurt to try to hear the voices of those around him - Morgana trying to tell him to be strong, Archie trying to soothe him, Merlin repeating the incantation. It hurt even to think - the pain, blinding and deafening, flooded out all other thoughts.

For a moment, like a fire burning so hot it feels cold for a fleeting beat, he stopped feeling the searing, searing agony.

But the moment was too, too fleeting before it wracked him again.

Finally, finally, he screamed.

It was a raw, shrill, agonized thing. He felt it come up from the base of his throat, and when Douxie realized, through his hysteria, that he was actually screaming, not wheezing or whimpering or anything he’d had to settle for tonight, he couldn’t stop. He screamed for all the torture of the day, all the fear of being alone, all the panic and terror and despair that he couldn’t let out in the woods, tense and spasming and paralyzed.

All the screams that couldn’t come out before, when his throat was so tight that it barely let him breathe, came out right now, bursting at the seams of his pain-delirious mind.

He didn’t stop screaming until he finally felt Merlin’s magic let off.

Even then, his screams settled only into groans and wails until the burning across his body finally cooled; until the pain weakened from a searing sensation all over him, like the most brazen of fires, to a low ache, like the embers of a dying camp flame.

Once he fully stilled, which took a few more moments, Morgana’s magic came off his wrists and ankles.

Finally, he came back to his senses and see Merlin, Morgana, and Archie still around him. Archie looked relieved and nuzzled the side of Douxie’s head. Morgana smiled a shaky, hesitant smile - still so foreign to see from her.

And Merlin…

Well, he seemed as difficult to read as usual, but at least he no longer had the expression on his face of a man watching his apprentice die. Traces of relief lay there, and Douxie gladly took them.

So… was it over?

Douxie groaned and lifted his arm. It didn’t hurt to do anymore - well, it did, but more like a soreness left in the wake of heavy lifting, a residue of what happened than a symptom of it. He brought it up to his face so he could see his wrist.

His veins were blue again.

Sighing, he let his hand fall on his face and wiped away some tears - lifting it to see they were purely clear, like before - before letting it slide off his cheek and fall limp next to his head.

“Master…” his voice was so little, so hoarse, “‘s it gone?”

“Every bit, Hisirdoux.” Merlin said, putting his hand on Douxie’s shoulder, “It's over.”

He sounded weary. Douxie hoped that spell didn't take too much from him.

“Mm… my magic… 's it gone too?”

Merlin’s eyes said he wasn’t sure himself.

Douxie sought to answer the question on his own and willed forth his magic. He felt his fingertips thrum with the life of his sorcery. Lifting his hand again, he saw little specks of light, blue and true. It didn’t burn anymore, but it felt warm and gentle, like a heartbeat. His heartbeat. Exactly as it always felt.

He sighed. Not shaky, not fighting to keep his breathing level - a tired, relieved sigh. Despite how sore even the muscles in his face felt, he smiled a little smile.

“Thank you…” he said, “If you all hadn’t… I’d be-”

Merlin moved his hand from Douxie’s shoulder to his forehead.

“Don’t pay that scenario any mind, Hisirdoux.” Merlin urged, “You’ve survived, and although you and your magic have been weakened, both will fully recover.”

Douxie’s little smile fell.

“Wha… what about the poison? It couldn’t just be gone.”

“That it can.” Merlin assured, taking his hand off Douxie’s head, “As brutal as it is to the wizard affected, an unaffected wizard with strong magic can eradicate it from their body and return it to it’s untarnished condition.”

...Well, that was that, and Douxie wouldn’t question it. Besides, he remembered something.

“Mmmy bracelet… I lost it. That - they took it off. It’s in a bush out there.”

“I can see that. That’s alright.” Merlin said, “It can be retrieved.”

“And… and I'm sorry.” He said to Merlin’s subtle but obvious surprise, indicated by a little raise in his eyebrows.

“What for?”

“I… the herbs.” he answered, “I couldn’t bring them back. They got stolen.”

“It’s alright,” Merlin said, “They aren’t a rarity, you know.”

...Douxie sniffled.

“That… they only snatched those plants so I’d follow them deeper into the woods. So I’d get lost. So they could throw that dust in my face and - and leave me there, knowing I’d gone further into the forest than… than anyone would’ve looked, and I wouldn’t be found.”

“But you were found, Douxie.” Archie said, “They weren’t counting on you having a dragon that could track scents for a familiar.”

Douxie’s voice started to break.

“I should have left it alone - I knew I should have left it alone. There was more right there, I should’ve-”

“Hisirdoux, cease this.” Merlin said in a tone that left no room for insistence, “You must grant yourself some relief in you and your magic’s survival. I won’t have you fret over something as menial as a handful of herbs, so-”

“But Master-”

“-Don’t “But Master” me.”

Douxie sighed. That statement didn’t leave any room for argument. It never did.

Finally, a little normalcy tonight.

Morgana put her hands to the sides of Douxie’s head. After she’d been so scared to touch him this whole time, the feeling of her fingers against his temples, brushing his hair away from his face, was a final, true assurance that the poison had been well and truly purged.

“Sleep, Little Douxie.” she soothed, “I promise you’ll wake.”

He couldn’t tell if she cast a sleep spell in that moment, or if this was from his own fatigue, but he obeyed without hesitance as he was finally lulled away from the realm of the conscious and fell into slumber.

---

Merlin looked down at the boy lying asleep on his desk, the color slowly trickling back into his face as his chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths.

“He’s a brave little moppet.” Morgana said as she kept her fingers against the sides of his head, her voice hushed despite the fact that the boy’s exhaustion had lulled him into a deep slumber, and he’d sleep like a stone until morning no matter what.

“...No, he’s not.” Merlin denied, “Not for this.”

Morgana snapped her head up.

“He’s just gone through more torment from that powder in one day than either of us have in all our lives!” Morgana she contested, “Not even you have endured effects that brutal from Draining Dust.”

“To be brave requires a choice - being faced with the ultimatum to either run and give up, or face your fight.” Merlin said, too proverbial and righteous-sounding as he stood over Douxie, “A choice was the exact thing he didn’t have in this. Perhaps if he’d been withholding something from that assailant, even with the threat of this, then it might be different. But as it is, even if he’d wanted to succumb to this before Archie had found him, his adrenaline hadn’t let him.”

“Maybe so,” Archie started, “but when I found him there in the forest, and I told him I’d have to come back with help, he was terrified of being left alone again. I could tell. But he put on as brave a face he could have. He chose that for himself, at least.”

“He did the same thing moments ago, when you told him how much that spell would hurt.” Morgana added, “He may not have had a choice in enduring this, but he did choose to steel his nerves when faced with every reason not to, and there’s bravery in that, old man.” She crossed her arms. “Even you have to admit that.”

Merlin almost found it endearing, seeing them both try to defend his apprentice’s honor when they felt it threatened, and maybe he could’ve seen the bravery they saw, if he’d been looking at anyone else.

But as he looked down at Hisirdoux… that’s all he saw. Hisirdoux. His apprentice. His son. His gangly little moppet who tended to cause more messes than he cleaned up, but smiled like the embodiment of joy itself.

If daylight decided to make itself corporeal and walk among humans for a while, Merlin wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if it took the form of Hisirdoux Casperan.

So, the sorcerer didn’t see bravery when he found Hisirdoux writhing and gasping on the ground in those woods, he didn’t feel bravery when the boy trembled in his arms, and he most certainly didn’t hear bravery when the boy wailed and screamed his lungs out as that poison was taken out of him, black tears streaming down his face until they became clear again.

No, if Douxie had been brave, pride in that laid nowhere in Merlin’s mind.

After all, when fear for his son’s life flooded his mind, and hatred for whoever did this to him flooded out that fear, where, pray tell, could pride reside?

Morgana kept looking down at Douxie as he slept.

“How could you risk that?” she asked Merlin.

“Risk what, Morgana?” he asked, “Be specific.”

She snapped her head back up.

“You know what I’m talking about!” Morgana almost shouted, stifling her volume so the sleeping moppet wouldn’t hear, ““Eradicate” my foot, old man. I know the spell you used. You didn’t use a spell of eradication, you used a spell of transference!”

Arhcie had been staring down at his own sleeping familiar, but he snapped up when he heard that word, “transference”. First he looked to Morgana, then to Merlin.

“You told him it got destroyed, but you just - all you did was soak it up like a sponge!”

“Merlin… is that true?” Archie asked, obviously afraid that after all of this, Douxie would wake up without his mentor - his father - because he’d taken the poison for him. The little apprentice left without a master would never stop blaming himself, no matter how hard Morgana and Archie tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

Merlin sighed, an affirmation without words or nods.

“I spent the years since it’s conception,” he started, “building an immunity to the dust and its properties. It was too big a risk, potentially having a weakness to something so daunting - something I’d seen subdue and poison countless wizards. Too high a risk - a threat to the greater good.”

“So… the poison’s not having any affect on you?” Archie asked, stepping around Douxie to approach Merlin, “It’s not… he couldn’t have gone through all of this just to lose you.”

“And he won’t.” Merlin assured in confidence, “Much more than a handful of that powder would have had to be thrown at him to have any severe affect on me. No, this won’t need more than a night of rest to fix. Besides, what’s the good in spending all that time building up an immunity to Draining Dust if not to make use of it? A waste of time and tolerance built.”

“You couldn’t have known it wouldn’t...” Morgana said, “You couldn’t have possibly known you’d survive taking all of it like that!”

“I didn’t.” Merlin snapped.

Morgana’s eyes widened, as if everything about what the boy meant to him fell into place.

Because he hadn’t worried about his survival - the matter didn’t even cross his mind, not when he could still hear Douxie whimpering in pain with each page of that spellbook he skimmed. No, he only concerned himself with the likelihood that it would save the boy, his only worry being about how badly it would hurt Douxie when he’d already had to go through so much senseless, ludicrous torture.

Merlin always prioritized the “greater good”, some vast, staggering, intangible concept that encapsulated so much - the lives of thousands, the wellbeing of millions, the good of humanity.

But when he found his son writhing, hurting, suffocating, dying, he found he couldn’t spare any more regard to the “greater good” in that moment than he would a layer of dust on one of his books. If saving Hisirdoux’s life meant casting aside the greater good, then there was no question about it - he’d let the greater good rot.

It didn’t matter to him if his magic would’ve been permanently diminished by extracting the poison, or even if it killed him. Cast the greater good aside - the greatest good was the life in Hisirdoux’s eyes, and by all the heavens, he’d protect it.

And thankfully, he did just that tonight, at the cost of neither his life, his health, or his own magic. And that was the greatest good he could have asked for.

With another sigh, relieved that Morgana chose not to pry, Merlin looked down at the boy, still sound asleep, laid out on his desk. He put one arm under Douxie’s back and the other behind his knees, picking him up just like he did when he found him in those woods.

But this time, instead of trembling in his hold, Douxie made a little noise and unconsciously put his arm over Merlin’s shoulder, snuggling closer, if it were possible, to the master wizard.

Yes. he thought. There’s no greater good than this.

Morgana put her hands over her mouth and looked at the two of them as if the sight was something adorable, and Merlin huffed. Archie took his same spot curled up on Douxie’s abdomen.

“I’m taking him to his room.” he said, hushing his voice even though he knew the moppet wouldn’t wake, “And I’ll let him sleep in tomorrow morning. He needs to rest.”

The sun had set sometime during the painstaking ordeal, but torchlight along the walls of the castle made it easy to take his sleeping apprentice back to his room even once night has fallen. After using a simple spell to swing the door open while his arms were in use carrying the boy, Merlin walked in and used another little spell. The green aura of his magic glowed around the blanket on Douxie’s bed as he folded part of it over using his magic, providing room to lay Douxie down on his bed with head nestled right in his pillow’s usual dent. Once Archie stepped out of the way, Merlin reached over and laid the blanket back over him.

Douxie stirred a little, but only to turn from his back onto his side, his back to the wall and his front facing Merlin. Once the boy settled again, Merlin tentatively reached behind his head and let his bun loose so it wouldn’t get tangled if he moved around too much in his sleep. He doubted it would, considering the exhaustion and soreness in his muscles would probably enticement enough to stay still, even unconscious, but the gesture couldn’t hurt.

Archie crawled right underneath one of Douxie’s arms and nestled against his chest, and the moppet unconsciously held the bespectacled cat a little tighter.

And that was Merlin’s unspoken cue to leave Hisirdoux to rest for the night, so that’s what he did. He needed rest too, after all - his built-up immunity may have saved his life, but the poison, like everything else in the onslaught of the evening, left him weary.

Tomorrow, a search would begin.

Tomorrow, Merlin would find out who was behind this.

Tomorrow, the greatest and most powerful wizard in Camelot would not relent until he found the monster, human or trollish, who almost killed his son.

But tonight, Hisirdoux lay curled up in his bed, sound asleep as he kept his familiar close. Tonight, his life was saved.

And tonight, that was enough.

#tales of arcadia #toa #mine #toa fanfic #whump #hurt/comfort #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #moppet!douxie #archie toa #toa merlin #toa morgana #toa wizards #fic: of poison forest floors and terrified wizards #draining dust

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cyhyr · 3 years ago

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Summer of Whump - Left Behind

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: PG

Pairing: Kakashi & Iruka

WC: ~3185

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: panic attacks, child whump, teenage caretaker hurt/comfort, off-screen minor character death

A/N: I had a lot of requests for a sequel/follow-up for my fic [betrayal] from the 12 Days of Whumpmas event this past December, so here's the first part of that! There are two more updates on this story, to be posted later in the month.

If you want to be added to the tag list, comment below or send me a message!!

Tagging for Summer of Whump: @atereal @summer-of-whump @stupidbadgers

Iruka is released from the hospital two days after he wakes up and walks home alone with his head down and his hands twitching at his sides. He can’t be taken advantage of again, not like that, he… he can’t. He must remain aware of his surroundings, and he can’t trust anyone with dubious intentions.

His stomach hurts. If nothing else, his teammates taught him a valuable lesson about trust. Normally he would kick a stone along the road, see how long he can go before losing it in a crowd or kicking it too far off his path. Now, he can’t afford that kind of menial distraction.

He flinches when the ANBU shuffles down from the rooftops and falls into step beside him. Iruka catches himself at the last second, apologizing quickly, “Sorry, Hound. I didn’t—”

“It’s alright. I didn’t know you had been discharged.”

“Yeah, I was able to keep down my breakfast this morning, and my wrists are fine now.” He’d gone over forty-eight hours without food or water while out in the woods, and the medics had been concerned because Iruka was initially throwing up everything he ate. As for his wrists, he’ll have the scars from the serious rope burn for the rest of his life, but at least they don’t hurt anymore.

“Where are you headed? I’ll walk you.”

“I… Well, my team usually meets for training about now, and I figured I don’t have anything else to do, so.”

Hound stops them both in the middle of the street. Iruka’s no sensor, but even he can feel the sudden surge of killing intent coming from the ANBU that is quickly suppressed. Hound takes him by the shoulder and leads him into an alley, away from the few others who had stopped and stared.

“You’re planning on going back with them?”

Iruka drops his gaze and rubs his wrist scar with his thumb. “I don’t know what else to do… Sandaime says it was just a prank that went wrong, and I… I just… I just want to move on.”

“Going back to them isn’t going to help in that regard. They’d just do it again and next time they’ll do better to not get caught.”

Next time??? He hadn’t even thought about a next time. Hound makes it sound like he doesn’t believe it was a prank, and to be honest, Iruka isn’t sure about that stance either. He can’t catch his breath, like he ran twenty laps around the village at full speed. Iruka drops to his knees, gasping, his chest hurts, his heart is pounding so hard and his limbs are tingling and he can’t breathe—

Wiry arms surround him and a voice, soothing, in his ear: “Iruka, you’re safe, I’ve got you. I won’t let that happen again, I promise, you are in the Village and you’re with me and you are safe.”

It doesn’t help. He cries, sobs, because he can’t get a good breath and he doesn’t want to die but he’s already accepted it once he can do it again he had just hoped that he would die in service to his village, not like this, not like this, not—

He’s rocked, side to side, and there’s a hand in his hair and soft shushing in the air. The other arm pulls away for a few seconds and he hears clasps being undone and something heavy falls to the ground beside them. And then his head is turned just enough to put his ear to a warm chest and he can hear buh-bump, buh-bump, buh-bump, and it’s… it’s nice.

“Feel for my breath. Try to match it.”

His head lifts and falls and lifts and falls and Iruka takes in a shuddering breath during the next lift but he’s not able to hold it the way the body next to him can, and he releases too early. He takes in another two breaths before the next lift, and he breathes in at the same time and does better matching the lift and fall this time and soon enough he’s breathing deeply and listening to Hound’s heartbeat and his sobbing abates to silent weeping.

“I’m going to pick you up and shunshin us to my home. Put your arms around my neck.”

Iruka nods and does as he’s told. He feels raw, shaky, and his skin is crawling. Everything hurts. He couldn’t take another step if he’d wanted to. Hound makes a short whistle and Iruka can feel his hands moving behind his back. He’s pretty sure Hound is signing to another ANBU, but he wouldn’t know the code anyway even if he could see it. He keeps his face buried in Hound’s clothed neck, and lets him slide his arms under Iruka’s knees and around his back to pick him up.

“Shunshin,” Hound warns him, and then they’re off. It’s faster than his sensei’s, and they stop at an apartment in the jōnin barracks. Iruka lifts his head just enough to see another ANBU flicker into place beside them, holding Hound’s chestplate. The other ANBU opens the door for them, sets the armor just inside the door, and then nods to Hound before leaving again.

They go inside and Hound places him on a futon near the wall. He moves over to the window and closes the curtains, and then he takes off the ANBU mask. Iruka suddenly feels very small as he realizes that the ANBU, the one who saved him from his teammate’s prank, who stayed with him as much as he could in the hospital, who just helped him through that episode, is a legend.

Hatake Kakashi.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to throw you into a panic attack.”

“A… oh. It’s okay.”

Kakashi frowns, and it’s interesting that he’s able to emote with more than half of his face covered. “It’s not, but if you’d rather not dwell on it, then fine.” He turns away to the kitchenette and calls over his shoulder, “Tea?”

“Um. Yes, please.”

“Lay down for a bit. Panic attacks are rough, and you only just recovered from your last ordeal.”

Iruka pats at the futon and his stomach tries to turn over. He swallows hard, and chastises himself. Hound—Hatake—saved him. He’s not going to hurt him now after he’s put the effort into keeping him alive. He can lay down and rest until the tea is done…

He can. He just doesn’t want to.

Hatake turns around and brings him a cup, handing it over and making doubly sure that Iruka has a good grip on it before letting go. Then, he also sits down, cross-legged on the floor.

Iruka takes a small sip and sighs. It’s good, a little thin but warm. He feels it settle in his stomach and feels more grounded. “Thank you, Hatake-san.”

“Kakashi, please.” He looks distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of being addressed by his surname, and Iruka tucks that information away for another day. He continues, “I’m glad I ran into you regardless. You weren’t told that your jōnin-sensei and team were sent on a mission this morning, were you?”

Iruka’s shoulders drop. They… they left him behind?

Gods, did they ever care at all?

“No,” he murmurs. “They never visited. Kei-sensei or my… my teammates.”

Kakashi reaches out and helps steady his cup, which had started to shake along with Iruka’s hands. “You’re better off without them.”

“They left me. They just… they didn’t even come to check in. Oh gods it wasn’t a prank, was it, they had always meant for me to—”

“But you didn’t,” Kakashi says, taking the cup of tea and setting it aside. He takes Iruka’s hand in one of his own and places the other palm on Iruka’s trembling shoulder. “You were stronger than they counted on, and you held on until someone could find you. You are alive and that’s what counts.”

Iruka nods, sniffing back tears and hugging himself to try and stop shaking. He whispers, “Will I ever get over it?”

“With time and distance, you’ll be alright. Like I said, you’re strong.”

Over the next two weeks, Iruka hardly leaves Kakashi’s side. It’s not that Iruka doesn’t want to be alone anymore—he gets plenty of time by himself when Kakashi is in training or patrolling, and he’s able to entertain himself easily enough. But he doesn’t trust anyone else in the village. He’s constantly flinching every time someone calls his name, and he ends up doing his shopping very late in the day so that he doesn’t bump into anyone else while picking out his groceries.

He hangs around Kakashi after his patrol shifts and while the older teen doesn’t seem too put out by his lessened alone time, Iruka can see that there’s things he would rather be doing. He finds Kakashi one morning after his grocery trip and waves to him. Kakashi grins back at him and gestures for him to come over to Kakashi’s side.

“Good morning,” Iruka says.

“I’m off for training,” Kakashi says without preamble. “Want to come?”

Iruka nods, but then motions to his arms, full of bags. “I gotta get these home first, though.”

“I’ll walk you,” Kakashi says, and takes half of the bags out of Iruka’s hands and starts off towards the genin’s apartment. They are quick to put the groceries away, and it tickles Iruka to realize that Kakashi already knows his way around Iruka’s kitchen.

Then they’re off, and Iruka knows that Kakashi is letting him set the pace but he doesn’t try to speed up. If he’s going to be training with Kakashi, it’s probably best he doesn’t show up winded.

The training ground that Kakashi brings them to is already populated with a small team of ANBU, two of them with their masks on their belts and the other one with their mask on but balanced on the top of their head. Iruka stays back a little behind Kakashi, especially when the three other ANBU all balk at his presence until Kakashi holds up his hand to quiet them down.

“This is Iruka. He’s gonna be here for a bit.”

“We didn’t even have our masks on,” one of them says. Iruka’s stomach twists.

“He knows me,” Kakashi says.

“That’s fine if you wanna let a kid know your codename! Maybe the rest of us didn’t.”

“Kakashi-san, maybe I should just go…”

Kakashi wraps his arm around Iruka’s shoulders and murmurs, “They’re really not so bad. We just caught them off-guard.” Louder, he finishes, “Right, guys?”

The first one who had spoken groans and throws their hands up. “Fine. But I’m not gonna spar with a kid.”

They start drills, running through the tree tops at first, and Iruka does his best to keep up. And then they all start throwing shuriken at targets and hitting them, but Iruka has to stop and focus for just a second before throwing. He also hits the targets, but many of them only barely. Kakashi always stops and waits for him to continue, leading him through the course.

He’s positively soaked with sweat by the time they get back to the clearing. The other three ANBU are already there, chatting and not breathing at all hard, not like Iruka. But they all turn and regard him with some kind of amused smile and one of them even says, “Not bad.”

Iruka grins.

After a week of training with Team Ro, Iruka doesn’t need to stop to hit the targets and what little baby fat he might have had left is burned off. He feels better, calmer, and he knows that he can’t beat any of the ANBU but at least when his team comes back he can stand up to them. Aoki and Kaito won’t even recognize him!

Then Kakashi stops by in the middle of the night, mask firmly in place and a hard lilt to his voice. “I’ll be back, a few days at least,” he says, and tucks Iruka back into bed.

Drowsy and already falling back asleep, Iruka murmurs, “‘k. Be safe.”

He’s not sure if he dreamed the hand in his hair or the soft fingertips on his cheek, but he wakes up in the morning to a dog curled up on the floor wearing a shinobi vest and a leaf hitai-ate instead of a collar.

He gets along well with Bisuke, who says his Boss had tasked him with keeping Iruka safe and cared for. There’s a bit of a learning curve, as ninken are so much different from regular dogs, but they fall into a routine by the third day and Iruka learns quickly that if he’s unsure of anything Bisuke would rather he just ask than assume. It also takes some time for Iruka to adjust to the idea that Kakashi had left one of his summons behind just to keep an eye on him.

It’s both grating and soothing at once. He’s a shinobi, too, damnit; but he does like the devoted attention Kakashi gives him.

Just as when he left, Kakashi returns in the middle of the night. Iruka wakes up to a soft shake of his shoulder and groggily sits up, rubbing his eyes.

“Kaka—?”

Kakashi puts a finger up to stop him from speaking, and says, “Mask’s on. It’s Hound.”

Oh. Right.

“Sorry, Hound. What’s—” he yawns, covering his mouth. “Sorry. What’s wrong?”

Hound sits on the edge of his bed and hums contemplatively. “I… have news. And I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else.”

“Okay…?”

Hound takes a deep breath and says, “Our mission had been search and rescue. I need to start off by saying that, while I do think they deserved to be punished, this wasn’t my doing.”

Iruka reaches out and takes his hand, careful of the claws on his gloves. “Hound, go close the curtains and seal the room first. I… feel like I’m going to need all of you for this, huh?”

Hound nods, hesitantly, but then stands up and closes down the room. Once the curtains are drawn and tied shut, and a small sound dampening seal is placed and activated, Hound takes off his mask.

He looks… tired. Weary.

“Iruka,” he says. “The last transmission we received from Ishida Kei and the two genin she brought with her was over two weeks ago. They were supposed to have returned to Konoha seventeen days ago. My team was sent to go and find them and bring them home.”

Iruka’s heart stutters.

“There… there wasn’t enough left of any of them to bring home. I’m sorry.”

Iruka’s hands go numb and his breath comes short and shallow, his heart pounding away in his chest like it could echo in the room.

“They… Kei-sensei, Aoki, Kaito… they’re all…?”

Kakashi takes him by the shoulders and draws him in, and Iruka goes limply, willingly, and presses his face to Kakashi’s chest.

“I could have—”

“No,” Kakashi cuts him off. “No. Don’t… don’t think in ‘could have’s or ‘should have’s. You are here, and you are alive, and nothing is going to change that. Nothing you do is going to change what happened to them.”

Iruka feels tears slip down his cheek. “I wish I had better memories of them,” he whispers.

Kakashi doesn’t answer, but wraps him up in his arms and Iruka feels safe and wanted, and they sit together for a long time just holding and being held.

Iruka eventually falls back asleep to the lullaby of Kakashi’s heart.

Iruka wakes up alone, and for a moment he wonders if he dreamed about learning of his team’s passing, but a small note on his nightstand proves otherwise.

In Kakashi’s neat words, Iruka reads:

Had to go check in. Be safe, stay calm. I let Bisuke go home. Thank you for letting him take care of you, and for watching him in return.

I’ll be by later.

Kakashi

It’s the reminder to stay calm that ultimately messes Iruka up. He overthinks it, trying to stay calm but then remembering how they had looked that day, the day Kaito had tied him to a tree and Aoki had pressed the silence seal to his arm. How Kaito had laughed and Aoki had sneered good riddance before blindfolding him with his hitai-ate.

Iruka curls up in a ball on his bed and bites his lip to keep from screaming through his tears. He doesn’t want to alert the ANBU, but the feelings and images won’t leave his head. He has to run to the toilet a few different times, and by the third time he’s dry-heaving, having thrown up everything in his stomach but still feeling the urge to purge himself of something.

By noon, Iruka’s a numb, silent mess, laying on his side and hugging his pillow to his chest. He doesn’t move at all when his window opens, just like it had last night, and a soft, “Oh, Iruka,” is breathed into the room. Kakashi comes and sits on his bed, placing a hand on his waist and asking, “Did you eat yet today?”

Iruka shakes his head, a tiny motion. He croaks, “Don’t wanna. Just gonna throw it up if I try.”

“I get it,” Kakashi sighs. “Although, I don’t know about the confliction you must feel. They didn’t even like you—which is stupid, because you’re a great person.”

“They left me behind,” Iruka murmurs. “Again.”

Slowly, Kakashi takes the pillow away from Iruka’s chest and sets it back at the top of the bed. Then, he lays down next to Iruka, and Iruka takes the comfort he knows Kakashi’s going to offer. He lets Kakashi gather him in his arms and closes his eyes.

Gods he had cried so much this morning, just closing his eyes feels so nice.

“In this case,” Kakashi says, “I think it’s a good thing they went without you.”

“My last memories of them was sensing them walk away. One of them had spat on me before they left.”

“That’s… You know, I keep trying to think that these kids had some redeeming qualities and then you go and say something like that and prove my initial assumptions correct.”

Iruka chuckles a little, and says, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s… Look, I don’t know your exact situation. I don’t know what you felt your relationship with your team and your sensei was like before your… ordeal.”

Iruka shrinks into himself, honestly not sure anymore either. Certainly not sure enough to put it into words.

“But,” Kakashi continues, “I do know what it’s like to lose your entire genin team, sensei included. So. If you want to talk… I’m willing to listen.”

Iruka nods and smiles and says, “Maybe later. Right now, can we just… like this?”

Kakashi doesn’t respond verbally, but he does tighten his arms around Iruka briefly before letting them both fall into silence. And in that silence, Iruka grieves for what he thought he once had, what he lost, what could have been, and the friends he had hoped so desperately to make.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump day 2 #left behind #panic attacks #child whump #naruto #umino iruka #hatake kakashi #my writing

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bloodfromthethorn · 3 years ago

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Passing Out

When Matty calls you to the War Room, you don't stop to tell her that you're feeling a little rough. Even if you definitely, definitely should.

Part eight of the July of Whump 2021 prompt challenge.

Also on AO3.

If she was telling the truth, Riley hadn’t really been feeling up to a mission when they got called in. She’d woken up with a niggling headache and even two cups of coffee hadn’t been enough to properly offset the drowsiness clinging about her shoulders. Worse, all of her joints were aching quietly, like she’d somehow managed to sleep in the most uncomfortable position known to man and was now paying the price for it, despite the fact that she’d slept solidly through the night undisturbed.

Regardless, when Matty sent a message telling her to get to the War Room, she hauled ass with everyone else and didn’t even think to utter a complaint. It wasn’t until she was boarding the jet and found herself staring up at the overhead luggage rack, wishing her bag could magically lift itself up there, that she suddenly realised this was almost certainly a bad idea.

It was probably just a cold or something, she told herself, perhaps a little fatigue build-up from too many missions in the last month – nothing serious. Nothing worth bothering the others over and certainly not something she should use as an excuse to get out of going to Peru with everyone else. Besides, for the plan to work they needed her. She couldn’t let them down.

“Hey, earth to Ri,” Jack called, dropping a heavy hand on her shoulder and making her jump. He instantly withdrew, holding the hand up in surrender. “Hey, woah, you alright?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said, trying to patch over her flinch with a sheepish smile. “Daydreaming, I guess. Sorry.”

Apparently her act wasn’t convincing enough. Jack squinted at her with one of those intense looks he always got when he knew something was up and he was trying to pinpoint exactly what it was. He was always scarily good at doing it, too.

“You sure you’re alright? You’re looking kinda pale.”

“Wow, thanks,” she muttered sarcastically, snatching at her suitcase as a distraction.

Jack’s hands darted out to take it from her instead, hefting it onto the rack as though it weighed nothing at all, despite the fact there were two back-up rigs in there with enough spare parts between them to build a whole other laptop if she needed. Even though she was vaguely annoyed by his hovering, she couldn’t help but be grateful he’d saved her the task. Her shoulders really were bothering her.

“I don’t mean nothing by it, you know that,” he said dismissively once the bag was settled. “I’m just worried about you. You’d tell me if something was going on, right?”

Sudden, sharp guilt bubbled up in the pit of her stomach as she forced herself to smirk. “Are you always such a worrier?”

“With you and Mac around? Hell yeah! Someone’s got to keep you kids from running into traffic.”

“Oh my god Jack, that was one time,” Mac put in loudly from the other end of the plane. “You’ve got to let it go.”

Jack’s attention was immediately diverted, and Riley had to stop herself from letting out a relieved breath. Trust Mac to come through for her when he didn’t even know he was doing it.

With Jack busy delivering a put-upon rant to a mostly bemused Mac, she was free to settle herself in her usual seat and get her laptop set up in front of her. She couldn’t do a lot to cover it if she really was pale, but at least with her rig she had a solid cover for sitting quietly and minding her own business – it was her usual go-to strategy for getting through long flights. Besides, she’d planned to go over their game plan again anyway.

Of course, she then immediately encountered another issue: what had been a mild headache in the back of her skull pulsed sharply the second she looked at her screen, the light burning her eyes. She squinted, wincing, but it did little to help. The pain was still bearable, but she had an instinctive feeling that if she had to keep looking at the screen for a lot longer, it was going to get worse. It was one thing to go into a mission feeling a little run down, but actively letting herself deteriorate on an infil flight was something else altogether. Putting her laptop away might raise questions, but she wasn’t stupid enough to run the risk of letting the others walk into danger when she might not be ready to back them up.

She shut her laptop with a decisive click.

Behind it, two feet away on the other side of the small table, Bozer was staring at her like she was the mystery at the heart of the universe.

“What?”

He raised an eyebrow, and said nothing.

“What?”

Still, nothing.

“Boze, I swear-”

“You know,” he interrupted like she hadn’t even been speaking, “It’s okay to say you’re not up for this if you’re feeling down.”

If she’d been smart about it, she wouldn’t have reacted; as it was, she couldn’t stop herself from shooting an alarmed look in Jack’s direction to make sure he was still too busy hassling Mac to be listening in. From the knowing look in Boze’s eyes, he’d definitely caught the slip.

“Like I told Jack, I’m perfectly fine,” she hissed, wishing that she actually felt it. The scrutiny only seemed to be making her feel worse – there was a warm blush rising on her skin that she wanted to write off as embarrassment, but likely had more to do with how overly-warm she was starting to get.

“And he didn’t believe you. Neither do I.”

“Boze, it’s going to be a long flight. Just leave me alone?”

He leaned back in his chair, visibly weighing up whether she trying to divert his attention or if she was genuinely frustrated at the pestering. In truth it was a little of both – she knew that she wasn’t in top form and it was a really bad idea to not at least let the others know that, but at the same time, she was sure that she had to do this. Her job in Peru would mostly be sitting around on her laptop and provided her headache didn’t get worse, she was perfectly capable of that. If she told Jack that she wasn’t feeling up to par then she wouldn’t entirely put it past him to get Matty to turn the plane around.

“Look,” she said, keeping her voice low to keep from drawing Jack’s attention, “I’m a bit tired, that’s all. I’m in for this mission one hundred percent. I was just hoping to get some shut eye on the way over there to be in the best shape I can be. Please, please just let this go.”

For once, Bozer’s expression was entirely serious as he took her in. After a long, tense moment he nodded. “Okay. I trust you. Just- let us know if anything gets worse, alright? I know Jack can be- well, Jack, but we’re all on your side here.”

Without waiting for her to formulate some sort of response to that – and god knows what that would even look like – he jumped out of his chair with an energy she wished she had and wandered over to insert himself in Mac and Jack’s conversation. A few minutes later, when she’d closed her eyes and leaned her chair back to try to get the sleep she’d asked for, she heard Jack muttering a quick aside to Bozer:

“Hey, is she doing okay?”

Riley tensed for a heartbeat, but it turned out she should have had more faith in her friend. “Yeah, she’s fine. Just catching up on a bit of sleep before we land. Can we do anything about getting Matty to stop calling us in at six in the morning?”

There was a quiet round of laughter, the comment launching Mac into a series of tales about the ridiculousness of their working hours when they were on rotation. That Jack didn’t join in immediately was telling, but he didn’t contradict what Boze had said and no one came to disturb her so he must have bought it at least a little.

Fortunately, Riley didn’t have long to ponder it. By the time they cleared California airspace, she was already asleep.

The mission was mostly a bust, in that their primary target had managed to flee the country before they’d even touched down, but there was still important information to ferret out. Fortunately, with the main head honcho gone, the rest of his men didn’t put up much of a fight and between them, Mac and Jack were able to get what they needed and get out without a single scratch between them. Bozer and Riley, confined to backup and technical support respectively, got to spend most of their time hiding out in a dingy hotel room with absolutely nothing exciting going on.

For perhaps the first time since joining the Phoenix, Riley was endlessly grateful for that. She’d hoped the sleep on the plane would help her get over whatever it was going on with her, but if anything it seemed to have made things worse. Her headache had increased ten-fold, to the point that even thinking about looking at her laptop made her feel distantly nauseous, and a sore throat had crept in to join the stuffy nose and creaking joints. She’d managed to explain away her persistent flush by citing Peru’s summer sunshine, but she knew that wasn’t the truth and from the sideways glances Bozer had been throwing her, he knew it too. Fortunately he’d been smart enough not to mention it on comms, or she might just have hit him.

Exhausted and feeling worse with every passing minute, she didn’t think she’d ever been more relieved when she and Bozer stepped out of their cab onto the airstrip. Mac and Jack were standing around by the steps to the jet, waiting for them.

“There you are,” Jack called when they were within earshot. “What kept you?”

“The hotel was on the other side of the city, Jack,” Bozer reminded him, clapping a hand to Mac’s shoulder in greeting. “Some of us had further to go.”

“Sure, sure. It wasn’t that you were leaving us to do all the work or anything.” Jack jostled his shoulder against Bozer’s, apparently thrilled that their mission had gone so utterly without note.

Beside them, Riley was staring at the stairs of the jet wondering just how exactly she was going to haul herself up them. Her skin felt too hot and the car journey over here had ratcheted up her nausea to the point she was reflexively swallowing every few seconds. Her vision was spinning idly too, which was doing absolutely nothing to help with the dizzy spells she’d been fighting off since they’d left the hotel.

Someone called her name, or perhaps something like it, but it sounded much further away than she’d expected. Had the others gone on without her? She turned her head to look, but as soon as she did, what little vision she was still clinging to whirled away in a cloud of black. She had a heartbeat to ponder that undesirable state of affairs, then the heat surged and her legs turned to water.

She was unconscious before she even started to fall.

She woke to find herself stretched out on the jet’s couch, her head pillowed on something soft that she rapidly identified as someone’s lap. A warm, familiar hand was stroking her hair. She remembered, distantly, waking in this exact position a thousand years ago when she was still young and naïve and trusting – and just like then, a tiny piece of her mind wished fiercely that she’d never have to leave it.

“Jack?” She asked quietly, her voice rasping faintly.

“There you are,” he responded, equally softly. He sounded watery with relief, but the hand didn’t stop its gentle path through her curls. “Don’t you worry about a thing. You’re okay. We’re heading home and you’re safe and sound, I promise.”

Inexplicably, she felt a sudden urge to weep. Here she was, cradled and cared for, and she hadn’t even had the decency to tell him that she’d been feeling ill. She didn’t deserve his comfort. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey now, none of that.” A second hand brushed soothingly up and down her arm. “Everything’s okay. You’re going to be just fine. You just rest up – we’ll be home before you know it.”

“Should have told you,” she said miserably, too cowardly to even open her eyes as she said it. She didn’t want to bear his frustration when she already felt so thoroughly awful and worn out.

“It’s okay, darling, don’t you worry about that right now. I’m not mad. You hearing me? I’m not angry or upset, I just want you to be alright. So quit worrying about any of that and get some more rest if you can. There’s a med team waiting for us in LA to look you over, but they think you’ve probably caught the flu. All you’ve gotta do right now is relax, okay?”

“Flu?” That couldn’t be right, could it? She’d been feeling off, sure, but it really hadn’t been that bad. If she’d thought it was anything serious, she would have said something.

“You spiked a fever,” he explained with what could only have been intentional calm. “You’re going to be feeling pretty rough for a few days, but you don’t need to worry about that right now.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling small. She thought she should be relieved at his lack of anger, but somehow it just made her feel worse. Like she knew she hadn’t earned his forgiveness, and he was insisting on giving it anyway. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

“I told you Ri, you don’t need to be. I’m not mad. You just focus on getting better and I’ll be right as rain.”

He sounded genuine and this time she couldn’t help it; a few tears slipped out from under closed eyelids to wet the fabric under her cheek. It did nothing to make her feel less infantile, but her body was aching and her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool and she felt utterly powerless to fix any of those problems. Childishly, she just wanted Jack to make her feel better.

“Hey, shh,” he soothed lowly. “It’s okay. I’m right here. You’re okay.”

The string of comforting platitudes continued, not really saying anything but acting as a constant reminder that she was not alone while she struggled desperately to reassert control over her emotions. It was harder than it should have been, with fatigue and malaise fighting her every step of the way, but she did eventually get the tears under control. The same instant that she did, exhaustion was right there waiting for her.

“That’s it,” Jack murmured, “You get some rest. We’ll be right here if you need us.”

Comforted despite herself and more weary than she could ever remember being, Riley took him at his word. She burrowed herself down a little, relishing the feel of fingers lightly brushing against her scalp and sighed.

This time, when sleep rose to meet her, she was waiting to greet it like an old friend.

#MacGyver #riley davis #hurt riley davis #jack dalton #wilt bozer #fanfiction #my fanfic #fanfic #whump of july 2021

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years ago

Text

Turn a blind eye

This was prompted by an amazing anon! If you are distrubed by the warnings this time, keep in mind it will end on a good note! I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: description of crime scenes (murder), serial killer, Gavin whump, paranoia, sleep deprivation, panic attack)

‘Put your phone away, Reed!’, Nines ordered, dropping new files on his desk.

Gavin flinched, looking up, then down on the pile. ‘No, not another one.’ ‘Yes, actually. Another one.’ Nines watched him and Gavin sighed, putting the phone away and rubbing his eyes. He opened the folder to another letter. He didn’t even have the energy to feel particularly distressed about it. He opened it with the android looking over his shoulder. You’d better turned a blind eye to my doings, Detectives. I proved before your actions against me have consequences.

Gavin just let the paper fall onto his desk and kneaded his forehead. ‘That’s all?’, Nines asked. ‘Well, we better keep going then. They know we are close.’ Gavin nodded numbly. Of course, they had to keep going. Of course, they had to stop whoever was behind all these murders. But… The threat was hitting home. Gavin couldn’t shake off the pictures of his bike catching fire right as he was about to start it, only Nines’ quick intervention saving him from being severely burned and hurt by the explosion of the tank only seconds later. The android had been able to brush it off and return to work, but Gavin couldn’t. He hadn’t slept properly for weeks and there had been little else but work for him.

It all had begun with a weirdly detailed murder scene. A woman killed by a cut throat in the bedroom covered in blue blood. The corresponding android was later found drenched in her blood in an alley behind a cyberlife workshop, but he hadn’t been killed there, the body was staged. Neither the murder weapon nor any trace of the murderer was found. Both android and human were connected by a growing relationship after the woman had divorced her husband. Jealousy was an easy motive, but the husband was earnestly shocked and said the feeling about the divorce was mutual and they ended everything on good terms. Not really evidence for his innocence, but he had a valid alibi, being on a work-related trip to Baltimore at the time the murder had taken place.

They hadn’t solved the case yet and were still waiting for the forensics’ report as they were called to another crime scene. Again, a human murdered by a cut throat, covered in the thirium of their partner and staged in the bedroom, while the blood-drenched android was found behind a Cyberlife store. The only new clue was that both cases had to be connected. Gavin had guessed the motive to be anti-android related and as the third murder was discovered it was more or less solidified by the message left behind. The wall over the bed was decorated with the internal wiring of the android spelling out Trash. The same word was found at the android, cut into his chest piece where his serial number would be.

This was the work of a serial killer. And the asshole was experimenting. Thankfully that meant he was slipping. The next scene held footprints of evaporated thirium for them. Nines was able to estimate height and weight from the size, the intensity of the thirium coating and the distance between each footprint. The message left behind was painted with their blood, allowing Nines to crop a partial fingerprint from where each letter ended. So, their murderer was a human of just a little below average size and weight. If the estimation was correct. It was little to go with, but what was even more unsettling were the words left behind this time: Gavin Reed over the bed of the human man and RK900 scratched into the chest of the android.

It had thrown them off guard and had caused Fowler to keep them under police protection. Their colleagues took turns guarding Gavin’s apartment complex, while Nines had agreed to stay at the precinct full time. It did little to help Gavin be comfortable with the fact a completely unknown serial killer knew their identities. He laid awake most nights jumping at every noise in the building and thought about how on earth the murderer had found out who was investigating their cases. Did they have connection to the police? Was one of his colleagues corrupt? Was the killer one of them? Had he just watched the crime scenes? Or had some newspaper simply printed their names while telling the story of Detroit’s newest serial killer?

Gavin was constantly on edge never feeling safe enough to sleep more than a few hours. Even at the precinct he started to feel watched. And it didn’t get better when more bodies turned up. Still haven’t found me? I’m right here. You look tired. Something keeping you up at night? Cyberlife’s best, huh? Watch your steps. What a dream team. I should kill you next. That had been when the bike had caught fire the next day. To say that Gavin was panicking was an understatement. Gavin was stressed beyond everything and it was hard to have a single rational thought when the killer somehow managed to send letters to the precinct without being caught.

At least Nines was unphased by all of this. Ever the analytical logical machine, the android worked away, reading reports from forensics and finding clue after clue. It were small hints, but they were making progress. They would get the killer in the long run, but they both knew the shorter that “long run” would be, the less people had to die. Gavin was so thankful for having Nines. The android had saved his life and was the only constant in this mess. At least when he was with the bot, he was safe. Unless he was… Unless he was the killer himself. Gavin frowned. This was his panic speaking. He shouldn’t think about that. But it made sense, didn’t it? He was finding all the little clues; he knew they were investigating the case and- No. No, Nines was safe. He had to be. There was no reason other than his sleep deprivation and stress getting to him.

‘Reed. Get your back into it!’ Gavin flinched at the sudden shout. Or had it been said at normal volume? He looked around and as everyone was quietly working around him, he guessed his senses had betrayed him. ‘W-what?’ ‘You have to pull your weight, too, Reed’, Nines reprimanded him. ‘Or do you want to let the killer murder more people?’ ‘No, of course not.’ ‘Then quit staring ahead and go over the forensics again. I think we might have missed something there.’ ‘Y-yeah.’

Gavin managed to read a few sentences in between as his eyes hurt from staring at the screen for too long and his mind betraying him to get caught up in paranoid thoughts again. ‘Reed, have you found anything yet?’ ‘Are you even reading the report?’ ‘You have to stop getting distracted all the time.’ He couldn’t work like this. He wouldn’t be any help. He wouldn’t stop the killer and they would murder more and more people. There was nothing he could do, nothing, nothing, nothing-

‘Detectives?’ ‘WHAT?!’, Gavin shouted, startling the ST300 from the reception as well as everyone else. ‘Err… You got another package. This time directed towards you, Detective Reed.’ Gavin sighed trying to relax or a least lessen the tension in his body. He took the package from her, noting that it had already been opened and searched. No surprise bombs. He looked inside and took the letter sitting on top of the Styrofoam filling. He absently noted that Nines was walking around the table to look over his shoulder again. Gavin opened the letter and read it.

You have a nice flat, Gavin. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped. A beautiful cat. She’s sweet, really. Though I must say you could have cleaned up before leaving the home. You know, I’m kind of bored. I thought I would meet you here but apparently you are at work. Always at work, huh? Guess I just have to come another day.

‘They are bluffing’, Nines commented, but Gavin had already reached back into the package and retrieved a frame. The picture showed him and Eli side by side on his boat on Lake Michigan during their vacation last summer. Gavin had the only existing copy as he had taken the picture himself. It was standing on his kitchen counter at home. ‘No’, Gavin simply uttered, feeling unbelievably sick. He put the frame down on the table. ‘No, they aren’t.’ Gavin rose up on shaky legs, holding onto the table. He was breathing heavily, bile rising in his throat. ‘I- I need to go. I need a break. A smoke. Phck. I have to-‘ He began stumbling out of his seat, past Nines and was already running to the back exit of the precinct, the go-to smoking spot of most officers. His excuse to Nines wasn’t too solid as he had forgotten his cigarettes in his drawer, but Gavin couldn’t care. Not when he barely made it out to throw up on the pavement. He heaved out what little he had had for breakfast and the smell alone kept him vomiting his guts out until there was nothing left to come. He was so done for.

Nines stood next to the detective’s desk, program in disarray. He hadn’t expected Reed’s reaction at all. The man had been slacking ever since the case got bad and now, he suddenly panicked and ran for a break? Just because the murderer was clearly bluffing? Or had he missed something? He revisited his memories of the past weeks and as realisation hit in, the stability of his software was near to non-existent. He had to make sure though. He had to see what Reed was up to and see for himself if he was right. If Gavin was truly that compromised by everything. It was hard to believe with the man always putting on a tough display. But he had made a decision: He would follow the Detective to his smoke break.

As he opened the door to the small outer platform, an awful smell hit his sensors. Then he saw Gavin sitting the farthest away from the puddle of vomit, face white and eyes wide. Immediately his stress levels were popping up to the android and that was the last evidence that tipped the scales to deviancy. Nines’ confines shattered around him, as he understood under how much pressure the man must have stood. The human everyone thought to be able to take on everything wasn’t as invincible as thought and Nines had failed to see the signs. Gavin hadn’t been slacking off, he had tried to conquer his panic by distraction. And he had taken all that away from him. He sighed, regret setting deep into his systems. He should have been there for his partner. He had always said he cared for the man, but how could he tell himself that now that he saw what he had done to Gavin? Well, he was free to do so now that he was deviant. He just hoped it wasn’t too late yet.

‘Gavin? Gavin, stand up. You need to get cleaned up and drink something. Come on.’ He took the man by the arm and helped him up. Reed was shivering and not only for the cold. Nines helped him back inside, sat him down on his chair again, putting the letter and the box away before fetching a bottle of water. He handed it wordlessly to the man and watched him drink most of it in one go. ‘I will tell Fowler to assign someone else to the case. It’s too much for only two people and you are in too much danger to continue. You almost died once already. Simple facts.’ He didn’t say what he really felt. He didn’t say he suddenly feared for his safety. What had been the concern of a machine now was true worry. He wouldn’t allow him to go back to this flat of his. A team of officers would get his cat, but Gavin would stay at the precinct. Or at a safehouse. Whatever was necessary. Nines wouldn’t say any of that to Gavin, it would be too much for now. But he would make sure Gavin was safe first. He had only just now realised how much he truly cared for the man. And he would be damned if he couldn’t help him through this.

He would make sure his partner was safe and sound. And then this serial killer would pay.

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #Gavin whump #loved writing this #you bet your asses Nines keeps Gavin safe #Baby discovered feelings and all of them are focused on protection

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hollypastl · 4 years ago

Text

the disappearance of [REDACTED] ch.3

miya atsumu/reader

Summary: "MISSING: MIYA Y/N" It reads. Underneath is a picture of yourself. Age, height, weight. Everything important is listed. How embarrassing.

Genre: angst/mystery

Warnings: missing persons, time skip spoilers

Notes: crossposted on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/28726002/chapters/70566306#main

[y/n] 10:27pm: i’m heeeereeeee

[y/n] 10:29pm: i said i’m here you asshole

[y/n] 10:29pm: hurry tf up

[y/n] 10:29pm: did you fall asleep

[y/n] 10:29pm: i’m leaving if you don’t respond in the next 30 seconds

With a painful squeak, the window slides open. “Wouldja shaddup?” He hisses. “Yer gonna wake up ‘Samu if ya keep buzzin’ my phone so much.”

“Too fuckin’ late, asshole.” Osamu groans. You can hear him rolling over in bed and Atsumu disappears from view, courtesy of a pillow flying towards his face at light speed.

You take over the spot he’d been occupying to pop your head in and lean over the windowsill. “Hey, how are you?”

“Tired.”

“Then go back to sleep, stupid ‘Samu.” The killer arm flies out again and this time the pillow lands. Atsumu’s head gives a sick crack against the drywall.

You let out a low whistle. “Nice one.”

He finally sits up and comes into view. “[l/n], right?” He’s obviously tired, and you feel kind of bad for waking him up.

Your face quirks a performative smile, remembering that you do still have to respond. “The one and only.” You straighten your arms and hoist yourself up, over, and in through the window, taking a seat and holding out your hand to shake. “Hey, you don’t mind if I call you by your first name, do you? It’d be kinda weird to call you Miya when I already call Atsumu, Atsumu. You can call—”

Without warning, you shoot to the other side of the room and stick yourself to the wall.

The door swings open.

From where you stand, Osamu’s eyes connect with the person at the door, darting towards Atsumu for a split second. He realizes there could be big trouble really quick. His mom might be pretty chill, but having a random girl sneaking into their room? Does he realize that? He was suffering from brain damage at the moment.

A silent conversation takes place between the brothers and their mom, who stands silently at the door. It kind of freaks you out, how you can see her shadow splaying out from the light in the hallway and not hear a sound.

“Go to sleep.” She commands, slamming the door shut.

A breath of relief leaves all three of them.

It swings back open. “Sorry fer slamming the door. G’night, love ya.”

“Love ya, too.”

“Love ya, mom.” They chorus, slightly out of time with the other. When they speak in tandem like that, you can’t tell who’s voice is who’s.

“And close the damn window; it’ll mess with the AC.”

The door clicks closed, the lights in the hall are flicked off, and footsteps walk away.

You hop over to give Atsumu a hand up. He’s still sulking against the wall. “Like I was saying, you can call me [y/n].” You pat him on the shoulder, which is slightly awkward because the boy is so much taller than you. You wonder what their mom feeds them. Then you remember why you’re here in the first place. Seems like the trauma of almost getting caught redhanded was getting to you.

“[y/n] can we hurry up and go?” Atsumu whispers in your ear. You’re not paying attention, you’re too busy rustling through their closet and dresser.

“I’m kinda busy, right now. And we’ve got plenty of time. What difference is a few minutes gonna make?” You slide one drawer open after the other. “Eww. Teenage boy sock drawer.” Atsumu kicks it shut and you almost lose a finger in the process. You can’t see it, but intuition tells you he’s red in the face.

“Do I even wanna know what you two are up ta?” Osamu drawls.

“We’re breaking into an abandoned sweet potato farm.” You throw a different shirt at Atsumu. “Change into that.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so, that’s why.”

“I meant why are you breaking into an abandoned sweet potato farm?” Osamu corrected. You faltered. Why did their voices sound so similar?

“The third years are planning a party to kick off summer break, but they need a location. We just need to check if it’s safe, and we’re in.” Your head shot back at Osamu and you ignored Atsumu stripping in the corner of your eye. The room was dark enough. “Wanna come?”

“Uhh, I’ll pass.” He flops back down on his mattress with an audible whump and throws the duvet over his head.

You shrugged. “Suit yourself.” You turned to Atsumu, now dressed in a shirt that wasn’t cringy as hell. “Ready?”

He was already lifting himself out the window and extending a hand to you. “Bye, Osamu!” You whisper-yelled. “Sleep well. I promise Atsumu will try to not wake you up when he gets back.”

Outside, it was much brighter. From the light of the moon and stars, you could fully appreciate the scowl Atsumu directed at you. “What?”

He shuts the window first, obviously struggling not to slam it. “Didja have to spend twenty minutes flirtin’ with my brother?”

He’s already hiking his way up the hill that they called their front yard, probably looking for his bike. “Oh, was I? I didn’t even realize.” It takes you a second but you find it fallen in the bushes of his neighbor’s lawn. “Can you blame me? He’s pretty cute.”

Atsumu sputters, yanking the handlebars from you. “Will ya stop teasin’ already?”

He’s so easy to rile up. “I’ll have you know I’m never anything but truthful.” He swings his leg over the bike and checks the road.

“Hurry up and get on. Let’s go.”

“Yeah, one sec.” Without warning, you stick your thumb and middle fingers in your mouth and whistle nice and quiet. Wouldn’t wanna wake the neighbors.

The hair on the back of his neck shoots up and he waits a good thirty seconds for the lights to switch on in one of his neighbor’s houses. “WHAT THE HELL?” He whispers. When he looks back, you’re just tapping your foot and debating whistlin’ like a banshee again.

“Just callin’ our friend.”

“Wha—”

Finally, a giant dog bounds up from the woods, surprisingly silent for his size. “Good boy, coming here.” You rub his face affectionately and finally sit yourself down on the back of the bike. “Taro, meet Atsumu. Atsumu, meet Taro. Taro-taicho, really, but he’s not militaristic about his title.”

“Whydja introduce the dog first?” He grumbles, toeing the kickstand up.

The bike jerks forward and you wrap an arm around Atsumu’s waist to balance yourself. It’d be inconvenient and uncool to fall off. A piece of dried jerky is also tossed to Taro with your free hand and you call for him to follow.

The air feels nice, breezing through your hair and tickling your skin. July heat has been unbearable, you’ve hated it ever since you were a child. But it felt nice with the sun being long gone. Even the crickets and cicadas relentless buzzing was oddly tolerable. Maybe you should make late night summer outings a habit.

After twenty minutes of coasting up and down hills and towards their destination, Atsumu breaks your comfortable silence. “Yanno, this is kinda romantic.”

“Huh?”

“You. Me. Alone. Under the stars.” Objectively, he’s not wrong. Last time you heard, sneaking out with a boy in the middle of the night did fall under the spectrum of dumb high school romantic activities to engage in. You might have even entertained the thought of playing along if Atsumu hadn’t carelessly pointed it out.

“Don’t forget about Taro.” You reminded. “Or that I wanted your dreamy brother to come along—” You fail to deliver the line flat and a laugh bubbles up.

“Will ya stop with that?” He lurches forward and peddles twice as hard, putting his frustration into kinetic output.

You cackle and lean against him. “C’mon, I can’t help it, Atsumu.”

“Help what?” He sounds exasperated, like he regrets even agreeing to this whole adventure in the first place.

“Making fun of you whenever you try to flirt with me.”

He scoffs. “M’not flirtin’ with ya! That’s just how I am!”

“M’kay.” You hum. You don’t buy it for a second. “Well, that’s just how I am too.”

“Fine.” He huffs.

“Fine.” You mirror his tone and he isn’t sure if you’re teasing him again or not. “Turn here.”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” He swerves to the left and you let out a short whistle to alert Taro. Just because you’re feeling extra nice tonight, you toss the dog another piece of jerky, which he leaps in the air to catch.

“Hey, want some jerky?” You’re already pulling apart a nice, soft piece for him. You’ll feed the tough bits to Taro.

“You mean the stuff you’ve been feedin’ the dog?”

“It’s for humans, too.” It definitely wasn’t.

He thinks it over for a second. “Only if you feed it to me.”

Oh, the stuff that just pours out of his mouth. Does he think before he speaks? You’ll miss hearing it someday. Just to play along, you let your breath catch. It’s just loud enough for him to hear.

“C’mon, my hands are busy, just give it here.” He argues, turning his head slightly so you can see his mouth but he can still see the road.

“‘Kay.” You pop the meat in his mouth. “Huh.” You stare at your fingers.

He groans. “What now?”

“I’m just surprised you didn’t try to suck on my fingers or anything!” You explain.

At that, you can feel him stiffen up immensely. “I—If anything, y—you’d be suuuuuh…” He trails off.

But you know exactly what he wants to say. “I’d be…?” You almost miss the sign. “Oh, hey we’re here!” You bounce off the bike before Atsumu has a chance to stop, and run up to the gate. “Wow, lucky it’s only rusted shut.” You give it a few good kicks before the metal snaps open. “It would’ve been so annoying to lug my bolt cutters all the way back here. Hey, you’ve got your tetanus shot, right?” You shoot over your shoulder.

Taro beams ahead once he can wiggle through and you’re right behind, waving the flashlight on your phone around and picking your way through overgrown weeds. You’re glad you wore tights under your denim cutoffs or else your legs would be itching like crazy right now.

“Atsumu? You coming?”

He shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair. He must be tired. It is almost midnight after all. After a moment, he follows after you. Even from several feet away, you can see his eyes drooping and the sluggishness in his step. Right, he did just bike forty minutes with you balancing behind him and not helping in the slightest. Not to mention your personality can be… grating. Or so you’ve been told. When he gets close enough, you offer your hand and he takes it without any fanfare. This old place is creepy as hell and he’s not gonna say anything to make you take it back.

To Taro, you direct three short whistles, signaling him to lead the way, but stay close. He picks his way through the field carefully and you follow dutifully behind. The fields are full of holes and pits, you’re again glad that you wore clunky hiking boots with ankle support over some flimsy sneakers. The LED light on your phone can only help so much.

“Should you be wavin’ that thing around?” Atsumu asks, voice low with trepidation.

“What thing?” You ask.

“Yer flashlight.” He clarifies, halfway between a hiss and a sigh.

Your brow involuntarily furrows. Where had he gotten that idea? “Why? Kind of need it to see, ya’ know?”

“But what if someone sees?”

You stop in your tracks, drop his hand, and turn around. “There’s no one around for miles, Atsumu. Nobody’s gonna see.”

“Then why are we even here?”

“To check if it’s safe, I told you that.”

“From what? Some old farmer’s ghost?”

“When did I— Actually, you know what? That’s a good point. I didn’t think about the place being haunted.” Considering what you knew about the history of the property. You continued to mutter under your breath and swiped your phone on. Did you have a signal here? Could you download a ghost detector app? “Maybe I’ll just have to borrow one from the paranormal club at school. They owe me a favor, after all.”

“Can you PLEASE stop rambling and tell me what we’re doing all the way out here in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night?” His palms land on your shoulders. From the way his fingers dig into your skin, you’re glad he religiously clips his fingernails.

“—”

He shakes you, roughly. “EXACTLY?”

You dropped your arm from where it was held in the air, trying to get a better signal for your phone. “We’re checking for bombs.”

The annoyance in his expression drops and leaves you looking at… You didn’t really know what that emotion was. “What?”

“I told you it was abandoned in the 40’s.” Maybe you hadn’t been clear enough when discussing it with Atsumu the day before. In your defense, it seemed pretty obvious. Why did he think there were people here? You had said it was abandoned.

“You’re tellin’ me...” He sputters.

You cock your head to the side. “I mean, why did you think I brought Taro?”

His eyes dart behind you to where the dog is patiently waiting.

“We’re leavin’.” Before you know it, Atsumu has a vice grip on your wrist and is dragging you back the way you came. But you can’t leave yet, you haven’t cleared the property. At the very least, you wanted to make it to the old farmhouse and see if the floorboards were safe for dancing!

A sharp twist and tug of your wrist frees you for a split second, but his reflexes are quick, even when he’s not looking and it’s dark out. “Let go!” You whine. He doesn’t. Any attempts, physical or emotional, are useless. You’re caught off guard by just how much stronger he is than you and you’re not sure what makes it more infuriating: that you’re weak, or that you’re stupid for not knowing.

Taro barks and your eyes widen. On instinct you grab the arm Atsumu’s dragging you with and throw your entire weight back. By the grace of the gods, it’s just enough to send him stumbling back and you both topple over in the thistle.

“Owwwww.” You moan, already second guessing yourself. There are thorns digging into every inch of your skin and Atsumu’s bony elbow has planted itself in between your vital organs.

Slowly, he lifts himself up. “What the hell was that for?” By now, Taro has bounded over and is shoving his nose in your face. He growls when Atsumu extends a hand.

“Taro, heelAHHH!” One after the other, you take the proffered hand up, tell Taro off, and rise up. Except when you put weight on your ankle, it screams in protest. Tears prick your eyes and you grip onto Atsumu for support. You feel bad for him. Your nails probably hurt.

“Don’t step back.” You warn, remembering at least that through the pain searing itself up your leg.

He shifts his weight and Taro barks a warning again. “Is he barking because of the…”

“Yeah.”

From your spot hanging onto him, you can hear his heart beating faster and faster. It wasn’t a situation you were familiar with. Should you just tell him not to be scared? But that tactic never worked for you in the past.

He’s the first one to work up some courage and kick his mind back in gear. “Can you walk?”

You test it, setting some weight on your heel. Probably not as carefully as you should have because you hiss in pain.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He sighs, gingerly turning around and crouching down, listening for Taro’s warning the whole time. “Hop on.” You comply. “Taro-taicho? Lead the way.”

The dog stares Atsumu down while you bury your face in his back. You’re so angry. At what? You’re not quite sure. Definitely not Atsumu. It’s not his fault. Then again, why did he get so mad anyways? It’s not like you were purposefully— That’s a lie. Abandoned farm from the 40’s wasn’t specific enough. Even with the additional context of your bomb sniffing hound. You let him assume and from how quiet he’s being, he’s pissed. You would be too if the roles were reversed.

Vaguely, you process him helping you back onto the bike, giving his shoulder for you to hang onto. The person you’re mad at is yourself.

“Why’re ya snifflin’?”

If this were a movie, your tears would be shining in the moonlight as the wind whipped them off your cheeks. But it isn’t and you’re glad he’s not looking at you.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out. Your throat is closing up and they’re the first words you can think of. “Are you mad at me?” They’re whispered as loud as you can make them, but you can’t put any real force behind them because the frog in your throat is getting bigger by the second. The atmosphere is nerve wracking. His answer can’t come quick enough because your mind is already jumping to different, more effective, ways to apologize. What should you do? How do you make it up to him? You’ve never been good at gift giving. Was running an option? Let him take you home and then lock the door before he can say anything. Delete his phone number and ignore him at school.

The manipulative bitch inside you wonders if giving him a piece of yourself would suffice. Would he even want it? He sure spoke like he did. Sometimes. How far would be enough? A kiss? On the cheek, or lips? How long? What if he wanted more?

He had asked before. Half joking, half serious. Unwilling to commit. Back then, your rejection had been painless. The both of you laughed immediately after and went back to normal.

But that was then and this is now. 'Now' is painful and suffocating. It's a shot in the dark, but maybe the opposite action would give you room to breathe.

#miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #haikyuu

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whumpqin · 5 years ago

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Welcome Home

Finally getting around to posting my first Drabble! I’ve been so busy lately but I’m really excited to get into the community and delve into some delicious whump!

Content Warnings: abduction, drugging, dehumanization, pet whump, some creepy/Intimate whumper, noncon touching, brief mention of a knife but it’s never named.

Cold tipped his ears, his nose, his very limbs, freezing it in such a way that felt unnatural for mid summer. It seeped into his skin, holding his limbs frozen and unable to command; sluggish and lethargic, even though there was nothing that seemed to be binding him. His mind felt the same - rolling in a soup of itself as he struggled back to consciousness.

His eyes opened and rolled, listless, unable to find a subject to direct his focus on so he could think properly, to prevent his body from feeling like it was floating among nothing. Be there was nothing to look at, nothing to see beyond the darkness that filled his vision faster than the waters of lethargy could drown him and he felt something pulsing in his ears, panic rising to his throat as he couldn’t move. He wondered briefly if this is what death felt like, if this is what a sign to the end meant.

But there usually weren't voices when you were dying, was there? He could hear them, just on the edges of his awareness, something light and airy followed by a more solid, grounded thing. It was unpleasant, foreign; he liked to imagine that death was usually a gentle quiet, darkness, then nothing. He had always hoped.

And then there were these voices.

“...drive!” It was hazy and distant, but he could still recognize the light airiness that the first voice seemed to carry. “...promise I won’t crash us this time.”

Crash? What did that mean?

“No.” This one was deeper. More grounded. It was much more flat than the first one, whose every word seemed like a dizzying array of emotions. “I’m driving. We don’t need to get pulled over right now, remember? Can you focus for at least five minutes?”

He forced himself to blink regardless if he was blind, feeling the sensation somehow clear at least a little of the haze. Everything seemed so hard to place… was he in a car? Who was driving the car? Why was he even here in the first place?

The airy voice sighed, annoyed by the scolding words. “Fine. But when you’re tired as hell and crash into a guardrail, remember that I told you so.”

“We’re almost there, Ari,” the second protested. “I don’t plan on crashing just before we get to the house.”

There was a small huff from the first, Ari, and then everything went quiet. It made his mind swirl with nothing to cling to, words like house and crash rumbling through his head like a stampede.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be stuck in a car, he didn’t even know how to drive. Everything was wrong, very wrong, and he was stuck right in the center of it all. Tears stung the corner of his eyes as he took in a shaky breath, trying to move his limbs to no avail. He wanted to scream, but something was holding his jaws shut and his body down against something and it felt like he was suffocating--

“At least everything looks nice here,” the lower voice murmured.

Everything looks nice to you but I’m stuck here suffocating, a voice hissed, a deep growl of a nature long since pushed to the farthest corner of himself. A shriek boiled in his chest but nothing came out. It couldn’t.

“Reminds me a lot of home, eh Ari?”

I want to go home, the voice cried again, regardless of his input. Everything clicked together at once, tears rolling down his cheeks and staining fabric that seemed to be on his face. Home. The word stung like a hot stove and felt just as comforting as the heat it spread across a room.

He wanted to scream as the weight of understanding, of realization, finally broke through his sluggish haze as his cage seemed to become smaller and smaller with each passing second.

“A little more flat, if you ask me.” It was like he wasn’t even there. He didn’t know that voice, he didn’t actually know anyone.

Elisha should’ve been home. In his apartment. Alone.

They had stolen him.

“Well, at least you can see the mountains. You can pretend or something… You like to imagine things, don’t you Jer?” The voices were no longer airy and grounded, they were monsters. The first’s voice was saccharine as they chuckled at their own joke. Elisha couldn’t get away from it. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, I know you do. Don’t worry, dear pupil, we’ll bring your vision to reality very soon.”

Something lied behind those words that made him want to shudder, to squirm and move away from the both of the voices but he couldn’t. He felt his tail thump against the ground, pins and needles echoing through his body. Eyes squeezed shut as he prayed for it to stop.

It was in that moment of prayer that he could hear this beeping sound, the world cursing him more than it already had as it drove him crazy. Elisha’s breath caught in his throat, a half growl half whimper seeping from his nose.

“Oh, did you hear that? I think someone’s awake.” There was shifting by his face, as he struggled to move his arms outward, suddenly crushed by an array of things he would be able to identify if he could just see them. Did they put boxes on top of him?

“Yeah well, keep him quiet until we at least get on the turnoff,” Jer said flatly, then said in a lower voice, “I don’t need to worry about him doing anything, either. And turn that stupid alarm off.”

Escape. He wanted to get out of here. Jer didn’t seem so keen on him making noise, maybe Elisha could get someone’s attention and cause them to pull the car over. Then they would see, they could get him out. He began to squirm as best he could, shifting the items on top of him so that he could at least be free of that.

Elisha’s legs were bound together, that much was obvious. His fingers touched one another and he found he couldn’t pull them apart, and as he reached them up to his face he felt leather and fabric and metal. A muzzle.

He had seen muzzles before, on dogs known to bite people and sometimes the demons that proved to be too dangerous for the public. Elisha had sworn he would never be one of the Cambion who would wear a muzzle. He wanted to be a good person.

And it hadn’t even mattered anyway.

“It’s fine, we’re almost there anyway, right? I’ll shut him up.” It was said so callously, like he was an animal that needed to be contained. Something cold was pressed underneath his jawbone, careful and deliberate. “Be quiet, little one, or I’m going to have to punish you. And I really don’t want blood to get all over our things. You don’t want that either, right?”

Elisha glared in the direction the cool feeling came from before he could stop himself. Luckily Ari didn’t seem to notice, perhaps because his face was covered by the muzzle. He shifted, away from the kidnapper and further into what felt like a myriad of boxes. The cold disappeared for a brief moment as several sounds reached his ears, like several things clattering together as a warm hand grabbed onto the side of his face.

“I know you heard me,” Ari hissed, that sweet note of their voice never quite disappearing. The cool feeling was placed against Elisha’s jaw, but this time the hand kept him firmly in place. “What’ll it be, pet? Punishment now, or are we going to be a good boy for this road trip?”

It hurt, the panic that rose in his chest and echoed out as another whimper. He just wanted to wake from this nightmare but it was still continuing, regardless of how many times he imagined pinching himself. There was a slight tsk sound, as Ari cooed towards him.

“Aw, poor thing… I know, this must be so confusing for you, isn’t it?” It was false comfort, a sickening venom from a snake poised to strike. Elisha whined as they drew a hand over his cheek. “Don’t think. Just obey.” The cold feeling slipped away again. “Nod your head if you’re going to be a good and stay quiet.”

There’s no way I’m going to do that, his mind snapped back, saying words that his instincts wish they could if they weren’t muzzled. But Elisha calmed them, pushed them back to that same corner of his mind that he always did.

This wasn’t the time to be rowdy. It was dangerous to not do what they asked, placed in such a defenseless position that this Ari person could do whatever they wanted and he wouldn’t even be able to cry for help. He took in a purposeful, deep breath, trying to remind himself to just breathe.

His eyes squeezed shut, Elisha nodded his head.

He could practically hear the smile on Ari’s face. “There we are. I’m going to hold that against you, alright? I’m going to be very angry if you decide you’re not going to be good anymore.”

“Are you done yet? I need to know if this is the turn off.” Jer sounded hasty, urgent. With a dramatic sigh Ari settled back into the seat, he knew because he could feel the pressure on his face again, and picked up what sounded like several pieces of paper.

“Uhh…” the paper sound echoed in his head and Elisha wanted to curl up into a tiny ball and never hear anything ever again, “Yep, this is it!”

Everything shifted and rumbled as it jostled him around. The boxes leaped into the air and fell back on top of him, and Elisha did his best to hush his whimpers and cries of pain and fear as he tried to will his disloyal body to move away from them. No matter what he did, though, it never seemed to be enough.

His thoughts scrambled, trying to look for something to cling to in order to make sense of what was going on. Was he in hell? Was this some sort of punishment for sins he doesn’t remember committing? What did he do to deserve this? He had always been a good person, wasn’t there some sort of fate weaver that took notice?

What had gone wrong?

All at once everything came to a halt as he felt his body be pressed against the seats of the car, squished by his own weight.

Clinking, banging, pressure being released in the air and then slamming shut, and then silence.

There was a distant shrill of joyous exclamation, most likely from Ari. Then the low mutterings of Jer as they moved closer and closer, and the horrifying anticipation built up in his chest again as he could hear his muffled voice right next to him. Elisha found he was both dreading and felt a small sense of excitement at the potential of being let go. Was it bad to hope for something like that?

There was a click next to his face as the door, the trunk, opened. Fresh air filtered through the tiny room and into his nose, holy and welcomed in spite of the terror it presented.

Several boxes fell from Elisha and out, but stopped before they landed. “Ari!” Jer cried, much more clear now that the door had been opened. “Ari get your ass over here and help me!”

“Fine, fine! Shame on me for wanting to see this ‘perfect’ place you picked out for all of us. Not like I want to make sure it’s actually decent,” the other complained as they slowly approached. It almost felt like they were looming over him. “Here, you get these boxes, I’ll make sure our little prize doesn’t get away.”

“...Fine.”

Light began to slowly creep into the corners of his eyes, beyond the fabric that sat over top of them, as boxes were slowly taken off of him. Elisha tried to slow his breathing, but was never able to calm it beyond tiny little breaths that were making him nearly hyperventilate.

Then there were hands on his face, sudden and forceful as they angled his gaze. Elisha flinched and let a sharp, muted whimper escape through his nose. Don’t touch me, that little voice hissed again, repeating it as thin fingers lifted his jaw.

“You must be thirsty, pet,” Ari said simply. “Let’s get some more water in you, I know it’s been a while. You’ll stay still for me while I take that muzzle off of you, won’t you?”

Elisha knew there wasn’t a choice. It wasn’t even presented as one, as much as he wanted to believe that it was. But he nodded, mostly out of fear and panic and in desperate rebellion of that vicious instinct that rolled underneath his skin.

“Good boy.”

He swallowed thickly as he heard the buckles on his face be undone slowly. Elisha wasn’t sure if Ari was dragging this out longer than it needed to be, or if it was just taking this long. Either way it was agonizing to stay still for them. Then it all fell away at once.

Elisha blinked his eyes closed as the sun blinded them, slowly squinting until he could open them again.

Warm brown eyes peeked from pale, freckled skin, blocking out most of the sunlight that burned his eyes. Carefully kept, white teeth grinned at him, using a hand to caress through his messy hair and he was too stunned to move away. It was intimate, like a lover that had just woken up to see the object of their affection through the light of the morning. Red strands hung lazily over their face as if to almost paint that picture onto Elisha’s mind, inviting in such a strange and charming way.

And given literally any other circumstance, he might have been charmed. Ari almost seemed to exude a comforting air with the way that they carried themselves, in a way that seemed to effortlessly mask the cold interior that Elisha knew was there, that he knew lie just below that fake cheerfulness.

“There we are… isn’t that so much better?” Ari said, their minty breath hitting his nose. Suddenly staying in the car didn’t seem like such a bad option, regardless of how cramped it felt.

“Pl-please…” Elisha whispered, barely audible. “Please l-let me go-”

“Ah, ah, pet, I thought I told you to be quiet,” they reminded. Their gaze lowered into a slight glare, making Elisha’s breath catch in his throat. “Now why would you lie to me about being so good, hm?”

His heart beat up into his chest in fear. Elisha quickly decided that he would prefer the false, comforting expression that Ari wore to anything else, especially when it was displeasure. It only intensified into a shrill cry as they reached out to grab either side of his jaw, tilting it to inspect his face carefully.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he blabbered, unable to silence his panic for any longer. His vision blurred as more tears filled his eyes, the concept of fighting back not even reaching his head until Ari had pulled away from him. Elisha squinted his eyes shut, bracing himself for anything that they might throw at him.

“Well, whatever, just be quiet. We’ll deal with this later.” A bottle with a hard plastic straw was shoved towards his face, making him flinch away in fear. Ari stared at him almost curiously as he peeked an eye open to look at it. “Drink. All of it.”

Elisha knew that the momentary mercy wasn’t something to be grateful for. He could tell, by the sinister glint in Ari’s eye, that they were planning something far worse for him. It wasn’t hard to see regardless of how shielded it seemed, especially when you’ve been reading people all of your life.

The drink tasted like water for the most part, with a hint of something sweet and wrong added into it. It made his chest feel warm, his head go fuzzy, and he wanted to stop after the first few gulps but he was so parched. Not only that, but Ari’s constant stare made him so nervous he wasn’t sure what else to do. So he drank everything in the contents of the bottle.

His eyes rolled upward, no longer able to hold onto a single thing. Elisha remembers the day sky, the clouds that moved lazily across it, and the sound of Ari’s voice echoing as everything became fuzzier and harder to understand.

“Go on, little one, get a good look at the sun. It’s gonna be the last time you ever see it.”

#whump #whump community #whump writing #writing #my writing #tw abduction #tw drugged #knife mention #noncon touching #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #pet whump #dehumanization #Hope this reads okay!#This is the first time I've posted my writing like this haha #my characters #I'm gonna have to get a character tag for these guys rip

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

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Ash/Athena AU: Enter Corrine

Strap yourselves in, motherfuckers, because @whump-tr0pes and are about to take you on a rollercoaster... that’s right, the storm is here!

CW: Dehumanization, threats of torture, referenced past noncon/torture

Very little rattled Corrine Michaelson.

She was feeling more than a little rattled now, and she did not like that feeling. She very badly wanted someone to punish for it.

She twisted her ring around one finger, large blocky gold with the slightly raised M at the top, with a twist of vines around it, and settled back into the soft cushions of the section couch in her eldest son’s formal living room.

“What do you mean, they’re gone?”

She looked up at the three men arrayed before her - Nate Vandrum, who stood largely relaxed with his hands clasped behind his back, and two of the Michaelson’s armed guards.

Nate stared back at her with his jaw set, with the unreadable green eyes that softened only for Daniel. Corrine had little use for mortal humans beyond their usefulness to her, but she would have given Nate a job even if Daniel had not been the one he rescued. When a man spends six months planning and then burns a house full of people alive to get vengeance for someone … a smart Syndicate sees the potential in having that sort of careful, analytical violence properly directed.

Directed at the protection of her son, and of hunting down those who had sullied the Michaelson family and insulted them by using him against his will, Nate Vandrum was an employee she very nearly liked.

In this moment, she liked him less.

“J-Just what I said, ma’am,” Nate said quietly. “We let our g-g-guard down, and th-they left without approval. Without w-w-warning. They left their th-things behind and we were unable to catch up to them in time. We think they must have h-h-had some warning.”

Corrine could not read people like her son and husband could, but she saw the way a muscle twitched in Vandrum’s cheek, and she wondered.

Nate seemed aware of her scrutiny, as he shifted just slightly and straightened his spine. “They even l-l-left one of their oh, own behind.”

“Did they now?” Corrine blinked, surprised. That was at least something, although she couldn’t imagine whatever poor sap they’d left behind could be of any use. Well, there wasn’t a living, breathing, bleeding mortal on Earth who couldn’t be of at least a temporary use to Corrine Michaelson, but…

Her fingernails, painted a deep beige-pink to pop against her dark brown skin, began to tap lightly on the fabric of the couch.

“Yes. His name is Isaac Moore.” Nate paused - it was barely a moment, but Corrine caught it. “We don’t know what purpose he serves to the group itself - but they don’t appear to have hesitated to leave him. He’s st-still out with D-Danny, in the woods. I’ve c-confirmed with our men that Isaac Moore and Danny are ac-accounted for. But the r-r-rest of them are gone.”

Corrine frowned. She had come here expecting to find the little ragtag band of heroes still kept in place, effectively held like zoo animals waiting for her to decide their exhibits.

She could sell them back to the Stormbecks one by one - she’d heard the family was desperate to get their hands on them. The man who had once run their Syndicate was blissfully dead now, and honestly Corrine had been looking forward to meeting the one she’d heard was responsible for murdering him. He had insulted her deeply, once, a long time ago.

Corrine did not leave grudges behind. She did not forgive or forget. She held every slight, every insult, every attempt to overthrow her carefully close, and waited. In this, perhaps she had waited too long.

She hadn’t exactly decided to sell them, yet - but had considered it, and Danny’s house would no longer do. Her eldest son had a reputation, since his return from his unfortunate waylaying by those anti-syndicate mercenaries, for being… weak.

Unwilling to take the harsh steps necessary to maintain control. Unable to even really be part of running the Syndicate at all. He’d holed up here in an old summer home and Corrine had begun to understand that her eldest son - adopted, as a child, to shield her youngest from too much scrutiny - could not be trusted to keep them if they wanted to go.

She was surprised to discover they had gone without Danny even knowing.

“You will question everyone who has worked this house the entire length of their visit,” Corrine said, her voice brusque and sharp.

Nate Vandrum nodded, once, as did the men on either side of him.

“Nate, I need your absolute focus on this,” Corrine said quietly, steepling her fingers together. “I want you to find them. I cannot have them escape my territory without my knowledge, I cannot. I will not be shown to be weak.”

“Yes, ma’am. I take full r-r-responsibility for the f-failure to maintain their security h-here-”

“Yes.” Corrine frowned at Daniel’s bodyguard and partner. He looked right back at her, with no discernable expression at all. She wished, briefly, she had her husband’s ability to understand people, to know the wants and needs of humans at their basest depths. “You will take responsibility. This is your fault and your failure.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His voice did not change. Even and strong, the constant presence at Daniel’s back. The shadow of her son, stronger than her son could ever be now. Corrine felt a flicker of something like affection, deep within a heart that rarely felt it for anyone she wasn’t married to or the mother of.

“You say my son at least is accounted for? Along with this… Isaac person?” Corrine sighed, rubbing at her temples with one hand. “Does he have any useful intel? Have you discerned his potential usefulness to the Michaelson group?”

Nate paused again. His expression did not change, but there was a calculation there, a consideration. Corrine looked up at him. He is trying to decide how much to tell me, she thought. But Nate was loyal to Daniel in ways that ran deeper than the blood she might otherwise have made him shed for her. He would never have hidden a single thing that could bring Danny risk or harm, and she knew it.

She couldn’t read people like her husband and son could, but you didn’t have to. Nate wore his loyalty, his devotion, like visible armor. As long as Daniel was in this world to protect and to shield, Nate could not be harmed by knife or bullet or a mother’s hunger for someone to blame.

And for all her coldness, Corrine would not have taken him from Daniel - she could never even have begun to make herself try. Daniel had suffered, for the choice Corrine had made in bringing him into their home. He had suffered for years as a stand-in for every choice the anti-Syndicate fools hated the Michaelsons for.

Daniel had come home, to his parents and to his brother. Corrine could indulge him in allowing him the love he had found in the darkness.

“I don’t believe h-he knows m-m-much, ma’am,” Nate said carefully. “He s-seems to be a sort of… fighter, for th-the group. He has a lot of physical c-c-capability in combat but I wouldn’t s-s-say he’s.. overburdened with knowledge.” His eyes slowly raised, looking at something behind her. “Not knowledge w-we can use, anyway.”

“Damn. Can I kill him?”

Nate blinked and his eyes jerked back down. “Ma’am? Are you… asking?”

“Yes. I don’t want to, if there’s a good reason not to, but I dislike that his little friends left without my permission or my say-so. I dislike that they abandoned one of their own, and I immensely dislike the idea of feeding, clothing, and housing a useless scrap of flesh.” Corrine tilted her head to the side, crossing one leg over the other in the tight-fitting deep red suit she wore, her hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She looked like power, and she knew it.

Patrick was the nominal head of the Michaelson Group, but Corrine was the bite behind his charming smile - and everyone knew it. A precious lucky few even knew why.

“I have a deep need to fuck someone up, Vandrum, and it might as well be the runt they left behind.”

“I w-w-wouldn’t, ma’am,” Nate said, and swallowed. She watched his Adam’s apple bob with unusual nervousness. He seemed… pale, and when she thought about it, she could hear the way his heartbeat had sped up.

“And why not?”

“Because… ah, b-because…”

Behind her, she heard the back door from the kitchen open, the sound of her son’s soft, half-breathless laughter. Another male voice laughing with him.

“Do you, um, do you… do you want to see if anyone wants, um, lunch?” Daniel’s voice sounded lighter - stronger - than it had since he’d come home. Corrine’s eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline.

She… couldn’t remember the last time she had heard Daniel laugh like that, speak like that, to anyone but Nate Vandrum. And then only rarely.

“I… yeah, sure, let’s do it, but first - come here,” The second voice replied, with the same shy flirtation. There was a pause, and then the two men laughed again.

Corrine looked back at Nate, who gave her a slight, uncertain smile. “D-D-Danny likes him,” Nate said softly.

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 2 years ago

Note

Fever Whump Bingo: Tepid Bath for Robin! you can combine it with others if you want >:)

ohoho I'm going to combine it with "glassy eyes" for something vaguely adjacent to some actual canon plans!

Dany's hands don't shake. She's not a freaking coward. The hotel is too quiet when she steps back inside, having set herself at ease with a quick loop around the exterior. There are several exits and no one around. She slings the rifle off her shoulder as she walks back into the room, leans it in the corner next to the door. Her pistol will stay on, anyway.

Robin is sitting on the edge of one of the double beds, hands hanging limp between his legs where his arms are propped on his knees. He's bent over awkwardly, head hanging. His back is to Dany, shoulders rising and falling heavily with labored breaths. She can hear his breathing from the door.

"Outside's clear," Dany reports, pausing for a moment that she's glad Robin doesn't see before bending to untie and take off her boots for the first time in... she doesn't know how long. They haven't slept indoors for days. The conversation is normal enough. That's why she says it, even when Robin doesn't respond. "This room opens outside, but there are general exits on either side of the hall out the other side, and one from the front lobby. The pool is gross, but it's indoor/outdoor, so it could function as an escape route if we needed it."

Dany walks into the bathroom. No lights, obviously, but she blinks at herself in the mirror. Her hair's gotten longer, her face pale since summer — she never tanned, just burned and wound up paler than before. There are circles under her eyes belying her lack of sleep and more fear in the gray than she wants to admit.

Robin isn't doing well. There's a part of her that's afraid to check his fever. If she doesn't know how bad it is, how much he's been pushing through, then they don't have to deal with it. If she doesn't know, it can't be as bad as she fears. Schrodinger's Robin, she thinks suddenly, ridiculously, and snorts quietly. The uptick of her mouth in the mirror looks like it belongs to somebody else. Somebody she was before all this. Before the world ending and meeting Robin and nearly dying and jumping on trains. She turns away from it.

"Robin?"

"Yeah?"

Some of the tension in Dany releases when he finally responds, though his voice is weak and painfully raspy. They'd had to stop several times walking today while he caught his breath, coughing into his elbow until Dany worried he was going to fall over. She steps over to the bed, crouches on front of him.

"You doing okay?" She asks, already knowing the answer.

Robin looks up at her with glassy, vacant eyes. His hair droops over his forehead, damp with sweat. He blinks slowly at her. It doesn't add much more awareness to his gaze. "'M'fine," he whispers. It's a lie that Dany knows all too personally. A moment later he's toppling forward and Dany's catching him, scrambling to support his awkward weight as his strength gives out.

"Clearly," Dany says sharply, snapping out her fear with sarcasm, "You're not." Even his nose, poking into the side of her neck, is hot. She struggles to move onto the bed beside him, cradling his limp form against her. "You're burning up," she says, you know, like a cliché. "You with me at all?"

"D'ny..?" He mumbles, shifting slightly. "I don' feel good..."

"I hadn't noticed." The slurring isn't a good sign. He's barely, barely conscious and raging with fever.

She has, and Dany knows this, antibiotics and fever reducers, tucked safely away in the medical bag she'd dropped on the far side of the other hotel bed. But her fear is, and it's gripping her almost tighter than she's holding Robin right now, is that he's deteriorating too quickly, won't last the time it takes for the dose to enter his system. At least, won't last without permanent damage. She finally understands what Robin must have felt month prior, watching her suffer. Only, he depended on her. She can survive without him. But... can she really, anymore? She doesn't want to think about that.

Water, out here, is most often run off of wells. She'd seen the septic pipes as they came in. If she's lucky, or incredibly blessed, they're far enough off the grid that the pump doesn't require electricity. Where she grew up, most people living off-grid had solar well pumps. Funny, how things have changed with the weather: she prays there's been enough sun.

"Come on," she urges, wrestling Robin into a semi-standing position. "Robin, hey, you gotta help me out here." Robin isn't particularly big, but he's mostly dead weight and unwieldy. She manhandles him into the bathroom, where he collapses onto the lid of the toilet, barely holding himself up.

Dany holds her breath as she twists the lever, thinks pleasepleaseplease too desperately in the silence. She gasps in relief when she hears the rumble of water flowing, when it starts pouring out of the faucet. The heating won't work, and she knows you're technically not supposed to use cold-cold water for this, but it's all she has. It's the best only chance of keeping Robin okay.

She plugs the drain and turns back to Robin, once again kneeling in front of him. This time he doesn't look up at her; it must take too much effort that's being expended on just breathing.

"Neither of us is going to like this, I don't think," Dany mutters. She's basically talking to thin air, and his glassy greenish eyes, but she feels the need to say it anyway. "Sorry."

As quickly as she can with hands that even she has to admit are now shaking, she strips him down to his boxers. Robin doesn't even respond until she tries to maneuver him into the tub. All he does is mumble her name again, which he made hers in the first place, in between ragged breaths.

"Yeah, it's me," she whispers back. "I've got you."

She realizes with a sinking feeling that the only reason she, as strong as she may be but still skinner than she'd been four months ago, is going to get Robin's lanky, limp form into the tub is by getting in there herself. So she says screw it, pulls off her socks and resigns herself to soaking these leggings, and through some feat of willpower or a miracle, manages to get them both into the water.

It isn't freezing cold, isn't even that unpleasant, but Dany likes cold, has a higher tolerance to it, and against Robin's fever-hot skin it must feel like ice. She's positioned behind him, arms around him to keep him still as he writhes in the chilly water. He struggles against her blindly, even as Dany tries to tell him to relax, it's okay, she's trying to help him. When the last vestiges of his strength finally abandon him, he slumps back against her and shudders with a coughing fit.

His head lolls back against her shoulder. Dany shuts her eyes for a moment, prays not for the first time today. She is scared. She doesn't know if she's more afraid of losing Robin, or afraid of the fact that she's afraid of that. She rests a hand on his chest, where she can feel his heartbeat, and forces herself not to think about it. He'll be okay. He has to.

#spoiler alert: he's fine i just didn't know how to end this so you get a non-ending ending. philosophical innit?#Lu rambles #Lu writes #crosscountry apocalypse

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tisfan · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Learning to Work Together (Opposites Attract) Rating: T Triggers/warnings: None Word count: 4681 Tags: Alternate Universe: College/University, Alternate Universe: No Powers, Summary: When Professor Nutter assigns a partnered project for her Theories of Personality class, Aziraphale finds himself tracking down the mysterious and elusive Crowley. Posted for the @ineffablehusbandsbingo - square “Destruction of Books” ( @27dragons) / square “Food Fight” ( @tisfan) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20579354

Professor Nutter stood up behind her podium, smiling in that vicious little way of hers that meant she was about to unleash something terrible. The collective mood of the students dropped as she held up a piece of paper. “There is a copy of this handout on the back table,” she said, gleeful. “I’ve matched you up for a group project, based on your questionnaires at the start of term. There will be no swapping partners, you will learn to work together, or you will not pass my class--” the group let out a groan, as one, like a forest of dying trees. “And complete the assignment. You will turn this in the last day of class before exams for thirty percent of your final grade. It was in the syllabus!”

Theories of Personality, psychology 405, had been billed as an easy A class. Be present, participate, pass.

The teacher last semester, Pulsifer, had given out sixty A’s, the highest percentage of any upper level class on campus.

That was last semester, apparently.

Nutter was… well, a Nutter.

(more below the cut)

Aziraphale stayed in his seat as the rest of the class made their way to the back of the class. Surely, whoever’d been assigned to work with him would make themselves known. And he really wanted to finish reading the chapter he’d started. Fascinating stuff, really, even if some of it was a bit, well, medieval in thinking.

He jotted a few notes as he read -- things to look up or cross-reference, things to specifically ask about during class, in case they were part of the exam, possible starting points for the project...

Speaking of which-- Aziraphale looked around. The class had emptied. No one had come up to him to introduce themselves as his partner. Sighing, Aziraphale tucked a marker into his textbook, gathered up his things, and went to look at the pairing sheet. He scanned down the list and found his name, right beside... A. J. Crowley.

Who in Hell was that?

He looked over the list again. He recognized all the names on it. Everyone had spoken up in class discussions, or asked questions, or (on a few occasions) been chided by Professor Nutter for being late. He could swear he’d never heard the name Crowley before.

“Er, Professor,” Aziraphale said cautiously. “Are you quite certain you didn’t mix someone from one of your other classes in here? Because--” He turned around to find that Professor Nutter was gone.

Blast. He was going to have to track this Crowley fellow down.

“Why I always gotta work wiff you?” someone demanded, just outside the door. Ligur was scowling at the sheet, and his apparent partner, Hastur, was smirking. “Always make me do all th’ work, you do.”

Well. At least Aziraphale hadn’t been partnered with Hastur. Aziraphale didn’t like to complain, but Hastur smelled. “Excuse me, gents,” he said, edging past them into the hallway. “Neither of you would happen to know who A. J. Crowley is, would you?”

“Uff, Crowley,” Hastur said. “I hate that flash bastard. Don’t trust him.”

“Yeah,” Ligur said. “He’s inna Hell-dorm. Cross th’ hall from Beez. You know Beez, right? Everyone knows Beez.”

Hell-dorm wasn’t actually called that, officially; the building was named after whichever alum had donated the most money in the last few years or so, which meant it had been rechristened about a dozen times, and no one bothered to remember what it was actually called. Everyone called it Hell because the air conditioning didn’t work in the summer, and worked all too well in the winter.

And, unfortunately, Aziraphale did know Beez, though luckily, by reputation only. Still, he imagined it wouldn’t be too hard to find. “Thank you,” he said, though he wasn’t sure they heard it -- they were already back to bickering about the project.

Aziraphale checked the time and decided there was no time like the present. He straightened his clothes and made his way across the campus to Hell-dorm, where a few inquiries of increasingly surly residents got him the direction to the floor where Beez lived.

Once there, it wasn’t hard to spot the door with “BEEZ” written on it -- not on a whiteboard or tacked-up sign, but directly on the door itself, in what Aziraphale was fairly certain was permanent marker. Below that, in a startlingly elegant hand, someone had written, Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

The opposite door was unmarred. And unlabeled. No board, no notes, no posted schedule, no name, no decor, no posters in questionable taste. Nothing, no hint as to the character of the person within. Just a door.

Well. There was nothing for it, really. Aziraphale brushed a few wrinkles out of his sweater and knocked smartly.

For a long moment, there was no sound at all, and then-- thud, whump -- someone rolled off the bed and hit the floor like a load of wet laundry. A groan. And then more silence.

“Hello?” Aziraphale said. He rapped on the door again. “I’m looking for someone named A. J. Crowley?”

Another groan, then someone yelled, somewhat slurred, “go away, Beez, tol’ you I’m not lending you any money.”

The door opened suddenly and Aziraphale blinked at what was a very… green room behind the man. “You’re not Beez,” he said. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone quite so very un-Beezlike in my entire life. What do you want, angel?”

“What?” Aziraphale looked around, but the hallway behind him was entirely deserted. “Are you Crowley?”

“Who’s asking?” Crowley, if that was Crowley, was tall and lanky, dressed all in black except for a shock of red hair. He wore sunglasses, little round, deeply black ones that didn’t show a hint of his eyes, and he had cheekbones sharp enough to cut paper. He stood in a way that reminded Aziraphale -- in no way that he could actually put words to -- of a snake.

“Oh, yes, quite,” Aziraphale stammered. He shuffled the books in his arms around until he could offer a hand. “Aziraphale. I’m your partner for the project for Professor Nutter’s class.”

Crowley actually lowered his sunglasses to peer at Aziraphale over the rims. His eyes were a shade of brown so pale they could be deemed yellow instead. “What? Agnes gave us partners for a project?” He said this in a deeply aggrieved voice. “What project, oh, bother, you’d better come in then.”

Aziraphale was not, perhaps, the most fastidious student on campus, but his room was at least clean.

Crowley’s room, on the other hand, was spotless. Pristine. Dustless. And filled from the floor to the rafters with thick, luxurious plant-life, living in beautiful, matching pots. There were custom lighting tracks set up to give the plants everything they needed in the way of sunlight, and the whole room smelled of sweet earth and green, growing things.

Crowley grabbed an apple from a fruit bowl on a side table and took a bite. “Apple?” he offered the bowl to Aziraphale.

“Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale said, pleased. Breakfast seemed like a distant memory by this point in the morning. A little nosh would be just the thing. He picked out one of the fruits, heavy with juice and lusciously dark red. “This really is something,” he said, gesturing at all the plants. “Simply lovely. Quite the green thumb you must have.” He bent close to examine the flower buds on the nearest specimen.

“I talk to them,” Crowley said. “They don’t like to disappoint me. What’s this nonsense, then, about a project? Agnes really gave me a project? She loves me, why would she do that?”

“I can’t see how she’d have any opinion about you at all,” Aziraphale said, rather tartly, “as I’m quite certain you’ve not been to a single class all semester.” He certainly would have remembered seeing someone as striking as Crowley before. “Have you even cracked the book?”

“Which one?” Crowley asked. He was slinking around the room, examining all his plants and checking the moisture levels of the soil. “Hand me my mister, would you, angel?”

Aziraphale looked around and spotted the mister, though he had to put his stack of books down in order to have a hand free for it. He dropped them on what he presumed was Crowley’s bed, then handed over the mister. “Prophecy of Personality,” he said, waving at it where it was on top of his stack. “The textbook. For the class you haven’t been attending!”

“Oh, that book,” Crowley said. “Yeah, uh, I think I might have burned it.”

“You what?” Aziraphale screeched. He snatched his books back up off Crowley’s bed, dropping the apple to clutch them close lest this apparent demon start setting fire to them, too.

“It was, you know, a dorm-thing,” Crowley said. “Beez’s idea. We had a big bonfire and, well, there was quite a lot of wine involved. Truly, epic amounts of wine.” Crowley waved his hand around aimlessly, like someone had replaced all the bones in his wrist with overcooked pasta. “I don’t really remember.”

“Your dorm had a book burning and you don’t really remember?” Azirpahale demanded. He looked around, somewhat wildly. He couldn’t stay in this place, in this hell, for one second longer. He pulled the project handout out of the book and shoved it at Crowley. “Here. This is the project. Read it. And then come to my room -- I’m in Heaven dorm -- this afternoon, at four.”

“Of course you are,” Crowley drawled. “Am I allowed… I mean, inviting me to your room, that’s very forward.”

“To work on the project,” Aziraphale snapped, feeling heat climbing up under his collar. “Unless you’d rather meet at the library.”

“No, no, the library is for people who are worried about their grades,” Crowley said. “I wouldn’t be caught dead at the library. Your room. Four o’clock. I’ll bring take away. Unless I fall asleep.”

Aziraphale scowled and gathered his things back up. “Don’t,” he said icily, “fall asleep.”

***

Crowley watched, somewhat stunned, as the ethereal figure scrambled for the door, leaving the room in a cloud of stern disapproval.

“Well, that went over like a lead balloon,” he said, rubbing at his face. He flipped the project assignment sheet over a few times and read it. Nothing on the hand out indicated that Professor Nutter was a complete lunatic, brought in at the last minute to replace Professor Pulsifer, who had, indeed, been cheating on his wife, the Dean of Student Affairs, and who had made a hasty escape from the collegiate life and his marital strife by moving with his mistress to Surrey. Or that Nutter had made it her personal goal to make Crowley have to actually do some work.

Didn’t make either of those things less true, mind.

What it did say was that they’d have to do several sets of interviews with student volunteers, to test their hypothesis about personality cues. And then write up a monograph for it. Ug.

The apple that Aziraphale hadn’t eaten was laying on the floor, bright and shiny, and bruised on one side from where he’d dropped it. Crowley bent to pick it up. “What are you lookin’ at?” he accused his plants.

He eyed the apple for a long moment, the very faint imprints of Aziraphale’s teeth where they’d just started to pierce the skin.

Crowley took a bite, right there. Guess he’d go up to Heaven ‘round four and see what all the fuss was about.

But first. Nap. Mornings were, he decided, some sort of Divinely inspired curse, and should be outlawed almost immediately, if not sooner. He fell back into bed and got up a few hours later, much more coherent and refreshed.

Contrary to Aziraphale’s belief, Crowley had attended every single one of Agnes Nutter’s classes. He just did it in the afternoon instead. She taught the same material at both classes, and it wasn’t difficult to slouch around in the back and catch up on the notes. He’d sit the test at the proper time, but the less Crowley had to be awake in the morning, the happier everyone was going to be.

He placed an order by telephone with the curry-shop just off campus, gathered his notes from class -- he did not, however, grab his copy of the book, which was not burned, but then he couldn’t remember which of his class texts had been deposited on the blaze, but there was no point in giving Aziraphale the satisfaction -- and headed over to Heaven.

There was something more than a little sterile and creepy about Heaven dorm, with its white paint and chrome accents. It looked like a hospital. Or a morgue. Cold and crisp and utterly devoid of sentiment.

“Oi,” Crowley barked at one of the students in the front lounge. “Where’s Aziraphale?”

They looked up, patted perfectly coiffed hair as if to smooth fly aways that weren’t there. Michael. Great. Crowley had swimming class with Michael. Fastidious git. “Down the hall.”

“Thanks. Michael. Dude,” Crowley said, giving Michael finger guns. Michael hated being called dude.

Crowley shifted his burdens, getting the curry out front. A peace offering, of sorts. Walked down the hall and, after frowning at the door, kicked it a few times.

The door opened a moment later to reveal Aziraphale, scowling. A scowl shouldn’t look so adorable on anyone, but there it was. Utterly adorable. “You needn’t bang when a simple knock would-- Oh.” He hesitated, seeing how full Crowley’s arms were. “Well, I suppose it couldn’t have been helped.” He stepped aside, waving Crowley in.

Aziraphale’s room wasn’t empty and sterile like the halls of Heaven. It was filled, top to bottom and side to side, with books. Every sort of book, at every possible age. Crowley wouldn’t have been surprised to find a set of scrolls in there, somewhere, tucked behind the dimestore paperbacks, perhaps. Even the bed was covered with books.

Aziraphale took the containers of curry from Crowley’s hands and then looked around, frowning slightly as he tried to figure out where to set it down. He finally shuffled a few stacks around to make a space on what was, probably, a table or a desk of some sort. “There we are.”

Crowley twitched as Aziraphale came closer. “Are you wearing cologne?” What sort of student was this guy, dressed in pristine, cream colored slacks, wingtip shoes, an embroidered vest, with a blessed pocket watch chain curving neatly across a soft belly.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale said, in a tone that suggested Crowley was the odd one for even asking. “It’s new, actually. My barber recommended it.”

He couldn’t quite resist, most students smelled like stale food and forgotten antiperspirant and cheap scented spritzers. He leaned in, nose going a few inches from Aziraphale’s throat. “Nice,” he growled. “I’ll take two.” He wasn’t even quite sure if he meant two bottles of cologne, or two of Aziraphale.

Aziraphale backed up half a step, eyes widening a little. “Ah, yes, well,” he stammered, a faint blush rising out of his collar. “Perhaps we’d better get on with the project.”

“Food first,” Crowley countered, “dont’ want to get sauce on your books. Read through th’ notes today--” He opened the take away box, looked down at his bowl of curry and rice and sauce and shoveled a mouthful before going on to suggest a handful of potential project topics.

Aziraphale huffed a little and produced from somewhere a pair of napkins. Not the paper napkins that had come with the takeaway, but actual cloth napkins. He handed one to Crowley with a somewhat stern look, then spread the other across his lap before picking up the second box.

“Oh!” he said, suddenly delighted, a smile blooming on his face that was as bright as the sun. “My favorite! How did you guess?” He picked up the fork and scooped up a bite, somehow managing to avoid dripping curry sauce anywhere and putting it into his mouth without getting any on his lips. It was a damned miracle, that was. He still picked up his napkin and blotted his mouth as he chewed. “This is quite good,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

There were words out there. Words, nouns, verbs, adjectives. Punctuation, sometimes, even. All of them vacated Crowley’s head and went swirling off to Alpha Centauri. He couldn’t have put a coherent sentence together if someone’d held a sword to his throat. He could only stare and watch and deal with a squirmy, heated knot of something in his belly, rather lower than his navel, and might not even count as his stomach at all.

The flittering little shy glances, the way Aziraphale’s whole face radiated joy and pleasure and appreciation.

All for a bowl of take away curry.

“Uh…” Crowley managed. He gestured, hand spread, out there somewhere.

Aziraphale’s smile dimmed just a little, just enough to no longer be blinding. “Oh, yes, sorry, I shouldn’t ask questions while you’re trying to eat.” He took another dainty bite of his own. “So, for our project, I was thinking we--”

“Card! On th’ bag,” Crowley burst, struggling to find a few words. “The curry cart. Good place, my favorite.” He cupped one hand under his bowl, balancing it neatly while he bent backward from his chair to snag the paper bag from the trash.

“Do be careful,” Aziraphale said. “I’d hate for you to fall and hurt yourself.” He took the bag as Crowley handed it over, though, and examined the card stapled to the top. “Lovely,” he pronounced it. “We’ll have to try it again, find out what’s best.”

Crowley sat up, brushing rice off his shirt. “I don’t fall, I just sort of… saunter vaguely downward.” That something in his belly was twisting itself up in knots. We. Again. He didn’t think there were more lovely words in the entire universe. “Whatever you like, angel. Anywhere you want to go.”

Aziraphale shifted a little in his seat. “Yes, well. As I was saying, about the project--”

Someone knocked on the door and then it opened to reveal a slightly older student, immaculately groomed and wearing -- was that a bespoke jacket? “Just a routine check,” he said. “I heard voices.”

“Ah, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said. “Yes, this is Crowley, my partner for Professor Nutter’s class. I imagine he’ll be around quite a bit for the rest of the semester.” He gave Crowley a tight, thin-lipped smile. “Gabriel is our R.A.”

Crowley could almost feel all the synapses in his brain going off at once. “You’re Gabriel? Oh, that’s… heard about you, mate. All good things.” Of course. Literally anyone who lived on Hell’s third circle knew about Gabriel. Beez had… well, Crowley couldn’t decide if it was a thing for Gabriel romantically, or a thing for Gabriel like wanting to cut his head off and stick it on a pig pole. Somehow, Crowley had pictured someone who was… less of a prissy little bastard, though.

“Well of course they’re all good things,” Gabriel said with a self-assured smile. He looked them over. “Is that curry? From off campus?”

“Nothing against the rules in that,” Aziraphale said.

“Perhaps not, but I wouldn’t want to soil my vessel with it,” Gabriel said disapprovingly.

“Your body is a temple, we can tell,” Crowley said, insincere and dripping with it. “Shoo, bzzz. We have work to do.” He waved one hand around, nearly knocking over a book. “We’re all fine here, surely you have the whole rest of the dorm to watch over.”

“Yes, quite,” Gabriel said, entirely missing Crowley’s sarcasm. “I’ll look in again later!” He waved and backed out of the room again.

Aziraphale sighed. “He means well, I’m sure.”

Means well? Means well? That was utter bollocks. “No, he means to be flaunting his authority.” He stretched the word out obscenely. Author-a-taaaaai.

“Well, better Gabriel than getting Her involved,” Aziraphale said, pointing upwards with a meaningful lift of the eyebrows. “You know. The dorm monitor.”

“I’m not entirely certain She exists,” Crowley muttered. “So, angel. Project. Let’s do this.” He scraped the last bit of his curry out of his bowl, tossed the bowl in the trash, and then his jacket in the other direction, landing neatly on a pile of books -- there was nowhere else for things to go, why on earth did Aziraphale need so many books. Surely he couldn’t possibly have read them all.

“Yes, let’s,” Aziraphale said, looking pleased again. He reached into a pile of books and brought out the class textbook, from which he withdrew a folded copy of the syllabus. “We’ll need to choose our subject group, and then our set of cues to interview for. Or perhaps we should do them in the other order.”

Crowley discovered another good side effect to having no text; he was constantly having to read over Aziraphale’s shoulder, or nudge him into pushing the book across both of their laps. He didn’t think he’d ever been quite so pleased to be part of a group project before. Aziraphale had really gorgeous handwriting, too, taking notes on their project so that Crowley didn’t have to.

His phone alarm chirped somewhat after seven and he hadn’t even realized that he’d been there for three hours. “Need t’ grab a bite to eat before my last class,” Crowley apologized. Then, as if it had just occurred to him, “want to have dinner with me?”

“Oh, that would be simply divine,” Aziraphale agreed brightly. “Where shall we go?”

“Just the commons,” Crowley said, trying not to wince as Aziraphale’s smile flattened a bit. “Can’t eat off campus all the time, otherwise, what’s a meal plan for? Besides, I have t’ run to astronomy, right after.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Aziraphael allowed. “Astronomy sounds interesting, at least.” He packed up his books. There was an ink smudge on the side of his face that was entirely too cute. “Very well, let us go and see what’s on offer that’s least likely to give us indigestion.”

They made an odd pair, strolling across campus. At least Crowley noticed more than half the student body turned to watch them pass. He wondered how he’d never seen Aziraphale before, the man had an aura about him that was like a gravity well made of light.

Crowley was not a gourmand of any sort; he liked fizzy drinks and greasy take-away, when he remembered to eat at all and not just talk through the entire meal to whoever happened to sit at his table.

And it was his table. He barely raised an eyebrow when the chattering female students who’d clumped there scattered like startled ducks. “Mister Crowley,” one of them exclaimed as he dumped his tray in front of where she’d been sitting and then waited until she vacated the spot.

“Sit down, angel, take a load off, those books look like they weigh as much as you do,” Crowley teased.

“Oh, hardly that much,” Aziraphale said, but he set his books down. “You didn’t have to run them off; we could have found somewhere else to sit.”

“Well, I didn’t have to, no, but it’s so much fun. And this is my spot,” Crowley said, sprawling on the bench. “Right here, my initials…” He traced his thumb over the groove in the wood, the pale color against the dark patina of age on the bench. “A. J. Crowley.”

Aziraphale looked slightly scandalized, but he reached over to rub the carving thoughtfully. “What does the A. J. stand for?”

“Anthony,” Crowley said. “The J’s… just a J. You know, it’s a thing.”

Crowley picked at his food, eating the tips off his chips, leaving the mushy middles on the plate. Took the crust off the top of his steak and kidney pie and sorted through the resulting mess trying to figure out if there was anything in there that had once even vaguely been near a cow.

Aziraphale picked at his dinner just as listlessly, though he’d managed to snag some fruit that looked half-decent, and he made consideringly pleased hums around his pudding. “So, astronomy, then? Is that your major?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said. “I like the stars. Beautiful nebulas. Makes all this--” he waved a hand around, indicating the commons, the college, the country, the whole miserable planet. “--seem a little unimportant. Which is the only thing that gets me through conversations with my mother.”

“Stars are nice,” Aziraphale said, somewhat diffidently. “I prefer literature, myself. All the different ways we have to express an idea or a feeling -- it’s fascinating!”

Crowley was just getting ready to launch into his favorite topic, how the entire universe had formed and that, however unlikely, it had made such a delightful person as the one sitting across the table from him, when-- ooff, something hit him, nearly knocking him out of his chair, more from surprise than anything else.

Another squishy thud and Aziraphale’s cream coloured jacket suddenly had a big, blue stain on it.

He looked over his shoulder at the stain in swiftly increasing dismay. “That’s not coming out,” he said, pouting. “My favorite coat! It’s ruined!”

Crowley reached over and ran a finger through the stain. “Blueberry pie,” he confirmed, then glanced around the room. He loaded a mushroom, some gravy and a bit of pie crust onto his fork and-- there. Davis, the economics major, talking in a low, conspiratorial voice with some of his fellows. “This is about to get nasty,” he predicted, and then launched the forkful of pie directly at Davis’s hair.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said. He picked up his tray and held it up like a shield. “This is so juvenile, really!”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Crowley said, ducking a poorly aimed bit of baked cod. “Oh, look, it’s your R.A.”

“What, where?” Aziraphale peeked over the rim of the tray. He spotted Gabriel just as the R.A. took an entire soft-serve ice cream cone to the face. Aziraphale coughed out a laugh and then quickly covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes still dancing.

A quick scan of the room, and he found Beez and their group of hangers-on. “Get ready to run, angel,” Crowley said. He moved, quick, lithe, and stealthy, snuck the bowl of treacle pudding from Beez’s table while they were occupied looking at something else and launched it at Gabriel, before flattening himself on the floor to crawl back over to Aziraphale.

“This way!” Aziraphale said, pointing. “We can sneak out the staff entrance!” He gestured for Crowley to go first and followed, holding that tray over Crowley’s head for protection.

They made it to the door, dodged around a confused caretaker, and found themselves outside in the courtyard, Crowley laughing so hard it was difficult to stay upright. “Well, that was exciting,” Crowley said, practically hanging off Aziraphale like a scarf.

Aziraphale was laughing, too, in that restrained sort of way that meant he was trying not to. “The looks on their faces,” he gasped. “Oh, that was wicked. We shouldn’t have done that.” He didn’t try to distance himself from Crowley, however.

“Of course we shouldn’t’ve,” Crowley said. “That’s what makes it delightful. Here, give me that--” He held out his hand. “Your coat. I’ll get it cleaned.” If nothing else, it would give him another excuse to visit, something not schoolwork-related.

“Really?” Aziraphale beamed up at him. “Thank you.” He shucked the coat and carefully folded it stain-inward before handing it carefully over. “Well. Delightful as that was, I believe you have class. And I have homework to attend to.”

“Sure,” Crowley said. “I’ll… see you around.” He watched as Aziraphale walked away, looking somehow even more delicious in his light blue shirt and the silken back of his vest displayed. It was… charming and adorable and… “Bugger,” Crowley said. “I’m in trouble.” He brought the jacket up to his nose, inhaling the scent of Aziraphale’s cologne. He was… desperately in trouble. And not just because he was going to be late for class.

#ineffablehusbands bingo #Good Omens #crowley x aziraphale #university AU

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gumnut-logic · 5 years ago

Text

Rescue Number Five

Title: Rescue Number Five

Author: Gumnut

28 - 29 Aug 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: He just wanted ice cream.

Word count: 2741

Spoilers & warnings: Plotless Virgil whump, I’m sorry :D

Timeline: Standalone

Author’s note: This is for @melmac78 for her birfday and for inadvertently inspiring it with this comment regarding my brain fry of late – ‘no need to collapse for it... save the fainting bit for Virgil stories. 😊’ Many thanks to @vegetacide for adding the ice cream to this and also for her wonderful support while I sob all over fandom with my woes :D (In fact, you’ve all been lovely regarding my whimpering, thank you ever so much for being such a wonderful fandom to play in). The only downside is that this fic reflects my current lack of brain and is little more than a scene with very little purpose other than to play with the above two prompt points :D I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Rescue number five.

In twelve hours.

Non-stop.

Thunderbird Two hovered above a parkland in the middle of a city, right next to a stadium.

It was hot. The middle of the Australian summer. Midday.

The stadium was on fire.

A eucalypt stood at the entrance, its leaves alight and burning fiercely. The local MFS were well into the conflagration, but there was a serviceman stranded high up in one of the huge lights far above the grandstand.

That was why he was here.

Scott was on his way over. He wasn’t really needed, but he had ranted about those last twelve hours and claimed Virgil needed back up.

Virgil needed sleep.

He was hot, sweaty and he stunk. Hot weather was the theme for the southern hemisphere and today’s array of rescues. One on each major southern continent, bar Antarctica, one in New Zealand, just for a little backyard fun and this was the second one in Australia. Good old burn your ass off Australian summer, now thirty percent hotter thanks to climate change.

Antarctica was looking more attractive by the second.

But then give that continent another fifty years of that climate change and it might be positively balmy.

But, yes, stadium, on fire.

Rescuing someone from a high point in a relatively open area was no difficulty. Virgil swung himself and a harness out underneath his beautiful ‘bird and snagged the man from his perch. No injuries. Actually, the man was quite happy. Kept babbling on about meeting International Rescue and doing a great fanboy interpretation.

Usually, Virgil would have smiled graciously and let the man babble. But today, his head was aching and, to be honest, maybe Scott was right. Maybe he did need back up.

So this fan didn’t get much of a smile, just a few polite words from a very tired man.

He must have picked up on it, because his expression became concerned as Virgil helped him unstrap the harness once they were safely aboard Two.

“You okay, man?”

“I’m good. Are you sure you are uninjured?”

The guy shrugged. “I’m fine, thanks to you. Say, can I get your autograph? You are Virgil Tracy, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, um, I guess.”

He got a good stare for that intellectual response.

“I’m sorry, sir, it has been a long day. I will land Thunderbird Two and we can get you seen to.”

“I’m fine, Mr Tracy.” Another frown. “But I’m not sure you are. You’re looking kinda pale.”

He so didn’t have time for this. Turning away, he didn’t answer, simply leading the rescuee to the cockpit. He made sure the man was strapped in and then took Two out of her hover and banked to land in a clearing outside the stadium.

Her landing gear clunked onto the lawn as smooth as ever and his ‘bird came to a rest.

Virgil let himself sink just that little more into his seat in sympathy.

The briefest of moments and then he was up and hustling the rescuee onto the hatch and lowering it onto the grass.

As always, a crowd had gathered at the sight of the great green Thunderbird, and Virgil had to beckon over the emergency services to assist the man protesting his health.

Another moment and Virgil was free of him and raising the hatch to shut the world out.

He technically could go home now, but...stadium, on fire.

It took two hours to put it out.

By the time the last of the smouldering was killed off, it was obvious that it was deliberately lit. Some asshole had lit a fire that had injured children.

Virgil was glad he had been called in because he had managed to save those children. A school group had been trapped and it had taken Virgil’s exo-suit to get them out. There were burns, tears and screaming, but they were all alive.

And the fire was out.

God, he was hot.

He didn’t have his fire suit with him. It was a forty-degree Celsius day and, well, fire was hot. He was currently standing waiting to report to the fire chief. Scott had arrived halfway through the rescue and was fielding the media on the other side of the park. Scott hated the media, but he had more patience at this moment than Virgil.

More of everything.

His exo-suit was heavy.

His shoulders were aching. In fact, all his joints were aching. There had been a point there where a roof had collapsed on him, but since it was the second roof today, he shook it off.

He just wanted to go home.

The fire chief was still talking to someone else.

He could interrupt.

“John, can we do a delayed incident report? I’m really tired.”

“Virgil?” He could hear the frown in John’s voice. It was an out of character request. Virgil was always pedantic about onsite communications in large multi-service incidents. “You okay?”

“I’m hot, tired and I haven’t had a chance to pee for the last five hours. Can I go home now?” There was an itch under his baldric that he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach. He could swear, but if he started, he didn’t think he could stop and extreme profanity wasn’t a role model thing.

“I will compile a report for the Adelaide Metropolitan Fire Service. You are officially free to go, Virgil.”

Thank god. “Great. Launch in five.”

He turned away from the huddle of fire specialists and took a step in the direction of his ‘bird. Every joint creaked.

His eyes passed a pink trailer.

Pink? His brain immediately delivered Lady Penelope as a first thought, but no, it was an ice cream truck.

Ice cream.

Cold, creamy, probably with chocolate, ice cream.

He needed ice cream.

If his sight narrowed to that pink truck, it was only because he was so hot and in need of the cool touch of iced confectionery.

Cool.

To be cool.

He was halfway there when the truck doubled. Wha-?

He stopped, his suit wheezing.

“Virgil?” John’s voice sounded worried. “Virgil, respond.”

“Uh?” He tried to raise his hand to his head, but it was trapped in the claw of his suit. It took a moment of thought to work out why.

“Virgil! I’m contacting Scott.”

Why? What for? He screwed up his eyes. God, now he was dizzy. So damned hot.

He needed some ice cream.

Ice cream.

A step and he was wobbling. He flung out an arm, attempting to keep his balance, but his arm was a giant claw and instead, it took him over.

The ground was hard.

His suit was heavy.

It hurt.

Too much.

He didn’t hear two brothers yelling his name.

-o-o-o-

Scott hated the press.

They always wanted the dirt, not the facts, the gossip, not the truth. It took everything to not explode in front of them.

“Mr Tracy, was International Rescue needed at this incident because the MFS just couldn’t meet the need?”

“International Rescue is available to assist in any extreme circumstance. This was such a circumstance and is not reflective on the efficiency of your fire service. Without your fire service many lives would have been lost today.”

“But why were you needed if the MFS could do the job?”

“An extra helping hand never hurts.”

“Thunderbird One?” John’s voice cut over the cacophony of reporters. “Thunderbird Two needs your assistance.”

The press immediately caught onto that with various versions of ‘what’s happening?’ and ‘where’s Virgil Tracy?’ popping up amongst the crowd.

He ignored them all. There was something in John’s voice.

He excused himself and, to the sound of their protests, turned away from the media and strode purposefully in the direction of the green bulk of TB2 in the distance.

“John, report.”

“Virgil...I’m not happy with his vitals. His heartrate is up, his body temperature is high and I’m not getting a very coherent response from him.”

Doing the obvious math in his head, Scott broke into a run. “Where is he?”

“He’s still wearing his suit. Approximately fifty metres at your one o’clock.” John swore. “He’s down and not responding.”

Shit.

A moment and Scott could see his brother, face down on the grass. Several people were milling around him, but no one was actually doing anything.

Scott’s grimy uniform got twin streaks of green as he slid to his knees beside his brother. “Virgil?” The exo-suit was heavy and Scott was hard put to turn him over. Virgil was pale and limp, his forehead resting against the plexiglass of his helmet. “Virgil?!”

“John, give me the numbers.”

His brother ranted off Virgil’s vitals. Overheating? Exhaustion? Hidden injury? Goddamnit, Virgil!

“Sc-t?”

Pale eyelashes were blinking ever so slowly.

“Virgil, are you injured?”

“Huh?” His brother attempted to sit up and frowned when he couldn’t. “Wha’ happen’d?” Another blink. “Hot.”

The sun was beating down on them. They needed to get into the shade. A crowd was gathering. They needed to get out of here.

“Ice cream. Wan’ ice cream.” Virgil frowned and rolled over, got his knees under him, pushed himself to his feet and wavered...

Scott leapt up and caught him before he could fall on his face again. “Virg, what the hell?”

“Want ice cream.” His eyes were glazed and it was obvious his brother wasn’t thinking straight.

“C’mon, we’ll get you back to Two and you can have as much ice cream as you like when we get home.”

“Want ice cream now.” A claw swung around and Scott had to back out of the way. Shit.

“Hey, hey, Virg, wouldn’t it be easier to get ice cream without the suit on?” The eyes of the crowd were on both of them. This could go from bad to very bad very quickly.

“Suit?”

Scott took a step closer to his brother. “C’mon, Virg, I’ll help you out.” He reached towards the suit controls, his fingers dancing over the release.

His brother gasped as the suit came free. Without the leg supports, its entire weight would be on his arms.

“Let it go, Virgil.” Scott grabbed the shoulder supports, taking some of the strain. “Let it go and we can get some ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” His brother let go.

The suit fell one way, Virgil the other. It was only some fancy footwork on Scott’s part that enabled him to catch his brother.

The crowd scampered backwards as the suit hit the ground.

Virgil groaned as Scott caught him, stumbling, attempting to stay upright and failing. Scott was hard put to keep both of them on their feet. “Virg, we need to get you into the shade.”

“Need ice cream.” He attempted to push past Scott, but nearly ended up on his face again.

Scott hung onto him. “Virgil!” His brother was heavy and his struggling didn’t help.

“Ice cream. Need to cool down.”

“We can cool you down on Two.”

“Ice cream. Please, Scott, need ice cream. Too hot.” He tried to wrench himself free, but his knees gave way, Scott stumbled and they both went down, Scott barely managing to catch his brother before he face-planted in the grass.

“God, Virg.” If this was heatstroke, which Scott was pretty sure it was, it could become life threatening.

“Sir?” An ice cream was held out, a young woman offering it.

Scott had never been more grateful for an offering in his life. “Thank you, ma’am. Virg, look, some ice cream.” He held it where his brother could see it, offering it like a parent to a distraught child.

“Ice cream?” On his hands and knees Virgil looked up hopefully, his eyes still glazed. Scott reached over, unclipped his helmet and gently tugged it off. Virgil’s eyes closed as the heat of the day touched his skin. “Sc-t?”

Virgil collapsed before Scott could catch him, slumping onto his side.

The ice cream was hurriedly passed back to the woman. “John, vitals!” Virgil’s skin was hot to the touch. Scott didn’t hesitate, hooking his hands under Virgil’s arms and dragging him into the shade of the nearest tree.

The crowd followed.

The numbers John threw at him were even worse than before. “You need one of the ambulance crews, Scott. I’m contacting them now.”

Scott couldn’t help but agree. Deft hands hurriedly started removing Virgil’s baldric and paraphernalia. By the time several paramedics reached them, he was unzipping his uniform, hurriedly yanking off the heavily padded material and exposing his black undershirt.

Efficient words were exchanged. Virgil’s boots were removed, socks, and with a further yank, his uniform pants.

The sounds of phone camera’s taking pictures hurt. “John.” He spat his brother’s name over comms almost under his breath. “Privacy protocol, fifty metre radius.”

“FAB.”

The advantages of an AI on the team were many. As Scott attended his brother, he knew Eos was all around them, slipping into phones and cameras, silently stealing away any and all photographs of their prone family member.

During all of this, Virgil did not stir at all.

The paramedics were efficient and within minutes, his brother was prepped for transport to the Royal Adelaide Hospital, little more than a kilometre away.

With a word to John to secure the Thunderbirds, Scott climbed into the back of an ambulance with his brother.

-o-o-o-

He was floating.

In ice cream.

Floating in ice cream?

He frowned. That couldn’t be right.

Could it?

His skin was cool, but not cold. Not cold enough.

Not ice cream.

He startled awake to the sounds of a busy hospital, his hands splashing in water?

“Hey, hey, Virgil, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

“Scott?” Ow, ow, ow, headache. What the hell? “What?” He squeezed his eyes shut, a hand rubbing a medicated smelling liquid onto his face. Ugh. A number of blinks as his brain came online and he realised he was floating in a tub of that same medical smelling stuff.

“I am so glad you are finally awake.”

More blinking and his eldest brother’s blue eyes came into focus. “What the hell happened?”

“Heatstroke, my dear little brother.”

Dear, little brother? His brain was just functioning enough to realise he was in shit deeper than the bath he was lying in. “What did I do?” A cough and he cleared his throat.

Scott handed him a cup with a plastic straw. “Drink. You need it.”

Short, sharp, caring but ominous. “What the hell did I do?”

“What do you remember?”

Another blink and he forced his brain back. “Work. Lots of work.”

“Would it hurt you to call in your brothers for help?”

“It was only one rescue!”

“It was five!”

“It just happened! People needed help. I helped!”

“You nearly killed yourself!”

Virgil stared at his brother. “What?”

“You overheated. You worked too hard. You know the symptoms. Why didn’t you stop?”

“I...” A frown. “I didn’t realise...”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I...” Another frown. God, his head hurt.

“Exactly.”

“Um...”

“Why do you do this, Virgil?”

He stared at his brother. Scott was scared. Shit. What did he do? “What did I do?”

His brother mirrored his frown. “Virgil?”

“I’m sorry.” Whatever he did, he was sorry to have caused that expression on his brother’s face.

“Sorry is not enough!”

“Mr Tracy!”

Virgil jumped as a woman in white appeared at the end of his...bath, and rounded on Scott. “Your brother is ill. Please save your reprimands for later.”

Virgil blinked as a series of emotions rippled across Scott’s profile before he turned back to face him. His brother didn’t acknowledge the woman, simply turning his back to her. It was so unlike Scott to be that impolite that Virgil had the urge to climb out of the bath to comfort him.

“Scott, it’s going to be okay.” He reached out a wet hand and grabbed tense fingers, gripping them as if to massage the stress away. Fluid dripped on blue uniform.

“Yes, it will. And you will take better care of yourself.”

“Okay.” A slow blink and his eyelids were hard to open again. Scott was still staring at him with those worried elder brother eyes. “Where’s my ‘bird?”

“Where you left it. John has her secured.”

“Good.” It would be so easy to just go back to sleep.

“Go back to sleep, Virgil.”

“Uh-hmm.”

“You can rest now.”

“Mmm...” A frown. “Scott?’

“Yes, Virgil?”

“ Umm...can I have some ice cream?”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #virgil whump

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lovablepiece-of-toast · 6 years ago

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@thatonedudewithasnzkink 's adorkeble ocs Nolan and Caden ~♡

Suprisingly, emeto

Me: What is the best way to whump Nolan?

Ya boii Theodore: Food poisoning

Me: Food poisoning it is.

And then I made it extra fluffy because these bois deserve the Best. Love'em

Thank you @thatonedudewithasnzkink for asking me if I could write about Nolan and Caden. You're amazing. This has been a wild ride.

Mentioned: emeto, vomiting, food poisoning, some swears.

Enjoy my attempt :)

☆~~~~~☆

It was an absolutely lovely warm summer day. And a day off on top of that. Caden was scrolling on his phone, sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table. His eyelids fluttered everytime the breeze from the turning fan hit his face. He had gotten over the coldsneezes a while ago. He smiled. Caden had an idea.

Nolan sat across from him, scribbling on a notepad, trying to figure out what they should eat for lunch and dinner. The week had been extremely busy for the two, with both working extra. At the end of May, the cafe was catering many gratuation parties and people frequented the pharmacy to stock up on all kinds of things for long vacations. So, neither Nolan nor Caden really had time to run errands, icluding buying groceries. Jasper had gone to visit his sister (the only nice relative) , so now they were left with a near empty fridge.

"Nolan", Caden looked up from his phone.

"Yeah", Nolan's curious eyes met his smiling ones.

"I think we deserve a date".

"A date, you say?", Nolan hummed. "Anything specific in mind?".Caden pulled a proud grin and handed the phone over. Nolan took a good look at the website presented. It was for a new sushi eatery and on the top of the page read in big, Asian-style letters:

Grand opening May 23rd

We roll with costumers orders!

"It's just down few blocks from here", Caden explained, leaning over the table, "And they say it's organic. We haven't seen eachother all week. I missed You Nolan Anderson!". Suddenly, Nolan's smooth lips were firmly pressed against his. Caden's eyes fluttered shut with suprise and he found himself akwardly tilting his head to get the best of his lover's embrace.

"Sounds good", Nolan said when they parted. Caden just noded, caught off guard.

"Le-let's go then!", he stood up and padded away, blushing madly and giggling. Gosh he loved that man.

----

Their walk home was uneventful. But while holding hands, Caden couldn't ignore how Nolan hastily squeezed his hand tighter every now and again. He tried not to think much of it, seeing as his giant boyfriend was very protective over him.

Caden concern grew quite a bit when Nolan muffled a burp into his fist. Sure, there was nothing unordinary about burping after eating if it wasn't for the grimace Nolan pulled as Caden glanced at his face.

" 'cuse me", Nolan smiled sheepishly, feeling his worried gaze. Caden puckered his lips and faced forward.

"You seemed to like the sushi", he stated casually.

"Yeah", Nolan took a deep breath and swallowed,"Of course. Thanks Cay, that was a great idea". He leaned down and pressed a kiss into Caden's crimson hair.

"You liked it too, didn't you? I was worried you'd eat yourself sick from all that dango".

"They're sweet. What can a man do!?", Caden shoved him playfully. Another full sounding burp rumbled off Nolan's chest and Caden huffed as it was right up his ear.

"Sorryh", Nolan chuckled, "Guess that's my stomach agreeing".

----------

But Oh the-ever-loving-scorching-sun was he lying. When Caden finally fished out the home key from his pocket, Nolan's not-at-all-agreeing stomach had creeped up to his throat. Caden opened the door and he quickly pressed past him, handing his phone and wallet to his boyfriend.

"Na-ture's call!", Nolan managed to say before swiftly dissappearing to their bedroom.

"Okay", Caden was left standing in at the doorway. He blinked and shook his head. Nothing weird about needing the toilet, he comfirmed and went to put the take-out into the fridge.

Next he went to his and Nolan's bedroom. As Caden was plugging his own phone to charge, a sudden massive belch coming from the bathroom nearly shot him out of his skin.

"No-Nolan!?", he yelp at the sound of a thick liquid hitting water. Caden's heart puonded in his chest. He tried to swallow the panic. As someone who often felt sick because of medication and seizures and just because, he damn well knew vomiting when he heard it.

And, as proven by the sheer volume of his boyfriend's sneezes, when Nolan was sick he was loud.

"Nolan?", Caden quietly knock on the bathroom door. The answer he got was sickly burp followed by more splattering.

"D-Don't-blah-com' in...", a strained voice echoed back. That's it. Caden ignored the request and opened the door...

And clapped a hand over his mouth to not get overwhelmed be the smell and suppress a gasp of shock. Nolan was hunched over the toilet still standing, gripping the top of the tank with white knuckles. Shirt absolutely drenched outlining every toned muscle of his torso, upright hair pointed all over the place and the blue-ish green eyes showed an emotion the redhead had rarely seen; Fear? Confusion? Definately shocked.

Shaking himself into action, Caden quickly moved to Nolan's side. Hand on his partner's back, he felt the back muscles jolting with abortive heaves.

"Oookay...", Caden helped Nolan onto the floor just in time as another wave of projectile vomit gushed from his lips. Caden swore he started to look a little green.

"Do-Do I need to call The Priest?", Caden winced, frow growing deeper. He rubbed Nolan's back, other hand smoothing stray strands of bleached blond hair off his clammy forehead in an effort to bring some comfort. It hurt Caden's heart watching his boyfriend, his guardian angel, get kicked in the gut by an out of nowhere puke-demon.

The violent wave of sick started to tapper out. Nolan dry heaved a few times and rested his head on his forearms on the dirtied rim of the toilet, panting like he had ran a marathon.

"Oooouuuu", he groaned with no voice left after purging. Caden rested his plam over Nolan's forehead.

"Hmm...I don't feel a fever", he stated.

"Nah, not a virus", Nolan breathed out," M'fine. Food poisoning just~ ", he wrapped his arm tightly around his midsection and heaved a trickle of puke.

"Well, good to know, but you still seem pretty bad", Caden continued gently massaging Nolan's shoulders, "You must be getting dehydrated by now".

Nolan whimpered and pushed himself away from the mess. Caden reached to flush the toilet and held back a gag as the dirty water whirled out of sight.

"Hey,Feel any better?", he asked softly. Nolan nodded slowly.

"Bit nauseous still. But think I'm done, for now", he swallowed and allowed Caden to lean him back against the tiled wall. The touch of cold through his sweat-soaked shirt made Nolan shiver. Yet it felt so good. Even without fever, the warm, humid air didn't exactly aid the warm, queasy feeling shifting in his stomach.

"I feel discusting", Nolan moaned.

"I believe", Caden unrolled some toilet paper and handed the wad to him. Nolan lazily mopped the strings of sick off his chin, threw it into the toilet and hugged his knees, eyes squeezed shut. He could finally take a breath, a deep, shaky breath. Caden patted his arm lightly.

"It's okay, Nolan", he assured. "I'll go get you some water, yeah? Do you need anything else?".

"M'good", Nolan was fiddling with the bottons of his shirt. The task seemed difficult with such shaky firgers. Caden offered to help and quickly worked them open.

"There we go. Let's get you into something more comfortable, too", he glanced at his poorly boyfriend once more before leaving to fetch the supplies.

And as soon as Caden was out of the room, he was again startled by sounds of merciless puking. Wanting to go back, he decited agaist it. Nolan must definately need water after being so sick. Caden made his way to the kitchen and filled one of Nolan's sportsbottles. The entire time he kept telling himself; "Don't you panic, don't you panic. Nolan needs you right now."

On his way back, Caden stopped to get a fresh set of clothes. A gym t-shirt and sweatshorts should do. They are light and comfortable.

Caden re-entered the bathroom and nearly dropped the things he was holding in shocked. Nolan was doubled over in front of the toilet, crying. He had a wad of toilet paper in one hand, firmly gripping the rim with the other. While tears rolled down his flushed cheeks he slowly moved the wad back and forth on the seat, spreading the vomit around.

"Nolan? What are you doing?", there was a mix of worry and confusion in Caden's voice. Nolan seemed to switch from autopilot to awareness before looking up.

"Mmm-made amess... I cle-hic-clean", he explained hoarsly through sobs; "Don'worry". Nolan looked utterly defeated and not at all up for the task.

Caden sighed, danced around Nolan to the cabinet and pulled out a rag.

"I'll clean it up while you rest", he dropped to Nolan's level. Nolan looked like he wanted to protest but Caden bopped his nose to stop the words.

"It's okay. I might be a little squeamish, but I puke often, it's hell. And I can't exactly carry you if you do deside to wipe yourself unconscious", he said affectionately.

Nolan seemed to get the hint but before neither of them could do anything, his face twisted in pain and he lurched foward, coughing up bile. Caden was quick to pat him on the back. More tears poured from Nolan's eyes and he thumbed them away.

"Shh, you'll be all right. Just let it happen and try to breath, I'm right here".

After several more minutes hacking and gagging Nolan collapsed into Caden's arms, breathing heavy and shallow. Caden held him and rubbed his arm. Nolan was a foot taller and more bulkier build, but at that moment as they sat on the bathroom floor, already gone nose-blind to the smell of sick, he seemed to fit just nicely onto his lap.

"Mr.Becker, I don't feel so good", Nolan mumbled, making Caden chuckle.

"I know. But don't you dare turn into space dust. Want some water?".

"Ye-yes", Nolan answered reluctantly. Caden reached for the bottle and unsrewed the cap. He wet a corner of Nolan's open shirt and used it to his boyfriend's face before bringing the bottle to his parted lips, tilting it just enough for small sips. With each gulp Caden felt Nolan relax and his breathing even out.

"There we go, you good?", he asked when Nolan moved away from the bottle.

"Mmm...tired", Nolan hummed, "Can we go to bed?".

"Of course!", Caden quickly set the water aside and carefully moved out from under him. "Can you get up?".

Nolan pondered a minute, hid his head and held out one hand; "Sorry."

"No problem". Caden grabbed it and the doorframe.

"And up we go". Using the frame as support, he slowly but surely levered both of them off the floor. It wasn't that difficult even. Most people might be deceived by his petit apperence but Caden had suprising hidden streght in him.

He hugged Nolan by the waist while the latter found his footing.

"Good to go?"

"Think so", Nolan let Caden dug under his arm and allowed himself to lean on him quite a bit.

"Let's get you comfy, yea? ".

If anyone would walk in at that moment, they might get the wrong idea. Nolan sat at the end of the bed, elbows pinned to his knees, one hand clapped over his mouth, near in tears and just looking generally drained. Caden was on one knee in front of him, biting his lip nervously peering up at his face, Nolan's other hand sandwiched between his own.

"Are you going to throw up?", he broke the silence.

Nolan nodded. He pointed at the small thrash can in the corner. "Ple-Please? I just need to this over with"

Caden moved fast and in no time the container was on Nolan's lap. He clutched it tight as a nauseas burp came screaming out with empty gags and saliva for days. Caden could only hold him and rub a soothing arc across his broad shoulders, all the while whispering soothing words.

Seeing there was nothing left to bring up, he took the thrash can and placed it on the floor.

"I'm sorry your tummy got so upset".

Nolan shook his head. "Not your fault. Tasted funny. And if you're okay...", he trailed off.

"Me? I'm fine, don't worry", Caden hadn't had time to think about himself, but nothing seemed off so far.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just worried about you. Now you just get comfy and rest. And let me take care of you. Okay that shirt needs to go", he rambled as he helped Nolan out of the damp shirt and jean shorts.

"I'll go throw these with the laundry. Here's a clean one", Caden patted the folded shirt next to Nolan and left.

When he came back a minute later, Nolan had managed to fall asleep. He must have been just that tired. A little smile crossesd Caden's lips. There was nothing to smile about in his boyfriend's misfortune, but c'mon, he slept like a baby. Arms outstretched and head tilted much like a toddler.

Quietly tiptoeing to the bathroom and putting on a mask and cloves, Caden was ready to face the toilet seat. It wasn't a huge mess but since Nolan had vomited from a standing height, the rim was splashed. For starters he flushed it again. The gushing of water suddenly sounded very loud and he hoped the other didn't wake up. Didn't seem like it. Good.

Caden was finishing up scrubbing, when the suffling of bed sheets and a deep groan could be heard. He rinsed his hands and peeked over to see a very drowsy Nolan sitting up, cradling his bare stomach. He whimpered with a pained grimace crumpled on his face.

Heart melting from sympathy and pity Caden crawled onto the bed and sat up against the headboard;"C'mere".

Nolan dragged himself and sluggishly snuggled up to his small lover. Caden guided his head to rest on his shoulder and began stroking his hair. The sweat and gel had mixed, making it a messy mop, so Caden took to smoothing down complitely. His other hand wordered to Nolan's stomach and rubbed gently. Nolan whined but pulled the hand back when Caden stopped.

"Oh, Does this help?", he obliged. Nolan's abs were rock hard from cramps and strain and it couldn't feel pleasent.

"Aha", Nolan shivered and huddled closer.

"Hey are you cold?". Caden's worry was growing greately. Sure the midday heat had died down since their date but it was still warm and most certainly not chilly.

"A little. Must be some draft. Ouu... hurts", Nolan cried out and broke out in cold sweat.

"Fuck I forgot how bad this feels. Had the stomach flu when I was 7 but that's about it. No upset stomach since then", he recounted.

"Well poor little Nolan", Caden teased and kissed Nolan on the cheek.

"Shut up", Nolan chuckled. Caden was happy to see him cheer up. After a fit of muffled giggling and like some little kids and "oh drop it" and "sorryyy" here and there, Nolan sighed and stared into space all melancholy.

"I guess all those classes and courses and lectures about food safety and foodborne illnesses they had us take weren't for nothing"

"Well what did they they teach you?", Caden was eager to know what was making his very healthy and frankly very protective boyfriend so, so sick yet let him, Caden, stay and care for him.

"Food poisoning or foodborne illness is caused by consuming food products contaminated with bacteria, parasites or other toxins and can range from mild to life-threatening", Nolan started as if he was giving a lecture, "Anyways, I seem to have to deal with the bacteria Staphylococcus aureus. The most common and 'harmless' type. Solves itself in a day or two. There's really nothing to do except vomit it out then rest and most importantly stay hyderated", Nolan put great emphasis on the last part. "Meds like Pepto Bismol can also be taken to ease the symptoms".

"So Pepto, more water and naps", Caden counted with his fingers and nodded. He got up to get the medicine and to refill Nolan sportsbottle.

"You can put that on", handed Nolan the t-shirt.

Caden found the hot-pink Pepto bottle and brought it to him. Nolan, who now had the shirt on, downed the pink liquid and washed it down with the cold, refressing water. After giving the bottles to Caden, he hummed relieved and laid down on his side, curling up a little.

"Naptime", he informed.

"Okay", Caden smiled warmly and stroke Nolan's messy hair until he was comlitely asleep.

With Nolan comfortable and sleeping, Caden figured there wasn't much to do but wait and hope for the best. He took his laptop from where it was charging, desiting to work on a few papers he had write for university before the summer break started. Before doing so he texted to Jasper:

Caden thanked him and put the phone aside.

He leaned over and pecked a kiss on Nolan's forehead.

"Schlaf gut, mein liebling", he whispered.~♡

☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆

Ps: also tagging @rachthecool who wanted to see this prompt in action (or a variation)

#other people's ocs #emeto #food poisoning #fluffy #date #sushi #vomiting #thanks @thatonedudewithasnzkink #nolan #caden #i died for verious reasons while writing this #i love'em

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maychorian · 8 years ago

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Weekly Voltron Fic Recs #28

Rules: You can find past weekly rec lists here, and non-list recs in my general fic rec tag. This is stuff I like, and I have a huge bias toward Lance, hurt/comfort, and general fluff, in that order. Gen unless otherwise noted. Please comment on the fics if you read and enjoy them!

Secret of the Blood by exclamation Words: 30,685 (WIP 13/?) Author’s Summary: AU version of season 2. When Keith and Shiro were thrown from the wormhole, they crashed by the Blade of Marmora headquarters and were captured. When the Blade reveal the secret of Keith's heritage, Keith must decide if he can trust these people... and if he can trust himself. My Comments: Really well-written canon-divergence AU. I love all the things that change because Keith meets the Blade of Marmora before he and Shiro can warm up to the idea of there being good Galra out there through Ulaz. It makes a HUGE difference, for them and for everyone else as well, and I love the way the idea is being explored.

The Color Of Our Planet From Far Far Away by LonelyGirlInSpace Words: 13,942 (WIP 3/?) Author’s Summary: A story in which Lance and the team has a lot of difficulties, because they don't sleep and sometimes make poor choices as a result and others are forced to suffer more than they deserve due to those poor choices. Or Lance gets hurt because the team didn't listen and everyone desperately wants to fix it. My Comments: Lance is a little too perfect and the rest of the team is a little too mean for my tastes, at least in the first chapter, but this is a well-written and poignant hurt/comfort fic, and it’s gen, and the third chapter almost made me cry, and I’m very, very hooked. Can’t wait for more.

with quiet words I'll lead you in by strikinglight for goukyorin (sashimisusie) Words: 5,216 Author’s Summary: “You were screaming,” Keith tells him. “I heard you through the wall. ”That wall, Lance wants to point out, is supposed to be soundproof. It shouldn’t let you hear anything, no matter how hard you listen. What he says instead is “I can’t breathe.” “Take it slow.” Keith’s voice is steady, but as Lance’s eyes struggle to focus his face is a blur. The image goes shaky and then comes clear, shaky then clear, like looking into water. “Pretend it’s low tide. Tell me about the ocean again.” My Comments: Klance, but reads platonic to me. Really lovely hurt/comfort fic about kids caught in a war far, far away from home.

Disappear Completely by Bandity Words: 7,053 Author’s Summary: Lance knew something was wrong with him. He thought it would pass on its own eventually, but as time went on, and the pain continued, he realized that something inside of him must be very broken. My Comments: Possibly my favorite fic this week. So far I’ve read it three times. Lance’s trauma is so awful and visceral, and the aftermath is realistic and carefully handled. There are no easy solutions, but things do get better, and everyone is doing their best to help.

Space Mall Take 2 by CondensationOnGlass Words: 3,618 Author’s Summary: Shiro won't stand for the Paladins looking like no-good troublemakers. And with the Galra Empire so spread out and with such a gripping hold, they may need more than what they have. And for some reason the mall seems like the place to get it. And it seems like a great place to have more trouble pop up. Aka: Where Shiro has to play the big brother and apologize for the others making a great big damn mess, and nearly has another one on his hands for picking today of all days to do it. My Comments: Equal parts comedy and hurt/comfort, and a joy to read throughout. Poor Lance.

Nomenclature by Awkwardly_social Words: 7,885 Author’s Summary: It took almost five months to find Lance after the wormhole. And when they finally do, they're stuck on the planet until the castle can come get them. Lance takes the opportunity to teach the team a little about the planet and a little bit about himself along the way. My Comments: Lance has had a rough time, and the gradual way the others find out is really well-handled. Plus the worldbuilding is just really neat. Also read the sequel for some great aftermath and Lance with PTSD.

It Is Enough by nadagio Words: 1,020 Author’s Summary: Nowhere near close to finding Shiro and uncertain what he should do now, Lance spends some quiet time with the Blue Lion. My Comments: Really sweet fic with Blue helping Lance deal with his grief and figure out what to do next.

mostly void, partially stars by dakhtar Words: 9,403 (WIP 3/?) Author’s Summary: “Werewolves can’t be astronauts,” Derek’s annoying voice had grumped. “Werewolves can’t be pilots. Werewolves can’t be fighter jet pilots, Lance, for God’s sake, Werewolves can’t pilot giant space robot cats that join together to become a giant space robot man and fight an evil purple bat-cat empire!” Well, he hadn’t said that last part, but Derek totally would’ve. (Alt title: seawolf) My Comments: Teen Wolf crossover, but I haven’t seen a single episode of that show and I’m enjoying this fic very much. The worldbuilding is really cool, and I love this take on Lance and the relationships he wants and needs and is trying to build.

Going Up! by Olive_theCat Words: 2,373 (WIP 1/?) Author’s Summary: When Sendak is chosen over Shiro to pilot the main engine test of the new Kerberos shuttle, he's got to take up an offer that Matt gives him: To be a camp counselor at the Galaxy Garrison summer program!Of course, herding five super-smart teenagers through some simulated astronaut training can't be all that bad, right? What could go wrong? Well, with the help of a malfunctioning little robot named Beezer towards the end of the summer...It turns out a lot can.SpaceCamp AU (movie and real life), constructive critisism is welcome! My Comments: Space Camp was one of those movies I watched over and over as a kid, and I can’t wait to see what my favorite space kids do in that setting. The author is having a lot of fun with it, and I am too.

Trust Fall by Pidgeon_Online Words: 2,869 Author’s Summary: Pidge usually dealt with her issues on her own. No one needed to be bothered with her problems when she could easily deal with them herself. Especially when it came to this. There was no way she would ask anyone for help with this. Because she was fine. She didn't need help.or Pidge definitely needs help before her body turns completely against her. My Comments: Poor Pidge, but I wish I had a whole team of adorable boys trying to help when I felt like this, so also not poor Pidge at all, I am jealous.

Uninvited Guest by YukiSkyes Words: 3,375 Author’s Summary: The most interesting stories about Glasycus Mountain, said to be the gateway between Earth and the Abyss, were the ones about the black dragon that guards it. There was no end to the people stupid enough to try to find Shiro and Keith would do anything to protect him and help hide his existence. One evening, Keith comes home to someone already inside. My Comments: This is the first of a series of nine stories so far, with the paladins in a fantasy AU, some of them not human anymore. It’s really fun, a lot of great worldbuilding, and some great character interactions. I’m really enjoying it, and I subscribed to the series.

The Once and Future Snore by hufflepirate Words: 980 Author’s Summary: Allura and Coran think about the past. Coran can't figure out how to tell Shiro he's as welcome to affection as all the younger paladins. Everybody ends up in the same nap pile anyway. (Note: Everybody (on the main team) is in this, but I only individually tagged the people who do something besides trap Coran in the middle of a nap pile while he's too asleep to know how they got there.) My Comments: Absolutely ADORABLE cuddle puddle fic focused around Coran. And can I note how wonderful it is that cuddle puddle fic is practically a genre in this fandom? Because it is.

The Home You Make by rednight16 for psyraah Words: 1,304 Author’s Summary: Sometimes the ones that end up close to you are the people that you least expect. My Comments: It’s so wonderful for Shiro to have friends who he is not responsible for, who can just talk to him as adults and have conversations that don’t have anything to do with saving the world. Yet another reason I would have been happy to have Thace and Ulaz stick around on the show.

shades of blue by behestha Words: 1,104 Author’s Summary: Eventually, Shiro's scales reach a tipping point. OR the one where Shiro has a panic attack and Lance gently helps him. My Comments: I love these two supporting each other in any situation, and this is lovely. Hinted Shance at the end, but reads as gen to me.

Trap by macShitFuck Words: 1,272 Author’s Summary: Alt title: Hell or High Water You don’t consider the amount of pain and panic an animal must go through when they’re caught in a leghold trap until you’re in one yourself. My Comments: Oh man, Hunk whump. This is brutal, but I love how he tries to calm Lance down even while he’s in horrible pain.

Turnabout is Fair Play by CondensationOnGlass for taylor_tut Words: 7,623 (WIP 2/?) Author’s Summary: Iconic pranks, blistering fevers, and fair play.Or, where some of the Paladins pull a joke and then get slammed with guilt about 8 hours later, and for others it is much more immediate.Based off a tumblr post by @taylor-tut. Might change the title. Multichapter, and in progress. I'm slow to update. My Comments: Probably my second favorite fic on this list, and yes, I read what’s available twice already. It’s a very indulgent kind of hurt/comfort that I adore, and I can’t wait for more. The prank the others pull on Lance really was harmless and cute more than anything, but he just happened to be in the middle of developing a terrifying and dangerous fever, so yeah. There’s some guilt there, poor babies.

Swallow the Sun by valkyriered Words: 1,934 Author’s Summary: Shiro has a panic attack. Kolivan tells him a story. Very background Shiro/Ulaz. My Comments: The worldbuilding here is freaking GORGEOUS, holy smokes. Just read it.

Defying the Odds by Mists Words: 13,562 (4/?) Author’s Summary: *Voltron Season 3 AU* Also known as: The Continuing Adventures of Space Dad Cat! Let's just say, a certain cockpit is not quite as empty as the paladins believe... "Highly improbable. Especially for this reality," he haughtily said with a self important air. "The odds of which being: one trillion, seven billion, eight hundred thousand, point three, two, eight, five-" SLAV! New chapter now up! The Voltron Paladins play "Dungeons and Dragons!" Poor Hunk tries to save his campaign from Lance and Pidge. While Keith and Shiro are helplessly along for the ride. Let the craziness begin! Deep character exploration. Friendship, Humor, Team as family! My Comments: Crack alert! This story is super fun, and I’m not just saying that because the most recent chapter has the kids playing DnD with Lance as a bard and Pidge as a rogue, nope, not at all.

The Pizza One by taylor_tut Words: 1,268 Author’s Summary: Like four people requested an AU where Lance is a pizza delivery man and delivers a pizza to the other paladins (modern, college AU) while running a very high fever. They make sure he gets taken care of. My Comments: This author just uploaded a whole CATALOGUE of Lance sickfics, so yeah, definitely check the author profile if you’re in the mood for a whole bunch of short fics featuring Lance injured, sick, feverish, or otherwise in need of care. I certainly enjoyed reading through the whole bunch. Picking this one out as my favorite for the way the others take in lonely, sick Lance who is just working way too hard and needs someone to look out for him. I love it.

Senmō by TheOtakuWithHazelEyes Words: 4,399 Author’s Summary: While under the effects of an alien fever, Shiro dreams of another time when he was sick. Confused and ill, he cries out for the only person he thinks can aid him- his mother. (A moment of Shiro bonding with the paladins stemming from him being sick, and a look into his thoughts.) My Comments: Really sweet hurt/comfort for Shiro, and some backstory that is poignant and lovely.

Day at the Beach by JackieNeedsMoreSleep Words: 1,804 Author’s Summary: The team takes the day off to go to the beach but Pidge has to deal with Lance and some other asshole's shit. My Comments: Really cute, fun teamfic.

Intrinsic by buttered_onions Words: 1,219 Author’s Summary: The first time Shiro felt the Force. My Comments: Miss Onions just writes the BEST AUs, gah. This is full of powerful moments. I’m so proud of wee Padawan Shiro.

Lost in the Fog by oldmythologies for melonbug Words: 2,395 Author’s Summary: Each one of them gives him something on his way back to them. My Comments: Great take on what happened to Shiro in the S2 finale and how the others get him back.

Allura's Twelve by windscryer Words: 2,217 Author’s Summary: The Paladins learn that while there are a great many differences between Earth and Altean culture, movie genres are not one of them. Some things are just universal. My Comments: Cute, fluffy teamy goodness. Just a pleasure to read.

Part of the Team by wingedflower Words: 3,785 Author’s Summary: After a training session gone terribly wrong, Lance finally reaches his breaking point. Luckily, Coran knows exactly what to say. My Comments: I just really really really love downhearted Lance and supportive Coran, gah, just give me all of it, just pour it over me, it’s SO GOOD.

Sweets at 7am by JackieNeedsMoreSleep Words: 1,223 Author’s Summary: Keith walks into the kitchen to find his friends baking. My Comments: Really cute, fluffy teamfic.

Emergency Lessons by Kalira Words: 3,210 Author’s Summary: Pidge, Lance, and Keith land in several 'emergencies' and pull each other through them. My Comments: Really lovely teamfic with a trio you don’t usually see put together. The second chapter was my favorite, but it’s all absolutely delightful.

Five Times: Keith and the Dads of Marmora by EdgarAllenPoet Words: 4,816 Author’s Summary: [Bonus, one time it literally saved his life and he really didn't have a choice but to roll with it]. So actually, this is a 'seven times' fic, but that doesn't quite have the same ring to it." 'If you want to rest more, I will stay. You are safe.' Keith wondered quietly how the person talking to him now was possibly the same leader he’d met at the Blade of Marmora." My Comments: I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. Parts are funny and parts are poignant, but it’s all good start to finish. Favorite line: “Antok, listen. Listen, Antok. They are toddlers.”

and yet by achieving elysium (Ogygia) Words: 1,194 Author’s Summary: After the Castle of Lions is reclaimed from Sendak, Coran finds himself left alone to his thoughts— guilt and sorrow for children who do not belong in a war. written for voltron angst week on tumblr | day one: smile My Comments: Oh man, Coran angst always gets me in the throat. Really good stuff.

7 Times They Noticed by the_unoriginal_fox Words: 5,549 (WIP 5/7) Author’s Summary: Lance was alright. He was happy. He was fine. Except when he wasn't.“Listen. Are you alright?” “Uh…are you alright?” “Are you okay buddy?” “Are…are you in good health, paladin?" Are…are you okay, paladin?" "Hey. You okay?"His team mates, his second family - they noticed. My Comments: It’s a genfic with Lance being supported by his entire team. I love it.

The Great Escape by Eastofthemoon Words: 2,619 Author’s Summary: Keith did not like being cold, but he hated being chased by the Galra even more. My Comments: The latest installment in one of my favorite Voltron fanfic series. Read it all if you haven’t before.

Previously Recced Fics That Updated:

Love and Other Questions by squirenonny familiar by achieving elysium (Ogygia) When You Reach Me by writterings Shifting Sands by Cardigan_Quincy A Dream Away by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) Here Stands a Man by awkwardCerberus A Song of Storm and Ice by BreakTheDawn Gate Keeper by MoonlitPaladin (MoonlitStardust) for cupcakelevi Masks by TiedyedTrickster As Color Fades Away by IcyPanther Must Surely Be Learning by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) Someplace Like Home by squirenonny The Meadows of Asphodel by Genesister (papirini) (now complete) Taking One For The Team by ShiningRegalia Little Lions by MidnightCreator (now complete) Truce by kyanve This Is New by TheHomestuckWhovian The Garden of Heaven by Genesister (papirini) It's Getting Darker But I'll Carry On by CamsthiSky A Million Stars Apart by SerenePhenix Coming Undone by Emerald_Ashes

#voltron legendary defender #weekly voltron fic recs #guys i'm starting to realize that i read a lot of fic #like a lot a lot #i might have a problem #fic rec #vldgen

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