#car accident (whump)

[whump-or-whatever]

The Whumpee is in the drivers seat of their car, Caretaker in the passenger. They pull up into a parking spot along the road. Whumpee says “I’ll just be a minute” and goes to get out of the car. Another car comes speeding down the road and clips Whumpee, sending them crashing to the pavement, before speeding off. Caretaker jumps out of the car, screaming Whumpee’s name, and rushes over to check on them.

[syncope-syndrome]

Because @whumpprentice and I keep getting recommended car blogs... car whump!

Seriously, where amongst my #cats, #nature, #pretty people fainting do you think I'm interested in cars, Tumblr?

TW: CAR ACCIDENTS, KIDNAPPING, DROWNING, VOMITING, DRUGGING

being trapped in the trunk of a car left out in the sun. they've slipped out of the restraints a few minutes ago, but the metal's too hot to safely touch, the heat exhaustion is weakening them, and there's not a sound from the outside. sweat makes their hands too slick to grab onto much securely and dripping into their eyes, mingling with the tears forming at the thought of them baking alive in this car, alone, and no one coming until it's too late.

sitting in the front seat next to their captor, the whumper's hand heavy on their knee as a reminder to stay quiet. the whumpee stares helplessly at the officer checking the car's registration, handing it back to the whumper with a smile and bidding them both a good day and a warning to go a little slower next time. there's triumph in the whumper's responding laugh, and the whumpee's heart sinks into their stomach as their potential savior walks away.

trying to slide their way out between two cars nearly crushing them, feeling the metal of the first car's bumper and the second car's license plate scraping and tearing into their skin with every little sidle.

a vital limb pinned down by crunched-up metal, the impact harsh enough to break bone. even if they wanted to move, they couldn't either way, trapped in by the wreckage and the intensity of their pain both.

a car sinking beneath the water, a whumpee's desperate struggle to try and shatter a window to escape. they bang their hand onto the glass until it's bruised, taking in a last-ditch lungful of air before they're completely submerged. finally, they find something sturdy enough to break the glass, but they have to pull themselves through the mangled window. every shard of glass that digs in or slices them brings a gasp of pain, and every gasp threatens the very little oxygen they have left.

a fever-ridden head pressed against the rain-cooled window, the passing streetlights and zooming cars a blur as the whumpee fades in and out.

trying to use anything and everything to keep the blood off the linen seats — the car's an antique, a rental, a friend's. if there was any other option, they wouldn't be in it at all... but there isn't. all they can do is smear more and more blood on their clothes, their blankets, even their bag in an utterly desperate and mispriortizing attempt to keep the car itself clean.

weaving through traffic with eyes on the rearview mirror, looking for the headlights of the car that's been following them for far too long. it's still there, even as they make a risky merge off the highway. it's still there, even as they make too many right turns through an unassuming neighborhood. it's still there, even as they run a red light to try and finally ditch them. relief floods their body as the tailing car stops, then there's a sickening, screeching crunch of metal on metal, and darkness.

rushing home after a bad date and an even worse dinner, struggling to focus on driving while working their throat hopelessly to keep their food from coming up again. their friend's voice drones on and on, blurring in the background as they lose the battle against their illness just as they pull into their residence.

a caretaker trying to hold a whumpee in place as the car swerves and weaves frantically towards the hospital. every sharp turn aggravates their condition, and the caretaker's voice is nearing overwork from the constant, reassuring whispers towards whumpee and the stern warnings towards the driver.

getting into a car after a party, stumbling into the arms of the all-too-eager-to-help driver. at the time, they think nothing of it, letting themselves lounge in the haze of a wild night out... but wait. they don't know this person well enough to get into their car like this. ... they didn't have that many drinks... this isn't their neighborhood... when they try to express this, their words slur to the point that the driver can't — or won't — understand them, and as their consciousness fades, the realization hits. that's not their friend's voice... it's whumper's.

[shyday-ao3]

@augusnippets day 6. Managed to hit 500 words exactly. Prompt car accident, Doctor Strange fandom. Set at the beginning of the first movie.

‘I hear you’re refusing your pain meds,” Christine accuses as she sweeps into his room.

“I hear there’s this thing called HIPAA.” Stephen slits his eyes open to peer at her. “Why are you hearing anything? Was it Rosall?”

“I’m not saying. But go easy on her. I am your emergency contact. Practically your GP.”

“I’m changing that as soon as possible.” His throat hurts. It takes work to get his voice above a hoarse whisper. 

“Be nice,” she says, apparently unphased. “You’d be in a better mood if you weren’t in pain, you know. Why aren’t you taking your meds?” 

His gaze takes in both of his tractioned hands. He’s not sure if he’s ever going to be in “a better mood” again. “Not refusing,” he grunts, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at them. “Titrating down.”

“You need them right now, Stephen. There’s no shame in that.”

“I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. I can see you sweating.”

He wants to move. Sleep on his side. Stephen squirms, already sick of this permanent position. His shoulders, elbows ache. “Maybe I’ve got a fever,” he tells her.

“Not according to this fancy machine. I can read it too, remember.”

“Crash didn’t give me brain damage,” he snaps.

She holds up both hands in surrender; his bicep twitches, the closest he can get to moving his own. They’re starting to really wake up now, bright sparks erupting across his pinned fingers. He fights to breathe through the pain. It’s already bordering on excruciating, but the longer he can go without the heavy meds the faster he can get out of here.

“Are you hungry at all?”

He coughs out a laugh. “No.” Immediately he regrets it. He should’ve said yes, gotten her out of the room before this gets worse. “Maybe.”

“Convincing,” she says. “Really, Stephen. Let me give you something.”

“No. I’m f–ngghgh– fuck –”  The pain is sharp and blinding, momentarily breathtaking. His upper body comes up off the bed, instinctively trying to curl around his hands. One of the tears in his eyes escapes to crawl over his bruised cheek.

“Okay… it’s going to be okay…” 

He doesn’t see her hit the morphine pump, but he feels it a moment later. He sucks in a ragged breath that sounds too much like a sob as his hands start to go blessedly numb. With fingers on his shoulder she eases him back down onto the pillows. The knots in his shoulders begin to loosen. 

“It’s only been three days, Stephen. Give yourself time to heal.”

Weightlessness and shattered glass. What if he never heals from this? The morphine pulls at his focus, stretching, dissipating. Dragging him down with its own particular gravity.

“Do you want to talk about it? The accident?”

“Want to sleep.” If he could turn his back on her and pull the sheets over his head, he would. Instead he has to settle for closing his eyes. 

He stays that way until she leaves the room.

[ohtobeleah]

Day Two: [An Angels Discretion]

Summary: When Bradley gets a call to say you’ve been involved in a major car accident, his whole world is turned upside down.

Warnings: Death, Bradley Bradshaw x wifeF!reader. Car Accident. Injuries sustained from a car accident. Pregnancy, Bradley in a state of existential crisis. Premature birth. Hurt/comfort. Goose cameo.

Whumptober Prompt Day Two: Unfortunate Fall, Car Accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

Word Count: 4.4k

Author Note: THIS IS AN ALTERNATE ENDING TO AN ANGELS DISCRETION ~ Please make sure you read the warnings provided. Disclaimer: I do not condone nor endorse the actions that are written about during the month of October. These works of fiction are just that, fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you to @ailesswhumptoberfor this year's prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It felt like time stood still yet had sped up all at the same time. Your entire world had been flipped on its head in the blink of an eye—you felt like your entire life was flashing before your eyes. A Rolodex of memories played out before you as you spun out and rolled down into the embankment. You didn’t know exactly how it happened or why it happened - but regardless of that, it still very much happened and you were still very much in trouble. 

It had been god-awful weather recently, so much so the Daggers had been grounded for the better half of a week. Bradley had been home for a change, pottering around the house baby-proofing sharp edges and making sure the crib was set up just like the instruction book had said. 

It seemed that people truly believed that the car you were trapped in for nearly half an hour had flipped and rolled hours ago. An empty mangled car on the side of the road—nobody stopped to see if there were any occupants. Nobody stopped to snoop. Nobody heard your cries— the cries of a woman in unimaginable pain. Hoping, praying, as you remained helplessly tangled in your seat belt. You had blood gushing from wounds you didn’t know what exactly had been caused by and had bones that shattered from impact. 

“Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

You stayed there, trapped in a mess of broken glass and twisted aluminium, whimpering as you rubbed your swollen belly. Seven months. Seven beautiful months carrying your child. Bradley’s daughter. You’d spent seven months promising to keep her safe - keep her sound. You didn’t know the gender but the feeling was there and it was strong, you were having a little baby girl. 

Bradley wanted to keep the gender a surprise, but you knew deep down with every fibre of your being that you were having a girl, that he’d be a girl dad till his dying day. But as you slowly brought your hand up to cup over your belly button? You knew something was utterly wrong.

“We’re okay, aren’t we spud.” You mumbled as your vision blurred and your head became far too heavy for you to keep it lifted. “Mama’s gonna take ca-care of you.” You struggled out before succumbing to the feeling of emptiness as you drifted into unconsciousness—the sound of your shattered phone playing your doting husband's ringtone. Replay by Iyaz. One final smile appeared on your bloodied broken face as you heard the all too familiar sound. 

Before.....nothing. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Baby seats shouldn’t be this complicated to fit!” Bradley groaned as he tried to figure out how to secure the baby seat into the backseat of the Bronco. Jake was too busy trying to reread the instructions. “Nope, I can’t do this right now I need a break.” The pair of naval aviators had been off work for the better half of the week and while you were out grocery shopping, Jake had come over to lend a helping hand at putting together some flat-pack furniture. “Good thing this baby isn’t coming for another few months.” 

“Ah, you’ve jinxed it now!” Jake teased, clicking his fingers at Bradley to grab his attention. “Also, apparently it’s meant to face the other way round.” Jake grinned ear to ear as Bradley deadpanned him. Giving up in entirety before he turned back to the house with a huff. “Oh come on! Where are you going, Rooster? we almost had it!” Jake laughed, jogging after his wingman up to the house. 

“I need a beer!” It had been a long afternoon for the two men who had done nothing but unpack and organise the nursery. Bradley was in his own nesting phase. He’d read in a bunch of parents’ books that nesting was something you’d go through in preparation for the little spud on the way. He was now finding that he was doing it too. 

“Oh, I’ll take one too.” Jake trailed behind Rooster into the kitchen. “Job well done deserves a bevy.” Just as Bradley opened the fridge and passed Jake the Budweiser, his phone began to ring out on the kitchen counter. “Oh—unknown number man,” Jake announced. 

“It’s probably Y/n.” Bradley twirled his wedding band as he stood to answer his phone that was sitting on the kitchen bench, not recognising the number lighting up his screen. For a moment he wasn’t going to answer because why would you be calling from an unknown number? But he just had a gut feeling. He’d called you a few times beforehand but you never answered, maybe this was you calling him back? 

“Hello?”

“Hello? Is this Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw?” A woman who sounded more panicked than calm spoke—needing a confirmation before continuing with her call. 

“This is he?” Bradley responded, turning back to Jake with a confused look on his face, eyes glancing up at the time. Five thirty in the afternoon. You should have been home an hour ago. 

“Lieutenant Bradshaw, we’ve just had a one Y/n Bradshaw admitted.” The woman on the other end of the phone call Bradley almost didn’t answer, explained. “Your wife, she’s unfortunately been involved in a severe accident and—“ Bradley didn’t hear the rest of what the nurse had to say as he dropped his phone, it clunked and clambered from the kitchen bench to the tiled floor below. “Hello? Mr Bradshaw?” Unable to process the news he’d just been told Bradley began to panic as his vision tunnelled and his mind went numb. 

“Jake—“ Was it Bradley’s fault? Was he a terrible husband for not noticing how long you’d been gone? Was there something wrong with your car? You’d mentioned a time or two that the air conditioning had been making a funny noise. “Jake I can’t breathe—“ Bradley clutched at his chest as he groaned, it felt like his entire world was collapsing around him. “I can’t fucking breathe.” 

“Oh-okay, yeah we’re leaving right now,” Jake confirmed as he spoke to the lady on the phone. Hangman had picked up the phone Rooster had dropped, he listened to what the woman on the other end of the line had to say as Bradley started to sob, losing his grip on reality. 

Jake reached out to touch Bradley’s shoulder in an attempt to confront the aviator whose world had just shattered into a million pieces, the moment he did though Jake Seresin witnessed his best friend collapse down to his knees in unimaginable pain at the thought of losing you. His girl. His wife. His best friend. The love of his life. The mother of...oh god the mother of his child. 

“Rooster we gotta g—“

“I can’t lose her!!” Bradley screamed as warm tears drenched his flushed face. “Can’t—won't lose her. I can’t!” Jake knew Bradley was hyperventilating, he’d seen a panic attack a time or two before when Bob had stayed in his spare room while his house was being painted. Jake also knew a panic attack when he saw one because he got them too. But this? This was a panic attack shrouded in heartache, one Jake would never understand. 

“Hey, hey Rooster.” Jake crouched down before his wingman— knowing he needed all the strength he could get. On the inside, Jake was a mess. If Bradley lost you that meant Jake lost you too. Holding the back of Bradley’s head as he leaned in. “Listen, man, this is so fucked up but she needs you, Y/n needs you to be there for her because she can’t do this alone? Alright? We gotta go— you’re her husband Rooster.” Jake reminded him. “Y/n needs her husband to be there for her okay? In sickness and in health you promised her.” 

Bradley sobbed uncontrollably—but he got up. Knowing Hangman was right. You needed him, and like fuck was he gonna let you slip through his fingers. 

“Okay, okay let’s go.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~

It’s needless to say Bradley Bradshaw was a mess—a sobbing, shaking, totally exhausted figment of his former stoic self in the private waiting room nurses had told him to wait in. Jake contacted your mum and dad, he called Mav and Penny too who were already on their way over to the Miramar Base Hospital because hell was Mav somewhat sob going to go through this alone. 

“We don’t know what’s going on.” Bradley could just faintly hear Jake on the phone with Phoenix as he sat and twisted his wedding band around his ring finger. It kept him grounded but the tangible reminder of your love did nothing to stop Rooster's mind from thinking of the very worst. 

“We haven’t been told a single thing—“ Jake sighed as he ran his hand through his sun-kissed hair locks. “No, no he’s not in a good way.” 

Bradley could hear only Jake's voice and only his answers. But he knew Phoenix would be going stir-crazy not knowing what had happened or what was going on, they all would be. Every single member of Bradley’s naval squadron had become like family to you both. Extensions on the small albeit perfect family you were just starting. 

Bradley thought he knew heartbreak, thought he’d been through pain. He’d lost his dad when he was just shy of three years old and his mother just after his seventh birthday. But nothing—nothing, compared to the heartache of not knowing what was happening to you. If you were alive if your baby was okay? If Rooster had just lost his young family before it had a chance to grow old. 

“Lieutenant Bradshaw?” An older-looking woman in scrubs asked as she knocked. Both Bradley and Jake looked up—both just as desperate for answers. “Hi,” She cooed. “My names Jannette, I’ve been with your wife since she came in—“

“H-how is she?” Bradley could barely speak at this point, he was too afraid to know but needed answers. Although he’d stood from the chair he’d been perched in he still twirled his wedding band around his finger. He still needed that tangible reminder. You loved him, no matter what the outcome was you would always love him. To the moon and back and twice over you’d say before he left for deployments. 

In all Bradley’s years, he always thought he’d be the one leaving you behind—he never once thought his wife who cut and arranged flowers for a living would leave him, the naval aviator who flew super hornets for a living. But here he stood in some twisted parallel universe that felt like a plot ripped straight from an episode of The Twilight Zone. 

“She’s critical, my colleagues are still working on her as we speak.” The room went silent as Bradley forgot how to breathe. Jake was by his side in seconds. “It's touch and go.” 

“My baby? How’s my baby?” If anything mattered to you, it was your unborn child. Bradley knew if anything happened to them that you'd never forgive yourself. You’d rather die than live a life without your baby. You’d done everything in your power to make sure they had the best chance of being strong healthy and safe. You’d been the perfect mother. 

“She” The nurse smiled. “Is okay, we did, however, have to do an emergency c-section because your wife was unfortunately not able to carry her to full turn due to her uterus filling with blood.” It was a whirlwind of emotions. Bradley Bradshaw was suddenly a father, he had a baby girl. 

“Rooster, you have a little girl.” Jake helped Bradley take a few agonising steps as he took in the news. You’d given him a baby girl. A tiny little you. How could he ever thank you enough? How could he ever begin to repay that debt of gratitude, of love? 

“You can see her if you’d like? She’s in the NICU.” Jannette explained. “But you won’t be able to touch her without protection until she’s used to the new environment, premature babies can catch infections and colds despite our best efforts, so it’s best she says in the incubation chamber.”

“C’mon Bradshaw, let's go meet your little girl, yeah? You know Y/n wouldn’t want her left alone.” Jake was right. Bradley could hear everything going on around him but he couldn’t speak. He was still taking all this in. He was a dad, a girl dad. He was the father to your daughter and you weren’t here to see him start this new chapter. 

God, it was bittersweet. 

“When will I know how my wife is?” Bradley asked as he followed the nurse he towered over—she had a little waddle that Jake couldn’t help but notice. 

“You’ll be the first to know her updated condition, Lieutenant, but from what I’ve seen so far your wife is one hell of a fighter, not a lot of people in her condition would’ve come out of that alive.”

Braduheld onto that tiny shred of hope, clung to it for dear life as he followed the nurse to meet his baby’s girl—way too early. How do you introduce yourself to a baby? Jake was right beside him. Do you think Jake Seresin would ever let his wingman walk alone through such a tragedy? 

Absolutely not. 

“Bradley, this is your daughter, obviously she doesn’t have a name so we called her Jane as protocol - short for Jane Doe.” The little girl was so incredibly tiny. She was dwarfed by wires and tubes connected all over her tiny body helping her little lungs breathe. Bradley couldn’t distinguish if she looked more like you or him. But fuck he wished she looked like you. He took a seat next to the incubator that held his bundle of joy. The joy he’d been blessed with by you. The joy and light of his world he’d helped create, a blend of you and him. 

“H-hey little one.” Rooster struggled to talk. “I’m your Dadda, your mums in a little bit of a situation right now but I’ve got you yeah?” Tears ran down Bradley’s face as he placed a fingertip against the glass. “I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you, ever.” 

Rooster always said he’d never love anyone more than he’d love you—but this little girl? God, she was already Bradley’s entire fucking world. For a single second, he forgot you were in surgery. Watching as your daughter's tiny lips curled into a soft smile for a mere second. Bradley liked to think it was her acknowledging his presence. 

“Bradley?” Jannette interrupted, Bradley had forgotten all sense of time as he sat with his baby girl. “It’s your wife—she’s stable, sleeping but stable. She’s being moved to the ICU for around-the-clock observation.”

“When can I Uh, when can I see her?” Bradley let out a sob as he thanked the heavens above, his little family was okay—not great, not thriving with heath, but okay. Stable. Jake finally allowed himself to breathe for the first time all night. 

“We can go up there if you like?” Bradley nodded in response—looking over at Jake who already knew what his wingman was about to ask. 

“I’ll stay here, keep her company, go get your girl Rooster.” Jake hugged Bradley as tight as he ever had before. “You’re a dad man, congratulations.” Being the big brother Bradley needed but didn’t have. “I got you brother.”

Bradley didn’t know what to do when he first saw you—he stood at the doorway just staring at the woman who had given him everything. So injured, so hurt. And he couldn’t do anything to help ease your pain. Even through all the injuries, tubs and wires, much like the little girl you gave precious life to, you still look beautiful. So gorgeous, so at peace. 

A soft “oh god” escaped Bradley’s mouth as he held back sobs walking towards you. Nurse Jannette giving him the space he so desperately needed with you. Bradley took in the sight before him. His beautiful wife, the mother of his daughter, lying so lifeless in a hospital bed. He wished so badly you could be at home with him right now, tangled in the warm sheets, smiling and being your “happy-go-lucky” self instead of here. He wished so badly he could take you anywhere else in the world. 

Anywhere but here—like this. 

“Hey beautiful,” Bradley whispered. Biting his bottom lip to stop himself from breaking down for what felt like the one hundredth time tonight. “You don’t know it yet but you’re a mama, and dammit baby you’ll be the best fucking mum on earth.” Bradley grabbed the nearby seat and pulled it close. Once his hand was in yours there was no place else Rooster wanted to be than right by your side. Although he wished the two of you could be anywhere else together. 

“You’re gonna be okay baby, maybe not today or next week? But you’ll be okay. I won’t let you be anything but okay.” Bradley mumbled through soft sobs as he took notice of every injury that plagued your body. Every cut, stitch, wrap and blood-stained patch that littered the soft and supple skin he loved so much. Bradley especially noticed the gash on your cheek—stitched. 

As Rooster sat with you, he could see your eyelids moving. He knew you were conscious, just sleeping. Heavily medicated, he knew you could hear every word he spoke. But soon Bradley Bradshaw watched in awe as you placed your hand over your stomach. Checking to see if your little spud was alright. When you noticed how small your stomach felt you moaned. 

“My—my baby?” Your eyes weren’t even open yet and you already knew something was terribly wrong. Even if your entire body was in agonising pain you needed to make sure your baby was alright. 

“Hey shh, shh, shh, I got you.” Bradley cooed, his hand gently reaching out to cup your cheek—the side without any noticeable injuries that would bring you discomfort. “She’s alright mama, she’s here a little early but she’s okay—j-just like you yeah.” 

“She?” Your eyes opened slowly at the sound of your husband’s voice—your neck killed as you turned to face him. Giving up quickly. Bradley was quick to notice the wince you let out. 

“She mama, our little girl. Both of my girls gave me a pretty big heart attack this afternoon huh? Are you trying to kill me, honey?” Bradley smiled. Noticing how you smiled back for a brief moment before the muscles in your cheeks gave up. 

“I’m so sorry” You whispered—eyes closed again as you couldn’t stand the light of the room. “I don’t know what happened— no one came though.” You started to cry. “No one came when I called for help for so long.” Bradley leaned in to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m here, I came, I’m not going anywhere my love.” Rooster sobbed back, sometimes being strong meant crying along with the ones you love. “God, I thought I lost you.” 

“He said it wasn’t my time to go.” You sighed, clearly fighting off the urge to fall asleep. So groggy from the medicine that even the thought of being a mother hadn’t truly set in yet—all you cared about was that your baby was safe. She was alive. 

“Who did bub? One of the paramedics?” Bradley asked, a little confused as he pushed some hair away from your face and made sure the oxygen tube was sitting just right. 

“He was in the car, said I couldn’t leave you yet, that you’d be lost without me.” You softly grinned while your eyes rested. “Had a moustache just like yours.” 

Bradley sat back in shock as he watched you drift back to sleep. Holding your hand thinking how the universe worked in mysterious ways. Bradley had promised to love you in good times and in bad - through sickness and in health. He’d live in the damn hospital if he had to—anything to be by your side. 

“God I hate it when he does this.” Goose groaned as he watched his son’s name appear on the shattered phone on the floor of your busted-up car. “You’re not ready, it’s not your time so why bother even putting you through this crap.” The man spoke as you fell unconscious. “It’s not your time my dear and my son certainly needs you by his side or he’ll go crazy.” You listened, tried to nod, smile, anything to let him know you heard him. “You’ll be alright kid.”

Bradley Bradshaw had his family. He had his daughter, he had you. Going back and forth with Jake from room to room watching as both his girls slept. Both of you were still so unaware of the turmoil Bradley had been through. He nearly lost you. Without you? Bradley would’ve been helpless. 

But someone watching over him knew that as well as he did. A guardian angel not only watched over him....

But over his girls too.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Life always seems to be far too good at throwing unexpected curve balls at unsuspecting victims. It has a way of being able to knock the wind from your lungs all the while ripping your heart from your chest. Unimaginable pain and sorrow seemed to be the universe's favourite seasoning. Like msg or garlic salt. Whatever God or deity that was at the wheel needed its kicks, needed that morning fix of watching its human puppets experience the worst of what the world had to offer. It needed that rush of adrenaline while watching those who trained in medicine try to solve the issues occurring in your hospital room. 

Like ants, they watched everyone rush around as all kinds of bells and whistles rang out in the early morning. The sun had yet to kiss the horizon, you had taken a dramatic turn. And while you stood by the edge of your hospital bed watching doctors and nurses alike try to bring you back from the precipice of death, you knew this was it. 

“The worst part about it is the people we leave behind, my dear,” Goose, Bradley’s late father explained as he stood beside you. You could only describe him as your guardian angel, a guiding light through this experience. He’d already tried his best to keep on in the living realm for the sake of his son who’d already lost too much. But unfortunately, it seemed as though it may have been your time after all. 

“Am I dying?” You asked softly as you watched the team of medical professionals try everything in their power to bring you back. “I thought–” Your voice broke as tears began to stream down your face. “I thought I was fine, they said I was fine?” 

“Sometimes it just doesn’t go according to plan, my dear.” Goose sighed as he watched with you. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to watch. His son’s greatest love was dying right before him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

“What about Bradley, my little girl? What are they supposed to do without me?” You asked as the panic set in. No. this couldn’t be happening. Things like this don’t happen to good people, right? “No, no I don’t accept this, I need to go back!” You cried out as you tried to move forward. Goose tried his best to stop you, but you were quick to shrug him off. “I need to go back, no no no no no–” 

“I know it’s hard Y/n,” Goose tried his best to give you the comfort you so desperately needed right now. “But if it’s your time, then it’s your time, we have to accept that it’s a part of the plan.” 

“Well FUCK the plan!” You shouted as you turned back to your husband’s dad. “I’m not dying on him, or my baby girl! I won’t do that to them! Not now! I can’t, I can’t do that to him please!” 

“Time of death–” Everything went quiet. The room felt so still like not a person in the room was breathing or thinking a single thought. “03:24 am” 

“No!!!” You fell to your knees in utter agony as you watched yourself lying lifeless in that damn hospital bed. “Bradley–” You sobbed as you felt an ache in your heart you’d never felt before. “No–” 

“I’m so sorry my dear,” Goose held back his own tears as he watched on. He knew what this agony felt like, the pain of feeling like you let the love of your life down. “I’ve got you–” 

“My baby girl–” It was hard to hear, the turmoil of grief set in, but Goose knew this was all a part of the process. Time would hopefully heal the wounds of death and one day, soon enough, the three of you would be reunited. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

It was the most heartbreaking to bear witness to. You couldn’t leave without seeing Bradley, without seeing your husband. No one was expecting you to take such a dramatic turn so quickly. The doctors and nurses who had worked tirelessly to save your life thought you had a fighting chance. But as fate would have it, he had other, more heartbreaking plans for you. 

“It’s okay little one–” Bradley sobbed as he softly played with his baby girl’s tiny hand through the glass of the NICU bassinet. “I’ve got you.”

You weren’t ever sure if those words would stop echoing through your husband’s mind. The words that changed his life forever, the words that made him feel like his mother did when she had lost his father. The words he would remember throughout this lifetime and the next. 

“Unfortunately Mr Bradshaw, your wife didn’t make it through the night.” Bradley had been with your daughter when it all happened. That’s where you wanted him to be.  

“We’re gonna be alright, mum would want us to be okay,” Rooster cooed as he watched the tears that he cried splatter against the glass. “I’ve got you for this lifetime baby girl,” 

“I’m right here Roo–” You sobbed as you watched your little family begin their life without you. Goose stood right by the door, he knew you would come, just not right now. “I’m right here.” As you reached out to touch your husband’s cheek, he felt a cool breeze against him, and he knew.

“Mamma loves you so much beautiful girl.”

******************************

[worldboywhump]

Home And Away: Ep 7620 (He’s in extreme pain😩)

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

For What You've Done

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 4. non-consensual body modifications Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Past Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader, witch!reader, f!reader Summary: Five months ago, the love of your life was killed in a car accident. In the aftermath of Jake's death, you and Rooster lean on each other to deal with your grief and soon become a couple. So when you suggest a camping trip together, Rooster agrees. After all, what’s the worst that could happen? Word Count: 5773 TW: Main Character Death, Whump, Non-Consensual Body Modifications, Witchcraft, Car Crash, Drugged, Resurrection, Betrayal, Possession, Vomiting, Language  Notes: A huge thanks to @sunlightmurdock for beta reading this! 💗 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event!

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

“Now can you tell me why it was so important we came to this spot on this night? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for spending a few days camping under the stars with you, but the middle of the week when it’s supposed to be fucking freezing isn’t maybe the ideal time.”

Bradley glances over at the passenger seat of his Bronco where you are currently gazing out the window at the trees flashing by. 

You turn your head towards him with a smile and take his hand from where it is leaning on the armrest between your two seats. Giving it a tight squeeze, you say, “I told you, it’s a surprise. But I promise, it’ll be worth it, you just have to trust me.”

“You know I do.” Bradley’s eyes have returned to the almost non-existent road in front of him, but he raises your hand to his lips and places a quick kiss on the back of it. You giggle softly as his mustache brushes against your skin and he wiggles it to make you giggle again.

Bradley’s heart soars seeing you this happy again, even if these moments are fleeting. Before the accident, you seemed to carry the sunshine with you everywhere you went. Your light filled up every room you entered and no one seemed able to be in a bad mood when you were around. However, these last five months…

As if reading his mind, you slip your hand from his and slide it up his cheek until you run your fingers through his hair. “Hey, I know this between us is still new and I’m still struggling with everything that happened to…” You close your eyes and swallow hard as if his name is caught in your throat, still unable to pass your lips. But then you open your eyes and continue, “But I wouldn’t have made it through it without you. Your patience, your support, your love…you’ve been amazing, Bradley. And I just hope you know that what happens tonight, it’s all because of you.”

He gives you a small smile. “I know I’m not him and I’m never going to try to replace what you had, but I’m really happy we found our way to each other. I don’t know how I would’ve made it through without you either, sweetheart. But we did it…together. And as long as we’re together, I know it’ll be okay.”

“Together,” you hum, your fingers continuing to run through his curls. “I love hearing you say that because I plan on you being by my side for the rest of our lives.”

There is something about that statement that scratches at the back of Bradley’s brain. Maybe it’s your choice of words or the slightly serious tone your voice suddenly dropped into. 

But before he can consider it further, you perk up in your seat and point out the window. “There! Pull over there! This is the spot.”

Bradley doesn’t see anything special about the place other than a slight clearing in the trees on the right side of the road—just big enough for him to park the Bronco. But, he promised to trust you on this excursion, so he did as you asked.

Once he is parked, the two of you grab your backpacks, sleeping bags, cooler of food, and the tent from the back. You promise it’s not a long walk so you take everything in one trip. After about five minutes of trudging through dense underbrush, unruly trees, and hidden roots, the two of you stumble into a clearing. 

The space is maybe twenty feet across in a roughly circular shape. All of the foliage is suspiciously missing from this space even though it doesn’t seem like it was cleared necessarily. More like it just grew this way. As Bradley glances up, he sees another sort of circular opening in the treetops above, giving him a clear view of the sky as the sun begins to set. 

The place has a strange energy and a chill goes up Bradley’s spine as a sudden wind blows through the clearing. But before he can say anything, you whisper an awed, “We’re here.”

There are tears in your eyes and you begin to bounce slightly as you gaze around. You let out a soft squeal, then compose yourself. Turning to Bradley, you say, “It’s going to get dark soon and we have a lot to do before then. Can you go gather up some firewood? We’ll need a lot to keep it going throughout the night.”

Bradley nods slowly, still not completely sure what he has gotten himself into. “Yeah. I’ll see what I can do. Do you think you can put the tent together by yourself?”

“Oh, I have something else to get ready before that. It’s your surprise,” you say with a wink. “But we can put the tent together when you finish with the wood.”

Deciding to just go along for now, Bradley sighs. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. This is your trip. I’m just along for the ride.” He kisses the top of your head then heads off into the woods.

Thirty minutes later, there is a towering pile of sticks in the center of the clearing. Bradley isn’t sure why you wanted him to put them there considering you wanted to keep most of them for later in the night, but once again, he didn’t question it. However, it did strike him as odd that you seem to have not really done much while he’s been gone. You’ve taken a few smaller bags out of your backpack and laid out some clothes, but that’s it. Meanwhile, he’s been working up a sweat trudging all over collecting wood. 

At least when he brought back his final bundle you gave him a cold water bottle and a kiss on the lips. He downs the bottle as you return to whatever it is you are up to. 

As he watches, everything begins to blur around the edges of his vision. 

He blinks a few times and rubs his eyes, but the blurring only begins getting worse. And what’s more, he’s feeling light-headed. It feels just like that moment in his plane where the Gs get too intense and he begins to blackout. But why would that be happening now?

Stumbling slightly, Bradley mutters, “Sw-sweetheart…I think…I think I need to sit down for a minute. I might’ve overdone it with the w-wood.” 

The next thing he knows, his world spins ninety degrees as he crashes to his side on the clearing floor. He tries to sit up, but every part of him is made of lead and he doesn’t have the strength to even lift his hand. His vision is no longer just blurry, it's starting to tunnel into darkness. He can just make out your feet as they step into his line of sight.

 With the toe of your sneaker, you kick his shoulder so he rolls over onto his back. He’s now staring up at the pinkish-purple sky framed by a circle of treetops.

Then, your face peers over, blocking everything else from view. A cruel grin—one unlike any he had ever seen on your face—stretches across your lips. “No, Bradley, that’s just the drugs I slipped in your water kicking in. I have work to do and I need you to stay out of my way while I do it. So enjoy your little nappy-nap. I’ll see you when you wake up…or maybe not.”

Before Bradley can process what is happening, he is swallowed by the darkness.

Bradley was eyeing the couple in the corner, trying to decide if it was his job to step in or if he should leave them be. After all, this was far from the first time you and Hangman had one—or three—too many drinks on your night off and gotten too handsy for a public establishment. At the moment, things were still fairly tame, but Bradley knew from experience that could change in an instant. Last month, he and Coyote had to drag the two of you out of the bar after Penny complained about the near-pornographic sounds coming from her back booth. 

It had been the last straw. After putting up with your drunken hanky-panky since the two of you started dating ten months ago, Penny finally put her foot down and swore if it happened again, you would both be banned. And as much as it would please Bradley to see Hangman’s face when he sobered up and found out he was no longer allowed at The Hard Deck, Bradley knew the whole squad would be bummed if they lost one of its members for their weekly hangouts. Plus, he had come to really enjoy your presence among the group (that was when you weren’t plastered and attached to Hangman’s lap). So, somewhat reluctantly, Bradley stood and walked over to your table.

Neither one of you seemed to notice him as he approached. You were too busy jamming your tongues down the other’s throat. But Bradley sighed and clapped his hands, startling you apart. “Come on, you lovebirds. Time to go home.”

Hangman’s eyes were slightly out of focus as he shifted you slightly on his lap so he could glare up at Bradley. “Aw, come on, Bradshaw. Just because you aren’t gettin’ any doesn’t mean you have to spoil our fun.”

You giggled into Hangman’s neck and Bradley swore he saw you lick his skin before mumbling, “Don’t be mean, Jakey. Maybe Bradley just wants to watch.”

“No. Bradley definitely doesn’t want to watch,” he groaned. Crossing his arms over his chest, Bradley said, “Look, I have an early morning meeting with Cyclone tomorrow so I’ve got to get some sleep. But Penny’s already threatened to kick you out and I’m not going to let one of you drunk idiots drive home.”

“Jake’s drunk, I’m fine,” you grinned. You slid off Jake and straightened up to prove your point, but the slight sway in your stance only served to further Bradley’s assessment. 

He sighed again, pressing his fingers to his eyes. “Sweetheart, I can smell the booze on your breath from over here and something tells me you wouldn’t make it to the bar without falling over. I’m driving you. End of discussion.”

You pouted, your bottom lip jutting off your face in a way Bradley had to admit was adorable, but it didn’t sway him. He held out his hand and, after a moment, you rolled your eyes and dug your keys out of your pocket. Slamming them into Bradley’s open palm, you stuck out your tongue at him. But then you gave him a clumsy wink and he knew even if you did remember tonight, you wouldn’t hold it against him. 

Walking ahead, Bradley patiently held open the door as Jake and you stumbled across the room, each leaning heavily against the other in a mess of limbs and slobbery kisses. When you made it to your truck, Jake helped you climb into the back, his hands roaming across your ass far longer than necessary as he pushed you up the tall step. Then he dragged himself into the front seat and closed the door. 

“Seat belts.” Bradley waited for a second but neither of you made a move to follow his instructions. Sighing, he said, “I’m not going anywhere until both of you put on your seat belts.”

“Yes, Mom,” both of you mocked in unison before collapsing into a fit of drunken laughter, but at least he heard both belts click into place.

As he drove towards Hangman’s house (where you had moved in a few months ago), the two of you continued your slurred dirty talk, occasionally throwing nonsensical jabs in Bradley’s direction for making you leave early. Normally, he might have tried to fire a few back, but it was too much fun listening to Hangman smugly say something he thought was so clever only for it to be nearly incomprehensible in actuality. Bradley couldn’t help but laugh at a few particularly bad ones.

He never saw the other truck run the red light.

It slammed into the passenger’s door, sending your truck spinning out of control as broken glass filled the air. Bradley tried to control the steering wheel as it jerked in his hands, but his head smashed into his door and he blacked out.

He came to a few moments later—his vision blurred and his head pounding—to the sound of you screaming from the back seat. “No! Jake! Nooo!”

Apparently, nothing sobers a person up quicker than seeing their greatest fear come to life in front of their eyes. 

Bradley slowly raised his eyes to the rearview mirror, a fresh stab of pain driving through his head, and looked back at you. With blood pouring down your face from where your head slammed into the seat in front of you, you thrashed around for a moment until you managed to unbuckle your seatbelt. Ignoring the glass covering the interior of the truck, you pulled yourself forward between the two front seats and crawled into Jake’s lap. 

It was only then that Bradley got his first look at his other passenger and he immediately wished he hadn’t. 

All it took was one glance to see that Jake Seresin was dead. 

Between the unnatural bend of his neck where the seatbelt still dug into his skin and the glassy, blank stare in his once-spirited green eyes, Rooster knew his wingman was gone. There was nothing anyone could do to save him.

However, you apparently refused to accept that.

Laying your head on his shoulder, you begged, “Baby, please, wake up. Don’t do this. Come back to me. Please, Jake.” 

You placed your hand on his cheek and gently tried to turn his face to look at you. His head flopped unnaturally far backward and Bradley felt bile bubble in his throat that he struggled to keep down. 

Your eyes grew wide as your bottom lip began to tremble. “No, no, no, Jake, no. Please, baby, I love you. You can’t—you can’t—no!” You sobbed and buried your face in his chest.

Bradley heard you muttering something under your breath, but he couldn’t make out what it was. It almost sounded like something in another language but not one he recognized. He began to worry that your head injury might be worse than he initially thought.

He softly called out your name and began to reach out to touch your shoulder, to try and move you off the corpse of the man you loved. Yet before he could, your head shot up. Your eyes darted across Jake’s face once more, almost as if you expected something had changed in the last few seconds. But when you saw that it hadn’t, your mouth opened wide and you let out an ear-splitting, heart-wrenching wail.

That wail has haunted Bradley ever since that night, and it is that wail that is echoing in his ears as he slowly opens his eyes. He can’t be sure how long he was out, but it has gotten significantly darker since his eyes were last open. Stars dot the midnight blue sky above and a full moon rests perfectly in the center of the clearing opening. Dark shadows stretch and dance against the trees surrounding the clearing, cast by the blazing fire that had materialized while he was unconscious. 

You are standing in front of the fire, muttering something under your breath. As Bradley watches, you toss a handful of powder into the flames which flare deep red for a second before returning to its usual yellow-orange glow. Your flannel shirt and jeans from earlier have been replaced by a flowing black dress that brushes the ground just high enough to reveal your bare feet poking out underneath. 

The clearing floor is littered with broken sticks, burrs, and rocks, and, as you move around the fire, he notices you are leaving a faint bloody trail in your wake. Yet you don’t seem to notice or care as you continue whatever you are doing undeterred by any discomfort. 

Suddenly, Bradley’s stomach lurches and he rolls to his side just in time to vomit, the contents of his stomach spilling across the clearing floor. He heaves a few more times before things settle, and he collapses onto his back once more.

“Ah, good. You’re awake. I was afraid I gave you too much and would have to start without you.”

Bradley turns his head to see you still standing by the fire, but your attention is now fixed on him. Slowly, on trembling arms, he pushes himself to his feet. “What is this? What the fuck are you doing? If this is some kind of game or kinky shit I didn’t know you were into, I don’t like it.”

“Are you really that stupid that you still don’t get it?” you sneer, the cruelty in your voice cutting into his heart like a knife. “Five months ago, the man I loved more than life itself was ripped from my arms because of you. You insisted on driving that night even though I told you I was fine and because of that, Jake is dead. If you had just stayed out of our fucking business, he would still be here with me.” 

No. That’s not what happened. Bradley takes a step toward you. “Sweetheart, tha—”

“I’m not your fucking sweetheart!” you snarl, your eyes burning with a hatred that takes his breath away. “Do you know how repulsive it's been pretending to love you? Letting you touch me, kiss me, all the while despising every atom in your body for what you took from me. The only thing that kept me from strangling you in your sleep was the knowledge I still needed you for my plan to work.”

Bradley’s mind is still groggy from the drugs, but things are finally starting to click together. “So all of it was just a lie? Leaning on each other after Jake’s death? You were just using me? For what? You still haven’t explained what the fuck you’re doing to me!”

You continue on as if he hadn’t spoken, your voice filled with cold fury. “I knew how to get everything I needed. All I was missing was a host. A body for him to return to. But as much as I ached to have my Jake back, I knew I couldn’t take an innocent person’s body. It wouldn’t be fair and he wouldn’t want that. But that’s when it hit me. Why not take the body of the man responsible for Jake losing his? The one who should have died in that crash instead of him? Why was it fair you got to be here when he didn’t? So…I’m going to change that.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Bradley laughs in disbelief, the absurdity of the situation not fully processing in his brain.

Your face softens just a fraction and you scoff lightly. “Jake never told you, did he? Though, honestly, I’m not surprised. I don’t think he ever really believed me when I told him. He thought it was all a joke, a bit of ancient fun family trivia that was all nonsense. But it’s all true.” Taking a step closer to him, you pull out a small, leather-bound book from a pocket in your dress. “You see, Rooster, I am part of one of the oldest magical bloodlines in the known world. In other words, I’m what you might call, a witch.”

Bradley looks from you to the book to you again. Then he mutters, “You’re more insane than I thought you were.”

“We’ll see about that shortly enough,” you say with a thin-lipped smile. Then you begin strolling slowly around the fire. “Up until I lost Jake, I was more than happy to only dabble in the light side of my magic: A calming spell attached to my aura to soothe those around me. A positivity potion mixed into the cookies I made for the squad when you all weren’t getting along. A good luck charm tucked into Jake’s flight suit when he was leaving on a mission. Just tiny things to make all of your lives a little better. And I was more than happy to do it. But now?” 

You stop walking and turn to face him. “Now, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to bring my Jake back to me. Even if that means tapping into the kind of magic I’ve sworn never to use. That’s why we had to come to this spot on this night. It’s a place of unlimited power for those strong enough to tap into it. And tonight, that’s just what I plan to do.”

Bradley still doesn’t believe a word you are saying. Maybe it was the trauma of seeing Jake die. Maybe it was something from your past before you met any of the Daggers. But whatever it was, something had knocked a few screws loose in your head and Bradley had to find a way out of here before you turned violent. 

He had spotted a knife attached to a belt around your waist, but he is fairly certain he can disarm you if it comes down to it. Yet, even though you are talking about hurting him and that everything you had been through together had been a lie, he still cared about you and didn’t want you to get hurt—get help was a different story, but first he had to get out of here.

However, almost as if reading his mind, you give him a small smile. “It’s too late, Rooster. There is no escape. I already started the ritual while you were asleep. All I need now is blood.” And you draw the knife from your belt.

Bradley takes a few stumbling steps backward, but you shake your head. “Not yours. I’ll be taking enough from you already. No, this sacrifice is mine to make.”

Before he can stop you, you slash the knife across your palm. You drop the knife to the ground with a soft cry as you clutch your hand to your chest. But then, you hold out your shaking hand to the fire, letting blood drip into the flames. 

Suddenly, the entire clearing is engulfed in a blinding red light. Bradley squeezes his eyes shut but he can hear you chanting something across the clearing. He doesn’t understand the words but he recognizes some of them as what you muttered in your truck the night Jake died. 

Figuring you will be distracted, Bradley opens his eyes and tries to sneak off into the woods. However, he only takes a few steps before a vice-like grip latches onto his throat. His eyes bulge as his fingers claw at whatever is choking him, but his hands only scratch against his own skin. He looks at you but it only increases his panic as he sees your eyes are now two pitch-black orbs as you continue your chanting, a strong wind beginning to sweep through the clearing. 

Then, Bradley begins to feel a strange pulling sensation deep within him. His body remains exactly as it was, but something—his consciousness, his soul, whatever it is that makes Rooster the man that he is—is being dragged down and out of himself. He tries to fight it, to hold on, but how do you fight something that is happening within you?

As he feels himself being pulled deeper, slipping from his body, another consciousness brushes against his. A person he immediately recognizes and never thought he’d meet again. “Jake?” he gasps. Tears begin streaming down his face as the presence grows stronger and he just manages to whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

Then Bradley Bradshaw is gone.

Jake Seresin opens his eyes to find himself in an unfamiliar clearing at night. Towering trees surround the space, illuminated by the full moon high above and the towering, flickering flames in the nearby fire. As he glances around, he rolls his shoulders and stretches his back. His entire body feels…off. He doesn’t have any words to explain it but something is not right. 

But just then, he notices a woman standing across from him in a billowing black dress. It takes him a moment to recognize you, and when he does, he inhales sharply.

Gone is the bright, smiley, vibrant woman he had come to love with his entire heart and soul. Instead, you are a ghost of yourself: Your hair has been dyed pitch black and it looks like it’s been a while since you washed it. Your cheeks once full are now sunken. And you have huge bags under your eyes as if you hadn’t slept for weeks. Yet, your eyes themselves are the most startling change. Once sparkling and full of sunshine, they are now dull and carry a pain in them Jake has never seen before. 

Taking a shaky step towards you, he calls out, “Baby?”

As if you have been holding your breath in anticipation, you gasp at the sound of his voice. “Jake? Is it…is it really you?”

Who else was it supposed to be? “Ye-yeah, it’s me. What’s going on? Where are we?”

“Oh my god. I did it,” you breathe as you stare at him in awe, your eyes dancing across his face, drinking in every inch of it. “I didn’t know if I’d be strong enough, but it worked. You’re back.” 

Before he can ask what you mean, your eyes roll back in your head and your knees give out beneath you. Normally, Jake would have been able to cross the distance and catch you instantly, but for some reason, his movements are strangely clumsy and uncoordinated to the point he just barely manages to grab your arms and pull you close before you hit the ground.  

You moan softly as he lowers you both to the damp ground and he settles you into his lap. As he tries to reposition you, he notices your feet are bare, coated in mud and steaks of blood. There is also blood oozing from a deep gash on your hand. Your skin feels icy to the touch despite the heat of the fire and he can feel your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. He's still not sure where you both are, how you got here, or what happened to get you in this state, but none of that matters until he can make sure you are alright.

Gently running his fingers across your cheek, Jake mutters, “Come on, baby, you've gotta wake up for me.” He clears his throat and pounds once on his chest. Something about his voice sounds off—he doesn't sound like himself yet there is something familiar about it that he can't quite put his finger on.

But that's forgotten as he watches your eyes start to slowly open, the act seemingly arduous as you struggle to lift your lids. However, as you gaze up at him, the bright, tender smile he had come to love so much stretches across your face. Slowly, you raise a trembling hand to cup his cheek. “Jake. You’re really back.”

“Why do you keep saying that? I didn’t go anywhere.”

“It’s a long story.” You wet your lips and mutter, “Can you help me up?”

Jake scrambles up (still strangely tripping over his own body) and gently helps lift you to your feet. You take a few unsteady steps forward but then seem to find your footing. Turning to face him, you say, “This is going to be hard to hear but I promise, it’s the truth.” You stare at him and when he nods for you to continue, you take a deep breath. “Jake, you died five months ago.”

“What?” Jake’s brow furrows. “What are you talking about? I’m not dead.”

“No, but you were.” you take his hand, your blood smearing across his skin. “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up here?”

“I-I don’t know. I guess…We were at The Hard Deck having some drinks an-and Rooster, he told us he was taking us home. Then I remember a bright flash of light and—” He gasps, clutching his neck as he remembers hearing a sharp snap followed by a single second of the most intense pain he’s ever felt then—he woke up here. Yet his neck feels fine now, if somehow thicker, more muscular than he remembers but that wouldn’t explain the pain. 

You nod. “That’s when it happened. Rooster was t-boned by a drunk driver and you broke your neck. He should never have been driving us. I was fine! I was more than sober enough to drive, especially with my protection spells. If he would’ve just kept his fucking nose out of our business…” You close your eyes and slowly take another long, deep breath. When you reopen your eyes, you continue, calmer than before. “I tried to get to your body in time but your family had you cremated before I could try to bring you back. I thought it was over and you were gone for good. But then I found another way. I needed a body. It didn’t have to specifically be your body. And since it was Rooster’s fault you were taken from me, it was the perfect solution.”

“Wha—”

Suddenly, Jake realizes why his voice doesn’t sound like his own yet is still so familiar. Why his limbs don’t feel the same and his neck is thicker. And as he lifts his trembling hand to his face and his fingers brush against a coarse strip of hair covering his upper lip, any lingering hopes that he might be wrong are shattered. 

It’s not possible but he is trapped inside Rooster’s body.

With his eyes wide and voice shaking, Jake screams, “What did you do? What the fuck did you do?”

You stumble back, surprised by his furious outburst. “I-I gave you back the life he stole from you. I gave us another chance.”

“And Rooster? If I'm here, then where…” His voice trails off as the last piece of this nightmarish puzzle slips into place and he finally realizes the full extent of what you had done.

“It’s simple, Jake. A life for a life. One soul traded places with another. You’re here now, so Rooster is…” You shrug with a slight wave of your hand, clearly unbothered by the unknown fate you had sent the other man too. 

That complete callousness towards a man you had both cared for is all Jake needed to know he hadn’t only lost his wingman, but the woman he loved. He drops to his knees—Rooster's knees—and violently heaves onto the ground. Over and over, his whole body—Rooster's body—convulsing as it tries desperately to rid itself of everything in it, including the intruder. Yet try as he might, nothing comes up. Not even bile. Rooster must have already gotten sick before… 

Another full-body tremor sweeps through him.

When he is finally able to pull himself together even the slightest bit, Jake crawls to his feet. Backing away from you, he stutters, “I'm…I'm going to go to the police.”

“And tell them what?” you snap, your eyes turning black as a wind picks up from nowhere and blows through the clearing. “Tell them you're a dead guy in your friend’s body while his soul is currently rotting in hell or wherever the fuck you were? What good do you think that's going to do you besides landing you in the looney bin? No. You're either stuck in Rooster's body or you're going back to where you were to join him. And I'm not losing you again.”

Raising your hand in front of you, fingers reaching out towards him, they suddenly twitch and Jake feels this body stiffen outside of his control. As you begin to slowly twitch one finger then another, Jake's foot lifts and steps closer to you. Then another step. And another. As much as he tries to struggle, Jake can’t resist as you force him to walk across the clearing and stop before you.

Cupping his face with your non-controlling hand—your eyes still black—you whisper, “This is not how this was supposed to go. Jake, you love me. You were supposed to be happy I brought you back.”

“Maybe…” Jake squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to hide the disgust crawling down his spine at your touch. “Maybe I would have been if things were different. But I can’t live my life knowing it’s at the cost of Rooster’s. I don’t care what he might have done. No one deserves this.”

You thrust your hand downward and he drops heavily to his knees at your feet. Running your fingers tenderly through his curls, you coo, “I know you need time to adjust, baby. I’m sure this is a lot to take in. But let’s just make one thing very clear—” You suddenly grab a fistful of hair and yank his head back so he is forced to stare up at you “—I brought you back and you belong to me now. One way or another, I will have the life I was always supposed to have with you before any of this started. You can either be a good boy and accept that so we both can be happy, or you can make this difficult and I will make you behave.” 

You ball your hand into a fist and Jake feels like his brain is about to explode. An intense pressure unlike anything he has ever felt squeezes his mind and he sees sparks explode behind his eyes. You release your hand and the pressure disappears, leaving Jake mewling and quivering on the ground. 

You place your filthy, bloody big toe under his chin and raise his head so he is looking at you. “Do we understand each other?” Jake has no choice but to nod. Your eyes return to normal as your bright smile from before returns to your face. “Good! Then you better start practicing your best rooster crow. From now on as far as anyone else is concerned, you are Lt. Bradley Bradshaw.”

Jake feels like he is going to get sick again, but you just turn around and gather up your belongings. In no time, you are ready to go. Jake takes one last look up at the full moon, tears streaming down his face. 

And, as he is forced to follow you out of the clearing towards the waiting Bronco, he wonders if Rooster’s fate is really so bad after all.

Taglist: @ohtobeleah, @green-socks, @lorecraft, @heart-0n-fire, @mayhem24-7forever,

@blue-aconite, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite,

@straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped,

@yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @callsign-phoenix, @shanimallina87,

@forever-sleepy-sloth, @notroosterbradshaw, @dezthegeek, @blessupblessup, @cherrycola27,

@phoenix1389, @nicangelinee, @smells-like-perfect-senses, @boringusername3, @petlaufeyson,

@cycbaby, @footprintsinthesxnd, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @writercole, @onebigfangirlworld,

@wkndwlff, @ravenmoore14, @clancycucumber230, @slightly-psycho-multifan, @kmc1989,

@deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1, @mandylove1000, @aczhang777

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Sketch of Parker pulling Eliot from an overturned wrecked car. They both have blood on their face and arms, Eliot with more blood on him and unconscious, Parker gripping around his chest to pull him from the driver’s seat. The edges of the sketch are blurred, and everything other than blood is in greyscale. End ID]

-

Whumptober Day 1: Car crash

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumptober Day 22

Bleeding through bandages - Tourniquet - Reopening Wounds - "Oh, that's not good"

It was a bad accident.

A bad nightmare.

Caretaker laid in their hospital bed. A vacant dissociated look on their face. Pain and tears in their eyes.

"How could I.... be so angry... lose my control", they blinked out of their dissociated thoughts.

Across the room laid Whumpee. Completely unconscious. Completely unaware.

Caretaker's lip quivered. They were responsible for what happened. They had gotten so angry at a situation they couldn't even remember now. They could remember though that it wasn't that big of a deal.

The only way they knew Whumpee was still alive was the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

A nurse came in and walked towards Caretaker.

"Please check them first", Caretaker pointed, "I'm okay, just check them."

The nurse looked at them worriedly, but nodded.

Caretaker watched like a hawk while Whumpee was being checked. Every movement the nurse and the doctor made until they walked toward them.

"Please, I am okay", Caretaker carefully kept the blankets over their stomach, "just take care of Whumpee."

The doctor, a close friend of Caretaker's studied them closely.

"Nurse, I'm going to consult with Caretaker for a few minutes ", the doctor sighed, "I'll call you back if I feel I need you."

Caretaker sighed when the doctor sat down next to them.

"It's my fault, I was mad... I... wasn't paying attention. I wasn't mad at Whumpee, I could never be mad at them. I'm sure they were scared to see me so angry though. It scares me that that was the last thing they remembered before going unconscious. What if they never wake up?", Caretaker's allowed a few tears to fall, "I'm supposed to protect them."

"Caretaker the other person was drunk. They were out of control and hit your car. You couldn't have done anything", the doctor frowned, "Whumpee is just fine. They look perfect."

"Then why won't they wake up?", Caretaker whispered.

"They will, you know as well as I know, they will wake up when they're ready to", the doctor stood up, "please at least let me check that cut on your stomach."

Caretaker tightly held onto the blanket and shook their head.

"Alright", the doctor sighed out their frustration, "I have a few more patients to see. I will be back to check on Whumpee, and then I am checking on you. You will not be allowed to say no either, or I'll put you on a psych watch. You are making me a little concerned."

Caretaker nodded and set their stare back to Whumpee until the doctor left.

Caretaker carefully peeled their blanket up.

They sighed as they saw blood seeping through their bandages.

The doctor came back about forty-five minutes later. They first glanced at Whumpee then turned to see Caretaker.

Caretaker was unconscious... hunched over to the side of the bed.

"Caretaker?", the doctor called, "CARETAKER?"

"I need a crash cart and emergency in here stat", the doctor yelled as they hurried to the unresponsive Caretaker.

Nurses hurried in.

Caretaker was held up as their bed was lowered.

"You idiot", the doctor mumbled at their friend as they lifted the blanket and saw all of the blood.

"They've been hiding their injuries... it looks really bad", the doctor called, "I need a sanitary room stat. Get patient prepped to be moved."

Whumpee opened their eyes slightly in time to see Caretaker getting rushed out.

"CARETAKER", Whumpee cried out, and started to climb out of their bed.

Whumpee wasn't aware of their injuries and was on the floor in seconds.

A nurse knelt down and tried to brace them.

"What's happening?", Whumpee cried out, "what's happening?"

The doctor was alerted that Whumpee had woken up.

They looked down at Caretaker.

"And you are now unconscious", the doctor sighed at their friend, "you are the biggest idiot."

The nurse looked at the doctor with concern.

"Don't look at me like that nurse... I will be telling them the same thing when they are awake. They are a close friend of mine... and they are stupid", the doctor glared at the unconscious Caretaker, "they're lucky I love them."

Whumpee stared at the door with nervous watery eyes.

The doctor came in and looked at them.

"Well I'm glad to see you awake finally", they smiled as they sat down beside the bed, "Caretaker will be happy when they wake up too."

"Is Caretaker okay?", Whumpee glanced at the door a few times.

"Yes, they are okay. They allowed an injury to get very bad without telling me. I have them in ICU for a few days", the doctor smiled weakly, "they are okay, I promise."

Whumpee looked down.

"Do you trust me?", the doctor reached and squeezed Whumpee's hand.

Whumpee nodded, "they were mad before the accident... are they alright?"

"Yes, they have been stressed about you. They allowed that worry to overwhelm them and didn't ask for help. I promise they are alright. I strongly believe they would like you to relax and rest now. They will be back in a few days."

"Can I see them now?", Whumpee fidgetted nervously with their blanket.

"No, not right now. You are also recovering from the accident. You are too weak to be moved right now", the Doctor stood, "do not get out of this bed again... do you understand me?"

"Yes doctor", Whumpee nodded.

"Very good. Now here is the call bell if you need to get a nurse. I'm off the clock in a few minutes, and I'm going to check on Caretaker."

"Will you say hi for me at least?", Whumpee whispered as Doctor helped them lay down.

"I can do that. Do you want me to say that they are an idiot for not taking care of themself for you as well?", Doctor grinned.

Whumpee grinned and nodded.

"Good Whumpee", the doctor chuckled, "alright, I'll see you in the morning."

Caretaker grunted a few times before opening their eyes.

"Wh-what happened?", they whispered, "WHUMPEE?", they tried to sit up and look, but a strong hand held them down.

"I swear, if you move anymore...", a frustrated voice came from beside the bed.

"Doc?", Caretaker questioned. Their hearing still a little fuzzy.

"Yes, it's me", Doctor leaned up as Caretaker turned to them.

"What the heck were you thinking? Were you even thinking?", Doctor angrily whispered so not to wake up other patients.

"I, uh, I don't know. I didn't want to take any attention from Whumpee's care. I also didn't want to be taken away from them", Caretaker looked down.

"So you decided to allow yourself to bleed out, and almost die", Doctor folded their arms angrily, "you would have been taken away from Whumpee permanently then. It would have taken me thirty minutes to address your bleeding and have it fixed. Instead we had to do extra work."

"Please stop yelling at me", Caretaker whispered, "I was worried about Whumpee and everything going on. I'm sorry I did that and worried you."

The doctor took a deep breath, and sighed slowly.

"You pull another stunt like that again... I'll... I don't know what I'll do, but you won't like it. I told you Whumpee was alright. They are actually awake right now."

"Wait they are?", Caretaker almost jumped out of the bed.

The doctor almost reached a hand out to stop them.

"Yeah, and had you been honest, you'd be down their right now. You caused them to climb out of bed, and injure themself again. They are nervously watching the door right now with tears in their eyes because they want you."

Caretaker looked down at the bandages.

The doctor sighed again.... this time their exhale even slower.

"Whumpee says hello", the doctor replied quietly, "they understand that you are in ICU and can not come down to them right now. Nor can they come up to see you", Doctor pulled out a piece of paper, "this is the room number. You can call down to the nurse's station 'tomorrow morning', they enunciated, "they are trying to sleep right now. The nurse will patch you through to their room. Am I clear?"

Caretaker looked at the paper sadly and nodded.

"That is not a good enough answer. AM I CLEAR?", the Doctor repeated.

"Ye- yes Carewhumper, I understand", Caretaker frowned.

"That's Doctor Carewhumper to you", they chuckled, then glanced down at the bandages, "are you feeling alright right now?"

"Oh yes, I feel alright", Caretaker nodded.

"That's good", Doctor nodded, "please remember I have yours and Whumpee's best interest in mind. You have to trust me on that, okay."

Caretaker nodded and let a tear fall from their eye.

"Do you need a hug to feel better?", Doctor sighed.

"Yes please", Caretaker whispered.

The doctor positioned themself do not to hurt Caretaker, then knelt down and hugged them.

"I'll be back tomorrow morning to check on you. Please do not give the doctors a hard time while I'm out. They know they can call me if my patients are unruly", the doctor patted Caretaker's back, "behave."

"Yes Doctor", Caretaker smiled, "thankyou for taking care of us... like you always do."

"You're welcome", they started for the door, "get some sleep."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @ragin-cajun-fangirl

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

@blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @mylifeisonthebookshelf

[simply-whump]

Love Next Door : Episode 3

[sparkchemy]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 2 - Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, ambulance is almost here.”

Artemy's dumb 16yo self on his first day in the Capital not looking both ways because there are no cars in Town-on-Gorkhon. Lucky for him, there was a kind bystander nearby...

(I will make these prompts work, just watch me xD)

@whumperless-whump-event

[whump-or-whatever]

Whump Vignette #3

Contents: car accident, trapped in car, stranded in the snow, freezing temperatures, head injury, leg injury, rescue, worried caretaker

Whumpee was driving down a backroad just after 6 pm. It was winter, which meant it was already pitch black. Whumpee squinted, trying to see through the flurrying snow. The roads had been cleared at some point, but the continuing snow left a layer of dirty slush on the uneven pavement.

“How bad are the roads?” came Caretaker’s voice from the car stereo.

“Bit slushy but not too bad. Visibility is crap though.” Whumpee slowed down as they approached a gradual bend in the road.

There was the sound of Caretaker moving around on the their end of the line. “Yeah, sounds about right. Well, just be careful and take your time. Text me when you get there.”

“Will do, talk to you later.” Whumpee responded.

“Bye.” There was a beep as Caretaker hung up.

Whumpee continued driving, their eyes focused on following the tracks of whatever car had gone before them. Every so often their tire would catch on the edge of the tracks and Whumpee would let off the gas, slowing down until they re-gained traction.

All was well until, out of the white wall of snow emerged a large pickup truck. It came speeding around the corner, cutting into Whumpee’s lane.

“Fuck,” Whumpee cursed in panic. They hit the brakes and felt their anti-locks kick in, trying to gain some semblance of traction on the snow-covered road. The truck showed no signs of moving back into its lane, as if the driver didn’t even see Whumpee’s car. Wanting to avoid a head-on collision, Whumpee swerved to the right, barely missing being sideswiped by the truck.

Unfortunately, the side of their car connected with the snow bank on the side of the road. Whumpee cranked the wheel back to the left, which resulted in them spinning out whilst sliding down the road. Before Whumpee knew it, their car had crossed the road and slammed into the snow bank on the opposite side. The momentum sent them straight through it and into a deep ditch. There was an abrupt impact which threw Whumpee’s head forward into the steering wheel and everything went black.

• • •

Caretaker eyed the clock. 8:30 pm.

Whumpee had promised to text them when they arrived at their destination. Even assuming that they had gotten distracted upon arrival and forgotten to text right away, they should have been in contact by now. Caretaker was starting to get worried.

By the time the clock hit 8:45 pm, Caretaker decided enough was enough and they called Whumpee. The line rang only once before the voicemail message played. “You have reached Whumpee, please leave a message after the tone.”

Caretaker hung up and called again, to the same result.

Now seriously worried, Caretaker grabbed their keys and jacket and headed out into the frigid night.

• • •

Whumpee awoke to a pounding in their head. It took them a moment to realize that the groaning noise in their ears was coming from them. Cracking their eyes open, Whumpee couldn’t see much of anything. They raised their hand to their head and winced as they made contact with a painful gash on their forehead. It was then that they remembered, the corner, the truck, the accident.

Whumpee grabbed the door handle and tried to push the door open, but it didn’t budge. They undid their seatbelt and tried throwing their shoulder into it, but still nothing.

Whumpee started to push themself up in their seat, intending to climb over to try the other doors, only to be stopped by a bolt of pain which flared up from their right ankle and tore through their leg to their hip. They cried out and stilled, waiting for the pain to abate. Reaching down, Whumpee found that their foot had become trapped under their brake pedal, which had been crushed to the floor in the accident.

Whumpee could feel where the metal had already cut into their ankle, and they realized that their foot was extremely cold. Actually, their whole body was extremely cold, but their foot in particular was freezing and almost numb.

Whumpee’s heart rate kicked up. They felt around in the passenger seat, looking for their phone, but they couldn’t find it. Given the force of the impact, it could be anywhere. They were just glad the windshield had remained intact, so they weren’t directly covered in snow.

Finally realizing how dire their situation was, Whumpee felt a choked sob rip from their chest. They could only hope that Caretaker would come looking and find them before it was too late.

• • •

Meanwhile, Caretaker was driving carefully down the road. The snow had let up, so they could scan the ditches closely as they went. Luckily they knew the usual path Whumpee took to get to the place they had been going.

Caretaker had been driving for some time when they came across an unusual set of tire tracks. Panic rose in their chest as they pulled over and threw their hazard lights on, jumping out of the car. Caretaker followed the tracks to the edge of the road and looked down into the ditch. There was a trail of compacted snow and broken car parts leading down to a large pile of snow with just a sliver of black paint reflecting in the moonlight.

“Oh my god,” Caretaker muttered before sliding down into the ditch. They lost control of their descent at some point and ended up slamming into the hood of the vehicle. Scrambling onto their knees, they began digging the snow out from around the driver side door.

• • •

Whumpee was struggling to keep their eyes open. They were so cold they didn’t even have the energy to shiver any more. Their skin was burning with the cold.

Through the haze, whumpee heard a thump from above them. They tried to focus, but found it very difficult. Their eyes fell shut.

• • •

Caretaker managed to clear out the snow enough to look through the window. They could barely make out the shape of Whumpee inside the car. “Hey, Whumpee!” Caretaker shouted, banging on the window.

Whumpee’s eyes opened slightly, gaze listing and out of focus.

Caretaker renewed their efforts. In just a few minutes they managed to get enough snow cleared away to pry the door open.

Caretaker peeled their glove off and cupped their hand on Whumpee’s cheek. They were mortified to find them so cold. “Oh my god, Whumpee…”

Caretaker slipped their hands under Whumpee’s arms and began to pull them out of the car, but stopped short as Whumpee let out a pained whimper.

“Shit, Whumpee, you have to help me out here.” Caretaker said despairingly.

“My leg,” Whumpee whispered so quietly Caretaker almost didn’t hear them.

Caretaker jumped into action, leaning down to take stock of the situation. They found the problem quickly, seeing that Whumpee’s foot was trapped. They grabbed the brake pedal and, putting their foot against the doorframe, put all their weight into yanking it away from the floor.

Caretaker didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more concerned that Whumpee didn’t seem to feel as much pain from the action as they probably should have. In any case, Caretaker managed to bend the metal away enough that they could pull Whumpee’s foot free.

Once again hooking their arms under Whumpee’s, Caretaker managed to drag them out of the car.

“I’m going to need your help to get us back to my car. Avoid putting weight on your injured leg, I’ll support you as much as I can.” Caretaker ducked under Whumpee’s arm and the two of them started the trek up out of the ditch.

Whumpee was incredibly uncoordinated, but they tried to use their good leg to push off the ground as much as possible. Thankfully the snow had been packed down enough by the car’s descent that the two of them could plant their heels firmly to climb up. Still, it was a struggle with Caretaker essentially dragging Whumpee up a slippery slope.

Miraculously, they made it. Caretaker laid Whumpee down in the back seat of their car. After grabbing a blanket out of their trunk, Caretaker hopped in the front seat and cranked the heat. They turned around and leaned into the back seat awkwardly, wrapping the blanket around Whumpee tightly. “Hang in there, I’m gonna get you to the hospital as fast as possible.”

Whumpee nodded groggily and Caretaker turned back around, putting the car in gear. Doing a three point turn, they headed back in the direction of the nearest hospital.

• • •

Fin

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XVIII)

New Player on the board

Part one // Masterpost // Continued from here

This part is dedicated to @neongalaxiie for their comment that made me smile today, I hope you enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

Ambrose got Kit into the car with relative simplicity. He was surprisingly lighter than before, which didn’t concern Ambrose. Not at all, it was just some information he stored in his head in case he needed it in future. Perhaps this time Ambrose can actually feed the hero properly…

Well, he could decide all that on the way. Right now he had to decide whether or not to throw the hero in the boot or in the backseat. He settled on the backseat, it was easier to keep an eye on the hero in case that red lightning guy came back.

Ambrose suppressed a shiver at the thought of that. That thing wasn’t Kit Mallory. Or, not the one Ambrose knew anyways. It did add to his curiosity about the boy, what kind of life he lived with Mentor. Ambrose set him in the backseat sitting up, hands cuffed in front of him with power dampeners just in case. He strapped the seatbelt over Kit and plugged it in before slamming the door shut and walking around to the driver’s side.

Ambrose didn’t exactly drive… under the radar. He was what his assistant would call a petrolhead, and it wasn’t a nickname he loathed. Ambrose had loved cars since he was five and his parents brought him to a vintage car show. He could still remember the first time he sat behind the wheel of a 1954 Bentley R-Type continental, he knew that he had to have one. A car that was, not a Bentley, he wasn’t some wedding chauffeur.

His obsession with cars only grew from there, from his first Volkswagen to now. His beast, his beauty, his pride and joy: a 2016 Rolls-Royce Wraith, with a monster 6.5 Litre Twin-Turbo V12 engine under the bonnet, custom painted black exterior. He had to get Tony to paint the door handles too (who almost cried when she saw it). Ambrose replaced the original wheels with forgiato wheels to add to the sleekness of the car. Original white, leather interior still as good as the day Ambrose bought it.

He loved it more than anything in the world.

And it was all his.

It represented everything that he wanted people to associate with him. Elegant, opulent, and functional, above all functional. The grace, style and status were just perks that came along with it.

It was late, close to ten when Ambrose got onto the main road. He could take the quick way through the backstreets to his house, but he hadn’t seen the city of like lights for what felt like a long, long time. He took the left into the city and drove along at a leisurely pace.

The radio was playing softly in the background, the Wraith’s purrs making up most of the background noise. Ambrose let out a soft sigh as he pulled up to a red light. He glanced in his rearview to see Kit still fast asleep. No red veins or blue ones, his head lolled against the window.

There was something so innocent about the gesture that made Ambrose look sharply away, eyes turning front again. He never had a little brother or sister, but in that moment, some small part of him — some delusional, sentimental part — wondered if this was what it was like. Checking the rearview to make sure that his brother was sleeping soundly, that he wasn’t showing any signs of pain or distress, or psychotic mania.

He wondered if he would be a good older brother in this hypothetical. Then he quickly disregarded the thought. Such a silly little thought experiment. Besides, of course he would be a good older brother. He would be the best, hands down, no doubt about it. Even if his passenger in the backseat would disagree.

His mind was wandering dangerously, simply because it was so quiet. It had to be because it was quiet, so Ambrose turned up the radio louder, but the song that was playing just ended. Instead a news reporter started speaking urgently.

Ambrose shook his head, tapping his fingers on the wheel when the light turned green just beside Hero plaza: well, Mentor’s memorial garden, more specifically.

“Stay out of the city tonight, there is a rogue Villain, perhaps Supervi—”

Ambrose didn’t get to hear the rest of the news report. When the light turned green he was already moving past the intersection, heading straight, driving through the Hero Plaza in the centre of the city.

His eyes were fixed forward so he didn’t see the hailstorm of debris from a shattered building coming from the right. He didn’t see the Supervillain levitating where Mentor’s statue should have been.

Ambrose didn’t see what was happening to his right. More like he heard it. A sudden onslaught of panicked thoughts that weren’t his raced through his mind and he panicked along with them.

What! They’re never this strong! Not unless— Ambrose glanced to his right and saw Villain levitating ten metres off the ground. As if meeting his gaze, the villain threw his hands forward and a hailstorm of debris went racing towards them.

Ambrose hit the gas, manoeuvring the gears quickly as he took off. The debris fell behind the Wraith, some stones clipping the tail end as he swerved a sharp corner, trying to cut off Villain’s eyesight from the car.

Of course, this was the same moment that Kit woke up. His head hit off the window of the car and he groaned, reaching his hands up to rub the bump. “Ambrose?”

Ambrose’s black eyes caught Kit’s in the rearview mirror. Something hard in them alerting Kit to the danger. “We have a problem.”

“A problem?”

Just as Ambrose was about to drive back into Villain’s sight line, debris like meteorites fell in front of them, tearing up the road ahead of the Wraith. Ambrose slammed his foot on the brakes and the pair jolted forwards in their seats.

“What’s going on?!” Kit demanded, searching the windows to try and see what the commotion was all about. Behind them Kit could see a pile up of cars, people screaming and sirens already blaring. “Ambrose!”

Ambrose’s grip on the wheel was white-knuckled, his face paler than usual as his chest heaved up and down. “There’s a Villain by Mentor’s memorial garden.”

“What?! Let me out!”

Ambrose didn’t reply. Kit went to unhook his seatbelt but Ambrose stopped him. “Kit! It looks like they have telekinesis,” Ambrose said through clenched teeth.

It felt as if the debris fell on Kit’s chest, crushing it from the inside out. A disbelieving what? fell from his lips. His vision seemed to narrow to a pinpoint, his lungs slowing his breaths. His voice raised a little hysterically: “what do you mean they have telekinesis?”

“It’s just what I saw.”

“Well you saw wrong!” Kit argued, his eyes wide and desperate. “The chances of another telekinetic—”

“I know—”

“Do you hear what you’re saying?! There’s no way—”

“I KNOW!” Ambrose barked. His own emotions thrown through a loop at the information.

A long, choking silence passed between them, though they were both thinking the same thing: that Villain can’t be Mentor.

~*~*~*~

Four blocks away a new Supervillain was making their mark in front of the Hero plaza. He was levitating off the ground, bits of debris from Mentor’s memorial statue circling around him like moons of Saturn.

Superhero tried not to think about how much this Supervillain reminded him of Mentor. He really tried not to think about it, but he couldn’t stop himself. The likeness was uncanny, and it was rare for two people with the same abilities to emerge in the same city. It happened but it was rare.

Telekinesis. And not just that, a mastery of his ability, how effortless the destruction seemed to him. An unwillingness to yield.

This must be Supervillain, and if it was Superhero was hesitant to engage. Which sounded terrible as the leader of the Heroes but, even leader’s get scared.

Supervillain was fighting four seasoned Heroes and Superhero all at once — not to mention Tides who was the only new recruit there — without breaking a sweat. Superhero had tried to call Kit, but no luck. Supervillain’s face was covered by a mask and he wore civilian clothes, as if this was a casual affair for him. Like he just walked off the streets and decided, why not cause some chaos? Sirens and emergency services rushed to the scene of people in need, people who had been hit by the debris.

Thankfully, it looked to be a small amount of casualties due to how late it was, but still. Something was wrong with the scene, and Superhero needed to find out what. If that Supervillain… was actually Mentor or not.

And if so, how? How was he here? Why had he escaped and turned out like this? What was going on?! A Supervillain? Threatening the city? That wasn’t Mentor’s way… unless this was Omen’s plan all along, to destroy the legacy of a great man. To make the great man a monster and destroy it himself.

Supervillain inclined his head at Superhero, raising his hand palm up and flexing his fingers goading Superhero into a fight. Superhero lunged for him, bouncing from one building towards Supervillain. When he was in mid-air, Supervillain made a wide sweeping gesture with his arm and a hurricane of rocks and concrete hurtled towards Superhero.

He dodged between the initial wave, but he didn’t expect the second. Mentor’s stone arm caught him around the waist and the pair went flying into a building.

While Superhero was distracted, Supervillain turned his attention to Tides. He aimed for the water under her feet keeping her in the air, wiping it away with a sweep of his arm. Tides cried out as she started to fall, but Supervillain caught her, keeping her suspended in mid-air.

Superhero recovered quickly, and went soaring again, taking the wind in his wings with a grin. It felt so good to let them out again. His eyes zeroed in on Supervillain, hoping he would realise Superhero was behind him too late and they could all go home and sleep in their beds tonight.

At the last second, right before Superhero made contact with Supervillain, Supervillain turned their head to Superhero. Superhero’s eyes widened but it was too late, they had committed to the movement, already in mid air. With a sweep of his hand, Supervillain sent Superhero back two blocks, tumbling onto a rooftop. His wings wrapped around him cushioning his fall as he rolled.

Supervillain turned back to Tides who was struggling in his hold and shot towards her. He grabbed her by the neck, and threw her down onto a roof behind her. Tides almost passed out from the impact, her entire body arching as breath was stolen from her lungs. Her body bounced off the concrete, like she was a rag-doll being thrown before rolling to a stop, gasping in air. Supervillain followed her with easy steps, before kicking her onto her back and standing above her. He pressed his foot down on her chest.

“Where’s Malyn?” Supervillain asked, tilting his head. Tides cried out as Supervillain’s foot gathered telekinesis behind it and forced her down into the concrete, cracking the roof around her. A small crater Tides shaped now etched on the rooftop.

“I won’t tell you,” Tides said through gritted teeth. The pressure increased and Tides screamed, her hands flying to Supervillain’s ankle and clawing at it, trying to get it to budge. Supervillain put his hands in his trouser pockets, as if this were a casual conversation, like he wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“Tell me or I’ll break every bone in your body, Tides.”

Tides abandoned trying to dislodge Supervillain’s foot, and instead gathered a canon of water behind him. She splayed her fingers and the canon blasted towards Supervillain before losing momentum as Tides let out a blood-curling scream.

Her wrist snapped like a twig, leaving her arm useless as she tried to summon water. The pain was blinding, but Supervillain didn’t let up for a second, moving his foot idly from her chest to her broken wrist.

“Where,” Supervillain asked again, leaning forward so more of his weight pressed on Tides’ wrist. “Is Malyn?”

“I don’t know,” Tides cried out, her mind going blank as the pain burned through her, tears blinding her. “I don’t know! I don’t!”

“Hmm,” Supervillain hummed above her. “I don’t believe you.”

Tides screwed her eyes shut and looked away, not wanting to see the final blow coming. She wasn’t masochistic enough for that, quite happy to live in blissful ignorance.

Then the pressure was suddenly off her with a thump of body meeting body and Tides' eyes flew open. Supervillain was gone, and Tides took to sobbing. She glanced at her mangled wrist and felt bile climbing her throat. Every breath was an effort as she tried to sit up and failed, opting to just lay on the roof, motionless and cry.

Superhero shot like a bullet, barreling into the new Supervillain and flying away from the city to the local park instead where there would be far less casualties. Superhero threw Villain down to the ground with a terrifying force and floated down after him.

~*~*~*~

Ambrose kicked the car into reverse just as Kit saw two figures flying over the night sky. “Ambrose! We have to go after them! That’s Superhero!”

Ambrose hooked his arm over the passenger seat, turning to look back out the window as they reversed.

“Do I look like I care?” Ambrose asked, meeting Kit’s glare. “Genuine question, Mallory. Do I look like I give a shit what happens to the number one fuck up in the city? Cause if I do, I need to fix that.”

“This isn’t some joke! Stop the car. Let me out! Let me go, Ambrose.”

“No.”

“That could be Mentor!” Kit yelled after Ambrose turned front again and manoeuvred around the debris in the road. Kit huffed out a breath through his nose reaching for his seatbelt.

“Don’t touch your seatbelt if you know what’s good for you, Kit, I swear to God. I will knock you out again.”

Desperation rose in Kit’s stomach as Ambrose took a backstreet shortcut to get out of the city. Kit could only watch as they passed the park. Superhero was hovering over the trees, throwing a body down into the grass when Ambrose sped past.

~*~*~*~

Supervillain rolled until he gained ground beneath his fingertips and got to his feet two metres away from Superhero.

“Who are you?!” Superhero demanded, voice livid.

Supervillain tilted his head but said nothing. Superhero’s lip curled back into a snarl and he shot off again, leaving a small crater where his feet were. Flying wasn’t exactly a great superpower, but it was what Superhero had and he learned to use it to his advantage in fights.

He flew at Supervillain, drawing his fist back with a roar and aimed for Supervillain’s cheek. Supervillain lifted his forearm, diverting the blow. He punched Superhero in the gut, a jab, then an uppercut. Superhero dodged back, pushing off his heels as his hands outstretched going for Supervillain’s porcelain mask.

Supervillain ducked, swiping Superhero’s legs out from under him. Superhero dropped, his back barely hitting the ground before he launched himself towards Supervillain.

Supervillain moved with speed and grace, as if he’d been fighting all his life, and he didn’t even seem to be breaking a sweat. Superhero, on the other hand, was tiring quickly, not used to the amount of power and focus he was using to try and land a hit on Supervillain.

Supervillain went to sweep his arm. Superhero caught it with a death grip, grinned and spun. Planting his left foot in the ground he pivoted and threw Supervillain as far as he could. Supervillain went flying backwards, getting caught in the leaves of a tree. The branches split and broke around him, a tear in the earth opening from where Supervillain had split the tree open to let himself down.

He wiped the leaves off his shoulders and Superhero grinned. Maybe he can be beaten. Superhero launched himself at Supervillain again, not giving him a chance to recover.

“Enough playtime.” Supervillain said.

Supervillain lifted a hand lazily and Superhero froze in mid-air, the air turned against him, freezing him in place. Superhero’s eyes widened. That’s not possible. There’s no way that he’s… that that’s Mentor, there’s…

Villain walked slowly towards Superhero, taking his sweet time about it. He stopped in front of Superhero, mask to face. “Don’t you recognise me, Superhero?”

Superhero flinched at the voice. It was disguised, which… no, there’s no way that was Mentor. Mentor was always transparent and never wore a mask. He wouldn’t.

But then again… that’s when Mentor was a hero, a symbol of peace and justice in the city.

Villain reached out and grabbed a fistful of Superhero’s hair, yanking his head back. Superhero grit his teeth but didn’t cry out. “Where’s Malyn?”

Superhero’s shock must have shown on his face. “What?”

Villain yanked their neck back farther and Superhero couldn’t contain the groan from the strain. “Malyn. I want him. Now. Where. Is. He?”

Superhero frowned. Surely Mentor would know where Kit lived? But then… no, he wouldn’t. Kit moved after Omen drove Mentor crazy.

“You won’t find him.” Superhero said, huffing a breath out through their nose. Supervillain hummed. He stepped back and clicked his fingers. Superhero’s body moved at an impossible speed, back snapping against the bark of a tree and Superhero cried out.

Supervillain didn’t stop. He was dragged back along the dirt by his ankle, as if being pulled by an invisible lasso. He blacked out from the blow, but his brain shot him back into consciousness as his back was dragged harshly over the terrain. Supervillain came into view again. Superhero’s body was forced up as if suspended from the air, hanging like a limp puppet.

“Malyn, Superhero. I don’t have the patience for this game of cat and mouse.”

“Why… why are you—” Superhero’s breath hitched as his body contorted against his will. “D-doing this?”

“I want the boy. If you don’t bring him to me in three days, I will destroy the rest of the city, and all of your pathetic heroes.”

Supervillain closed their hand into a fist and Superhero screamed. “Have him meet me at the Hero Academy, 10pm. Alone. Any funny business and I’ll make sure that Tides dies, do you understand?”

“T— Leave Tides alone! Take- take me!”

“Oh, I would,” Supervillain said, opening his fist again. Superhero fell to the ground, his head slapping off the dirt. Supervillain crouched down in front of him and with a gloved hand tilted Superhero’s chin up. “But you have the best chance of getting me what I want. The boy for Tides. Hero Academy. Three days. 10 O’clock, got it?”

Superhero let out a broken breath of air which Supervillain took to mean yes. Villain slapped Superhero’s cheek. “Good boy. At least you still know how to take orders.”

Villain disappeared after that, leaving Superhero shaking in the dirt.

~*~*~*~

Ambrose didn’t even bother to make Kit forget the way to his house. If he was honest, he was exhausted. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. They pulled up to Ambrose’s house, stopping in front of two giant gates. Ambrose pressed a button and the gates opened.

“What are you, Batman?” Kit asked as he took in the mansion they were driving into. Ambrose chuckled at the comment but didn’t reply. The gates closed behind them as they drove in. The driveway was long, like something out of a movie and had a fucking roundabout at the entrance to the house.

Ambrose opened the door and stepped out. He walked around to the passenger side and opened Kit’s door, pulling the seat forward. “You can get out now, child.”

“I’m not a child,” Kit grumbled, obeying the order.

“Yes, you are,” said Ambrose with a sigh. He slammed the door after Kit got out, locking the doors over his shoulder with a click of his keys and a flash of lights. “You don’t do anything without being told, and you push boundaries like a fucking toddler.”

“Yeah, your stupid enforced boundaries because you’re a fucking control freak, and everything has to go Ambrose’s way! Right?!”

Ambrose ignored him, unlocking the door to his house and holding it open from Kit to follow. Kit scoffed and walked inside.

“You know this whole silent brooding thing is really starting to piss me off!” Kit told him.

Ambrose shut the door and locked it. “Your irritation is duly noted. I’ll file it under I don’t give a fuck.”

Kit whirled on Ambrose again, about to tear him a new one but paused. Ambrose stood pinching the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, laboured sigh. Kit bit back his gripes.

“Tell you what,” Ambrose said eventually. His voice soft and so un-Ambrose like. Tired, Kit realised. It was as if all energy had been zapped from him after the drive, and maybe it was. Adrenaline had a habit of doing that to you. Ambrose took the key for the cuffs out of his pocket and tossed it. “You can sleep on all of the names you want to call me, and tell me over breakfast tomorrow.”

Kit caught the key, eyes wide with surprise as he unlocked the cuffs around his wrist. He glanced up at Ambrose, but Ambrose was already making for the stairs with tired movements. He lifted a hand without turning back to face Kit.

“Take whatever room you want. I honestly couldn’t care less.”

Kit stood shocked as he watched the villain ascend the staircase straight from the titanic to the second floor. Disbelief ebbed to his own wave of sleep that overtook him and he followed Ambrose up the stairs. He could think more tomorrow. Sleep would bring clarity. He could think logically in the morning.

Kit took the door closest to him and kicked off his shoes. He pulled his jacket off, unzipping his jeans, stepping out of them as he fell into— fuck this was probably the most comfortable bed he ever lay on.

That was his last thought before the blackness swallowed him, eyelids falling heavy over his eyes.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @stefaniesblogs @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump

[basementwhumpworm]

Whumpee is a punctual writer, and Caretaker hasn’t heard from Whumpee in a few days. Caretaker only finds out Whumpee is in the hospital after one of Whumpees fanfics updates and then the A/N is just something like

“Sorry this chapter was late I got hit by a car (or smth) lolll

Hospital put me on pain meds towards the end sorry about the typos enjoyyy :3”

THEN CARETAKER HEADS TO THE HOSPITAL SO FAST—

[where-is-my-whump]

+bonus😏

The Mentalist 5x08

[starlightiing]

|| Car Crash Hearts || Pierresteban || 1/2 ||

Title: Car Crash Hearts (AO3)

Rating: M

Warnings: Car accident, hospitals, angst, whump (mental and physical), ect ect.

Graphic credit: @watercolor-hearts <3

Pairing: Pierre Gasly & Esteban Ocon. (Side Esteban/Male OC and Charles Leclerc/Male OC).

“Pierre - what? Why are you calling me? I do not have anything to do with him.” “You were listed as his only emergency contact, sir. If you would please -” “No,” Esteban interjects, waving his hands about as if she can actually see him, “No, no. There’s a mistake here or something. I can give you a different number to call, but I do not have anything to do with him.” Or: Tragedy strikes for Pierre one week ahead of the Austin GP. Esteban is left with no choice but to pick up the pieces in the aftermath.

When Esteban’s eyes flutter open, the room is dark. The curtains are pulled tightly across the hotel room window, but even through the cracks and creases in the fabric, Esteban can tell it's just as dark outside as it is inside the room. This means it is nowhere near morning yet, and the option to roll back over onto his side and sneak in a few more hours of sleep is tantalizing to his groggy brain. 

To his left, Esteban can hear Gabriel’s gentle breathing, slow and steady, and can reasonably conclude that he is still tossed far into the wiles of slumber as well. Sucking in a breath, Esteban rolls himself over onto his left side and drapes an arm delicately across Gabriel’s hips as to not disturb his peaceful sleep. His eyes fall shut once more, and the rhythm of Gabriel’s breathing up against the weary pull of sleep work together to push him further and further into a state of unconsciousness himself.

That is, of course, until the harsh and frantic ‘buzz’ of Esteban’s cellphone cuts through the otherwise serene silence.

In his half-aware state, Esteban cracks only one eye open slightly, as if it would somehow sharpen his senses to the noise coming from his bedside table. He doesn’t know exactly what time it is - just how early or how late into the night or morning it could possibly be, but phone calls between this window are rare and, dare he suggest it, aggravating. He groans slightly, picking his head up from the pillow and pulling his arm back from around Gabriel’s waist. The soft motions come with a sharp intake of breath from Gabriel, who almost immediately pops open both eyes and furrows his brows in tired confusion.

“Babe, your phone.” Gabriel says, his voice gravelly and low. “Who the fuck is calling at…” a soft glow of light comes from Esteban’s left, where he notices Gabriel has turned on his own phone. “Two in the morning?”

“Fuck if I know. Hold on.” Esteban hoists himself up to a sitting position in the bed, running a hand over his face to try and wake himself up a bit more. He reaches over and swipes his phone from the table, eyes snapping immediately to the caller information. To his confusion, the number isn’t one that is registered in his contacts. The area information reads ‘Austin, TX’ with an American phone number printed beneath, but no further insight into who this mystery caller is. Now that his curiosity has reached an all time high (and perhaps a bit of nervous dread is mixed in as well), Esteban accepts the phone call and presses the speaker button so Gabriel can listen in as well. “Hello?”

“Hello. Is this a mister Esteban Ocon?” greets a disinterested voice from the other end of the line. Esteban can hear quite a commotion in the background behind her, and something inside his stomach begins to churn.

“Yes, who is this?”

“I’m calling from Saint David’s North Austin Medical Center in regards to Pierre Gasly.” 

Esteban’s eyes widen in disbelief. He steals a glance over at Gabriel, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and even a hint of anger, only to find a very similar expression painted across his face as well. 

“Pierre - what? Why are you calling me? I do not have anything to do with him.”

“You were listed as his only emergency contact, sir. If you would please -”

“No,” Esteban interjects, waving his hands about as if she can actually see him, “No, no. There’s a mistake here or something. I can give you a different number to call, but I do not have anything to do with him.”

“Sir-” the woman sounds annoyed now, a bit louder and more insistent, “There was an accident, and we are required to make phone calls to all listed emergency contacts. I cannot call a random phone number you give me due to American HIPAA laws in place to protect Pierre’s privacy. Are you able to come up to the hospital with proof of identity within the next few hours?” 

“I -” at a loss for words, Esteban locks his gaze with Gabriel, who is beginning to look less irritated and more concerned with every passing second. “What did you say was the name of this hospital again?”

“Saint David’s North Austin Medical Center.” 

“I’m looking it up.” Gabriel says softly, pulling his phone back out and tapping aggressively at the screen. Flashes of color illuminate the room as Gabriel switches from google to google maps, and Esteban leans over to get a glimpse of their position in regards to the hospital. “It’s only fifteen minutes. We can go.” “Uh, yes, yes, I can come. Can you just - is he…is he alive?” Esteban’s voice comes out small and meek, almost like a scolded child who has just served a most unjust time-out. His stomach is flopping about even more viciously now, and all of the anger that had boiled his blood only minutes ago is dissipating into anxious energy. Pierre is not his friend, but that does not mean Esteban wants anything bad to happen to him.

“I cannot divulge any further information over the phone, Mr. Ocon. Once you get here and prove your identity, we’ll be able to give you a much more detailed overview of the situation. We’ll see you soon.”

The ‘click’ of the other line disconnecting and the immediate three-beep ‘dropped call’ tone sounds in Esteban’s ears before he can even finish processing the woman’s words. His phone dims now that it’s no longer in use, and it slides from his knee as Gabriel shifts the mattress to stand to his feet. Esteban, still in shock, looks up at Gabriel and blindly follows his motions by lifting himself off of the bed as well. He is going to need his keys, his phone, his wallet, his passport, what little bit of American cash he has on him, and -

“Hey, Este, it’s okay.” comes Gabriel’s voice, now closer to him than Esteban remembers them being moments ago. A warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and he sucks in a deep breath to try and regain his bearings. “It sounds like protocol to me from the hospital. I am sure Pierre is okay, and you can add this to the list of shit he owes you for, right?”

“Right.” Esteban’s voice is tense, but he does find the strength to offer the barest smile at Gabriel’s efforts to calm his racing thoughts. “That asshole.”

“That asshole, yes. Now get dressed and hand me your keys, you are not driving right now.”

It is a welcome relief that comes with Gabriel’s words. Driving, of course, is more than second nature - almost as involuntary as breathing to someone like Esteban - even when stress and conflict and feelings are built up into a tight ball in his chest the way they are now. But to have the privilege of handing that responsibility off, well, he would take that in a heartbeat. And so he does.

“Here,” he says, grabbing the keys from his side table and tossing them over into Gabriel’s expectant hands, “Go on ahead. I will meet you outside so I can just jump in the car and we can go. Get the GPS ready and all that.”

“Yes, boss.” Gabriel shots back with a mock American salute, earning a half-hearted chuckle from Esteban in the process. He is out the door within seconds and as soon as Esteban hears the click of the strike, he lets out a massive breath that feels far too heavy in his lungs.

Surely, he thinks, Pierre will be fine. It was probably a stupid, drunken stint at a fancy club down the road from their hotel that may have landed him a broken nose or a harmless concussion. Surely, in two hours time Esteban will be curling back into bed with Gabriel to catch up on the precious sleep they missed while being Pierre’s babysitters. Pierre has been looking particularly forward to the American Grand Prix, as Esteban had overheard in the garage after their last race, so it would only make sense if he had gone out and partied with Yuki and some of the other drivers that had flown in a week early as well.

At least that is what he is going to tell himself for now, as he shrugs into an Alpine t-shirt he had discarded on the floor earlier that night, aptly strewn beside a pair of dark jeans that will suit this spontaneous hospital trip just fine. Once he finishes dressing, he grabs his passport from his bedside table along with his wallet and one of his watches, and then his phone from the middle of the bed where it has slid off of his knee a few minutes prior. 

‘Coming downstairs now. Have the car ready by check in.’ Esteban types sloppily on his phone, not caring to check for any errors as he hastily sends the message to Gabriel and all but jogs down three flights of stairs and out to the lobby, where if he garners a strange look or two from the late night desk clerks, he pays absolutely no mind.

As expected, Gabriel already has the car pulled around under the awning of the hotel check-in lane when Esteban bursts through the doors and into the night. Humidity hits him like a brick wall as soon as he steps outside, the air feeling heavy in his lungs as he rushes forward towards the passenger door.

“I have to make a phone call to Charles, do you have everything you need on your phone to get us there?” Esteban asks, slamming the passenger door shut behind him. Gabriel hits the gas hard enough for Esteban to jolt forward, but he pays it barely any mind as he quickly squirms himself into his seat belt and pulls up his contact list on his phone.

“Don’t worry about anything, Esteban, do what you need to do.” Gabriel replies firmly, his voice tender and full of a kindness that works to help ease the nerves Esteban feels swirling around in his chest. 

He tells himself, yet again, that Pierre is fine. He probably just hurt himself doing something stupid while he was drunk, and as soon as they get there, they can load him up into the car and take him back to the hotel without much of a fuss. Nonetheless, he can’t manage to shake this feeling of dread clawing its way up the back of his spine and into his chest. He swallows thickly, swiping his finger down his screen until he finds the contact name he was looking for. He taps Charles Leclerc’s name with a trembling finger, and then brings the phone up to his ear.

It takes Charles nearly four rings to answer, though Esteban can not blame him given how early in the morning it is. In fact, he is surprised Charles even answers at all.

“Someone had better be dying.” Comes Charles’ groggy voice on the other end of the line. And oh, the irony of his statement - if he only knew. Esteban heaves an unsteady breath into his lungs to clear those thoughts out of his mind; Pierre will be fine, no one is dying. But the rate of his own heartbeat and the tension in his chest would say otherwise - and Charles’ offhand greeting does not do Esteban’s anxiety any favors.

“Good morning to you too, Charles.” Esteban shoots back, working to keep his tone any semblance of ‘normal’ as to not worry Charles unnecessarily. “Hopefully no one is dying, but I got a phone call regarding Pierre.”

The other line is silent for a moment too long, long enough for Esteban to wonder if perhaps Charles has fallen back asleep. He finally hears distant shuffling in the background, followed by a very sleepy groan.

“What about Pierre?”

“The hospital nearby gave me a call. Apparently I am still his emergency contact.” Esteban informs him tensely, drowning out the sound of Gabriel’s GPS as the shrill voice spits out instructions towards the hospital. “I don’t know the details, they will not tell me this over the phone. I am heading there now to find out what happened. I thought maybe it would be good that you knew, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Charles asks, and his voice sounds much clearer and steady now. “Did they say it was bad?”

“They told me nothing at all, Charles. It’s some sort of American law or something, I don’t really know. You are staying at the same hotel as Pierre, no?” Esteban’s words are a bit frantic, perhaps even laced with an involuntary bite of annoyance. Already, the conversation has dragged on for longer than he wanted. The car can only move so quickly and yet it feels too slow, as well. Esteban is pitched forward in his seat, almost like he’s ready to jump out at any given moment. If he could just focus his attention -

“Yes,” Charles answers curtly, and his anxiety is almost palpable through the phone. Esteban would commiserate with Charles right now, if only he had the space in his chest for it. “Tell me the hospital he is at and I will be there as quickly as I can.” “How about I text it to you? I will send you the directions and everything.”

“That’s fine. Let me know as soon as you hear anything about Pierre.”

“I will,” Esteban replies, feeling more anticipation and anxiety build in his chest as Gabriel finally turns the car into the parking lot for the hospital. “We are here, so I should know something soon. I will call you in a few moments.”

“Good, thank you.” 

The call drops almost immediately, so Esteban lowers the phone from his ear and works on unfastening his seat belt so he can be out of the car as soon as Gabriel parks it. The hospital is far larger than any of the medical centers he is used to seeing - even the parking deck goes up more levels than he can comprehend. Thankfully, at this time of night, the normal visitor parking out in front of the hospital has some empty space, so Esteban watches as Gabriel pulls the car into the closest spot he can find.

“Go, go go, I will catch up.” Gabriel says, urging Esteban out the door as soon as the tires come screeching to a halt. Esteban nods, offering a grateful pat to Gabriel’s shoulder before opening the door and darting out into the humid night. He loops around the back of the car, breaking out into a light jog as he makes his way towards the entrance of the hospital.

Around him, it is surprisingly peaceful. There are lights in the parking lot that keep the area well-lit, and he can see a few nurses and other hospital staff huddled around a bench for a ten-minute smoke break off in the distance. Otherwise, the night is eerily still and quiet in a way that Esteban did not realize America could be.

It feels like it does not bode well.

As he approaches the entrance to the hospital, the automatic doors part with a quiet hum and he doesn’t even need to slow his pace. He continues his jog right up to the front desk, where an employee is typing furiously on her computer. She hardly looks up when he approaches.

“Can I help you?” she asks, eyes still fastened on her computer screen. Esteban clears his throat to try and keep his voice level and even, before reaching into his pocket to pull out his passport.

“Yes, my name is Esteban Ocon. I was called by someone from this hospital maybe twenty or thirty minutes ago because I am an emergency contact for Pierre Gasly. I was told to come with proof of my identity so I could get an update on his condition.” Esteban explains carefully, opening his passport up and pushing it forward on the desk. 

She finally looks away from her screen and gently takes his passport, reading the information and studying his photo before looking back up and making eye contact with him. “Thank you, Mr. Ocon. Give me just a moment to pull up his information. You said his name was what?”

“Pierre Gasly.” He says, feeling anticipation rise up into his throat now that he’s so close to knowing what’s going on. His heart is thumping quickly in his chest, and he shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from trembling. It's funny, really, just how nervous he is - he keeps trying to tell himself that it is nothing major, that Pierre just did something stupid during a drunken night of fun with his friends. But Esteban can feel something tense in the air - he can feel the dread churching his stomach and even though he hopes he’s wrong, he fears this may be worse than even he can imagine.

“Pierre Gasly, yes, it seems he’s currently in the ICU with very limited visitation. I will page his doctor to come talk to you about his condition, and then you can be taken to see him.” the receptionist informs him, her voice calm and even, as if she hadn’t just told Esteban that the person he’s here to see is in the intensive care unit. As if that isn’t one of the most devastating things you could tell someone.

Esteban’s breath halts in his lungs, and a cold feeling washes over him that starts at his temples and drags all the way down to the tips of his toes. The ICU - the most critical place Pierre could possibly be. His heart feels strained as it beats even faster, and if he had not been leaning against the front desk so heavily, he might have stumbled over in shock.

“I - thank you. Thank you.” He sputters, taking one of his hands out of his pocket to grab his passport back from the woman. Her eyes finally flash a hint of sympathy as she looks him over. He must look just as terrified as he feels. “Can I - is there a place to sit?”

“Of course, go down to the right a bit and there’s a waiting area. I’ll call you up when the doctor arrives, okay? It shouldn’t take too long.”

Esteban nods, stuffing his passport back into his pocket and pulling in a shaky breath. At that moment, he sees a flash of movement to his left, and Gabriel is at his side in an instant.

“Hey,” he whispers, grabbing onto Esteban’s shoulders. “You are shaking. What happened?”

Esteban leans back into Gabriel with perhaps a bit too much of his bodyweight, swallowing a mouthful of emotions back as he stumbles to take a step forward. He feels Gabriel’s grip on his shoulders tighten, holding him firmly to keep him from swaying.

“Pierre is in the intensive care unit.” Esteban chokes out, the tightness in his chest only growing as the reality of the situation bears down on him. His mind can only race with possibilities now of what could have happened to Pierre - especially so early in the morning, with no one else around. Did someone hurt him? Had he been in an accident? 

“Oh my god. What happened to him?” Gabriel asks, gently leading Esteban down the short hallway towards the waiting area. “Did they tell you?”

Slowly, Esteban finds himself maneuvered into a chair. He stretches his legs out and turns onto his side, the side where Gabriel sits next to him, and reaches for his hand. Gabriel is more than happy to offer his hand in response, giving Esteban’s a little squeeze of support. 

“They did not say yet. I have to wait for the doctor to come down and talk with me. But…this means it is very serious. I thought it would be something stupid, like a broken nose or maybe even a concussion or something.” Esteban squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling it out sharply. “Oh fuck, I did not text Charles.”

He worms his free hand around in the pocket opposite his passport, grabbing his phone out with little struggle. He quickly presses his thumb against the fingerprint scanner, and scrolls through a series of old conversations until he finds one with Charles from over a month ago.

His hand is shaking so badly, he nearly misses clicking on Charles’ name three times.

“Baby, do you want me to do it?” Gabriel suggests, his breath warm against the crown of Esteban’s forehead where he is resting his lips. Esteban sighs, surrendering his phone over and resting the weight of his head against Gabriel’s. 

“Do not tell Charles that Pierre is in the ICU. I do not want him driving here worried. He just needs directions to the hospital.” Esteban tells him gently. Gabriel hums in acknowledgement, and Esteban listens to the soft sound of the phone keyboard clicking as Gabriel types one-handedly.

Esteban’s anxiety is only going from bad to worse as the minutes pass, waiting for the doctor to make their way down to him. Logically, he understands this hospital is full of people who need help and families who need support, but the longer he waits to find out what happened to Pierre, the more the scenarios in his mind worsen. Intensive care could be indicative of so many different things - is Pierre unconscious and critical but breathing on his own, or is he on a breathing device as well? Is he in one piece or multiple pieces? Will he look like a shell of the man Esteban knew, or will he just look like he’s sleeping peacefully? Why didn’t Pierre pull Esteban’s name off of his emergency contact list?

He hears Gabriel’s tip-tapping on the phone stop, and he looks down at their entwined fingers. The phone screen is dark, indicating that Gabriel has already finished the message and locked the phone. Esteban does not reach out to take it back, instead closing his eyes and focusing on the rise and fall of his own chest as he breathes. It’s all he can do to keep his mind busy and away from all of the horrible scenarios running through it.

Gabriel is blessedly silent beside him, offering a gentle kiss to his temple every so often, and his thumb consistently rubs over Esteban’s knuckles in a pattern that is easy to focus on in tandem with his breathing. He has almost managed to reach a point of calm, almost victorious in bringing his heart rate down from frantic to just slightly elevated, until he hears the woman at the front desk call his name.

“Shit.” he hisses beneath his breath, and Gabriel gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. “They will not let you in because you are not the emergency contact.”

“I know. Will you be alright?” Gabriel asks earnestly, and it causes something to squeeze a little too tight in Esteban’s chest. No, he’s not alright, and no he won’t be alright. At the very least, having Gabriel with him would offer some form of comfort when he needs it the most. But, there is no time to waste, and this isn’t about whether or not Esteban can handle it.

He can. He will. Just like he always does.

“Yes. Just…hope that it is not horrible news.”

Esteban untangles himself from the comfortable positioning he had managed to worm into, looking down at Gabriel with a tight-lipped and uncomfortable smile. Gabriel’s eyes are soft and sad, and his smile is equally as cautious. It makes Esteban’s stomach flip in the worst ways.

But he’s dawdling, and he cannot do that. Pierre could very well be dying, and –

He pushes those thoughts aside and makes his way back up to the front desk, feeling the trembling in his limbs returning. As he reaches the reception area, he sees the same woman from before, conversing with a tall, dark-haired doctor in a stereotypical white coat at her side. Her hair is tied up in a bun and she’s wearing thick-rimmed glasses. Her features are soft and gentle, but there is an obvious tension in the crinkle of her brow and the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, either.

“Mr. Ocon, this is Doctor Maynor. She will give you an update on Pierre’s condition and take you to see him, okay?” The receptionist says, and her tone is noticeably more carefully chosen than it had been when Esteban first walked into the hospital. None of this is easing his anxiety in the slightest. It is clear that everyone is walking on eggshells, and walking on eggshells means that they have bad news to deliver. Esteban can only hope that Doctor Maynor is blunt, concise, and rips the band-aid off so his poor heart can just take all the damage in one swoop.

“Thank you.” He says, looking over to the doctor and politely holding out a hand for her to shake. She does so, and her hand is warm as she grips his firmly. He hopes she cannot feel him trembling.

“Good morning, Mr. Ocon. Let me take you somewhere a little more private, okay? We can talk outside of his room.” Doctor Maynor suggests, motioning down the hallway towards a set of double doors that Esteban assumes lead into the ICU. He swallows thickly.

“Yes, of course. My partner is here with me, I know he cannot hear anything about Pierre’s condition, but can he come with me to the ICU?” He asks, almost fearing what the answer might be to such a question. The receptionist earlier had mentioned ‘limited visitation’ and that alone might be enough for them to keep Gabriel from him.

However, her polite smile never falters, and she offers a nod. “Of course. I can’t allow both of you into Pierre’s room at the same time, but there is a separate waiting area for the ICU that he can be situated in.”

Esteban’s sigh of relief must be palpable, as Doctor Maynor’s smile twitches towards something more genuine. Esteban jogs ahead of her towards the waiting area where Gabriel is still sitting, and he whistles softly to get his attention. Gabriel’s head snaps up instantaneously, and Esteban urges him over with a frantic hand gesture. “Come, we are going to the ICU.”

Esteban watches as Gabriel fumbles to collect his belongings. It’s clear he must have thought he would be there for some time, as he was lounging with his feet up and both his phone and a book open to his side. He grabs everything and shuffles to his feet, meeting up with Esteban at the same moment Doctor Maynor joins them as well.

“Good morning. Mr. Ocon has requested you to be with him in the ICU. I’ll show you where the waiting area is, and I’ll have a chat with Mr. Ocon in private about your friend’s condition.”

Esteban barely contains a snort at the word ‘friend.’ Perhaps one time in the past, they were friends. Perhaps one time in the past, they were even more than that. Perhaps something went wrong somewhere down the line, and their hearts lost touch. Perhaps from that moment, they never saw each other in a positive light again. ‘Friend’ - the way that makes Esteban’s heart ache so painfully in his chest. They are not friends. He doesn’t even know what they are anymore, really. Maybe just teammates, and nothing more.

Nonetheless, Esteban nods towards Gabriel, who responds with a very polite, “Yes ma’am.” 

As they approach the double doors of the intensive care unit, Doctor Maynor tugs on a badge clipped loosely to her coat and holds it against the sensor. The doors spring to life, opening slowly to allow them inside, and Esteban forces himself to take a deep breath as he crosses the threshold into his new and frightening territory. The ward is alive with the sounds of beeping monitors, nurse chatter, the clicking of keyboards as they’re furiously typed upon, and the sound of wheels against linoleum flooring where monitors and other sensitive equipment are being carted around by the medical staff. Each door is spread quite far apart from the other, all numbered in ascending order, with even numbers on the left and odd ones on the right.

Doctor Maynor comes to a halt right at the end of the hallway, where Esteban can see a small carpeted area full of couches and chairs. It’s all very similar to the waiting room outside of the emergency ward, and he knows this is where he loses Gabriel.

This is where he knows things may never be quite the same ever again.

“Here’s the waiting area. Pierre’s room is not too far from here.” Doctor Maynor says, using her arm to gesture towards the empty chairs in the room. Gabriel sucks in a breath and Esteban immediately turns to face him, feeling that same awful, ice-cold dread fill him from head to toe once again. 

“I will be right here, Esteban. It’s going to be okay.” Gabriel tells him, leaning in close to bump their foreheads together. Esteban nods, not trusting the way his voice might sound if he dares to speak. “It’s okay, baby.” 

Gabriel presses a feather-soft kiss to the bridge of Esteban’s nose, and then he steps back to head into the waiting room. Esteban’s hand twitches at his side, a longing feeling at the tips of his fingers to reach out and grab hold of Gabriel, to stop him from leaving, but that would only prolong the inevitable. Something Esteban has already been doing too much of.

“Are you ready, Mr. Ocon?” Doctor Maynor asks softly, and Esteban can appreciate that her voice is full of sympathy and warmth. It’s in stark contrast to the woman at the front desk who, (through no fault of her own, really, Esteban knows this is her job after all), had been less than gentle giving her side of the news. 

“Yes,” he replies after a moment, his chest clenching in on itself with the desperate anxiety he feels buzzing in his veins. “I’m ready.”

As she begins to walk off towards Pierre’s room, Esteban is hot on her heels. Even amongst the dread and the nausea and the raw fear he’s fighting off, deep down he wants nothing more than to just know already. And the faster they get to Pierre’s room, the faster he gets that information.

Doctor Maynor stops so abruptly in front of room 158 that Esteban nearly trips over her in the process. His head snaps over towards the door, where Pierre’s name is written neatly up on the board hanging beside the window. The curtains are shut tight, however, and to his dismay (or perhaps to his benefit), nothing can be seen inside the room other than the faint glow of the light peeking out through the corners of the fabric.

“Okay, have they told you anything about what’s happened to Mr. Gasly yet?” She begins, pulling her tablet out from her pocket. Esteban assumes that is where all of Pierre’s data is being kept, an entire record of what’s happened to him since he set foot inside of this hospital. He has to fight the urges to just reach forward and grab it from her hands, and read all the data himself.

“Not at all. I did not even know he was in the ICU until ten minutes ago.”

Doctor Maynor frowns, sliding her finger across the tablet as she scrolls through pages of data. Esteban watches her intently, his heart pounding so fast he can hear it clearly in his ears.

“Mr. Gasly was in a horrible car accident. He was brought in about an hour ago in critical condition. His injuries are extensive and range in severity, but overall, his condition is still highly critical.” She informs him, and Esteban’s stomach drops to his feet.

A car accident? Of all things?

“Okay, so what are they, then?” He urges a bit impatiently, though doctor Maynor doesn’t seem to mind all that much. She sucks in a breath and looks up from the tablet, finally meeting his gaze with a sad smile.

“His pelvis is broken, as well as his clavicle. A few of his ribs fractured as well, and one of them splintered into his lung which caused a puncture and a collapse. He had an open cranial fracture - though minor - and a brain contusion to go along with it. On top of this, he has whiplash, and we are monitoring his neck for any swelling. His right leg is also broken in two spots, but the worst of the injuries is the internal bleeding. It seems on his ride over to the hospital, he went into cardiac arrest once.”

Esteban feels his legs tremble beneath him, either unable or unwilling to hold his weight. His breath is frozen in his lungs, eyes wide in absolute horror as the magnitude of Pierre’s injuries slowly, one by one, register into his brain. He can feel his heart beating in his throat, hard and heavy as if he’d just run up six flights of stairs to get here.

He’s certain the doctor must be speaking to him, but there’s a ringing in his ears that drowns out all other sounds.

Pierre’s heart had stopped in the ambulance. His heart had simply stopped beating.

Esteban thinks he may be sick.

[whump-side]

Whumperless Whump Event

Day 2 - Does your insurance cover this? : Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, ambulance is almost here.”