#febuwhumpday21

[linecrosser]

Febwhump 2024 - Day 21 - Unresponsive

Young SQH suffering from System-induced shutdowns when not following the instructions to the letter.

[kabie-whump]

♡ Febuwhump Day 21: Unresponsive ♡

@febuwhump

Low key a continuation of day 19 (but if im being honest you could totally connect all of my generic febuwhump posts into one story if you try hard enough)

Content: unresponsive whumpee, ptsd, disassociation, worried/guilty caretaker, post-rescue, referenced finger amputation

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It's been a month.

One month since Whumpee made the most idiotic decision of their life and volunteered to be captured by Whumper for the opportunity to gather information about them.

One month since Caretaker tearfully begged them not to go and one month since Whumpee turned their back on their best friend.

Caretaker isn't involved in the rescue mission. All they can do is sit outside the infirmary and mentally reherse what they're going to say to Whumpee when they get back. ("Fuck you for being an absolute idiot and being so careless with yourself and making me worry you dickhead you could've died what is wrong with you-")

Doors burst open. Whumpee is brought in on a stretcher wearing nothing but a thin blanket that is already stained red in some spots and god they've never been this skinny before. Their eyes are open, staring up blankly at the ceiling as they're rushed into another room.

All of the harsh words Caretaker had been saving for Whumpee disappear because one month.

It takes hours, but Caretaker is eventually allowed to see Whumpee. The nurse who leads them in gives them a sympathetic look, muttering something about "be patient and give them time" but Caretaker doesn't hear it as they rush to Whumpee's bedside.

Whumpee's awake. At least, their eyes are open. But they don't even look at Caretaker as they perch at the edge of a chair next to the bed, don't even flinch as Caretaker takes their hand.

"Whumpee? How are you feeling? Are you alright? I was so worried."

Silence. No sign that Whumpee even heard them.

"I'm sorry for how we left things. I just didn't want you to get hurt. You don't have to give me the silent treatment."

They did get hurt. Whumpee is wrapped in bandages and hooked up to an IV and oxygen. Their left knee is in a cast. Their whole right hand is cocooned in gauze and Caretaker tries to pretend they don't know why.

(They'd overheard it a week after Whumpee's capture: "Leader was sent Whumpee's finger in an envelope this morning. Don't tell Caretaker, they'll freak.)

"Whumpee, please. Say something."

Nothing; just a haunted stare. The harsh overhead lights must be hurting their eyes, but still they go an unsettlingly long time between blinks.

A lot of damage can be done in a month.

Caretaker bends over, pressing their forehead to the mattress as silent sobs shake their shoulders.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[what-the-whump]

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 21 | Unresponsive

Power Rangers Ninja Storm | 1x12 | Return of Thunder Part III

[blackrosesandwhump]

Febuwhump Day 21: Unresponsive

CW: experiment whump, unconsciousness whumpee, creepy whumper, needle mention

It’s happening again.

Whumper sighs in frustration and slaps whumpee’s face, gently at first, then more forcefully a second time. Nothing. Unresponsive, right at the critical juncture in the experiment. Whumper frowns and bends closer, examining his subject. Pale, damp skin. Shallow breathing. Weak pulse through the stethoscope. Not an ideal situation, especially when whumper is so close to success.

“You’re not being very helpful, whumpee.” Whumper steps back from the table, crossing his arms. “I told you to stay awake this time. But did you listen? No.” He pauses, observing whumpee for a moment in intense silence, then springs into action, readying various instruments and a syringe. The bright lights overhead wash out whumpee’s skin completely, making him look dead.

But he isn’t, and he won’t be, not while whumper needs him.

“And now, since you didn’t listen,” whumper says, plunging the syringe into whumpee’s chest, “we have to start the experiment all over again.”

[simpforchuchu]

Dearest

Prompts: DAY 21 - unresponsive @febuwhump Characters: Sachio x reader Fandom: High and Low Summary: Y/n’/ last letter

A/n for prompts: Hello guys! This is my first time trying a prompt challenge. I hope you like the short fics I wrote. I will finish them by writing some of the requests I have. I love you 💜

Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my main language so...

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: mention of character’s death

Sachio finally gathered the courage to open the envelope in his hand. While he was watching the city from where the old temple was located, he clutched the letter written "To Sachio" in his hand.

He was afraid. It was very difficult for him to open and read this letter after she’s gone. But he knew, he had to do it.

He sat on the steps and carefully opened the envelope in his hand. His heart was already racing when he saw his girlfriend's handwriting.

“Dear Sachio,

I know you will be very angry with me when you read this letter. Maybe you will hate me. But I couldn't tell you the truth. You were smiling so beautifully next to me, I didn't want you to feel sorry for me.

I have been struggling with this illness for a long time. My body was unresponsive to treatment and I was getting closer to death every day. How can you say this to someone you love? I didn't know. I still don't know. That's why I couldn’t say it.

I am sorry. I'm really sorry. I loved you so much that I couldn't bear you being sad because of me.

I was happy every moment I spent with you. You always made me feel like I was the only girl in the world. I felt loved every moment I was with you. And I loved you very much every moment.

Thank you for always making me happy and making me feel loved in our short time. The warmth of your hands and your beautiful smile is something I will never forget. I hope we meet again in my next life and I hope I will remember the warmth of your hands.

Don't be mad at me, okay? I didn't want you to suffer with me. Maybe it was selfish, but I love you too much to hurt you.

Do not be angry with yourself too, okay ? It's not your fault. I guess I was good at lying. I apologize again for these.

Please don't be too upset. I can't say forget me, but at least continue to have someone in your life, okay? You deserve to be loved. And being loved by you is the most beautiful experience anyone can have.

Take care of yourself Sachio, I have always loved you and I will always love you.

-Y/n.”

The young boy wiped his watery eyes and folded the letter in his hand again. He looked at the sky and tried to smile. It hurt, but he felt at peace.

Y/n wouldn't suffer anymore and she would always be with him.

HnL taglist : @straysugzhpe @tiddly-winx @ninamarie1994 @emperorsnero @koala-yuna @little-miss-naill

[librathefangirl]

Febuwhump 2024: Day 21 Alt 7 - Last Words

[em-writes-stuff]

unresponsive

day 21 of @febuwhump

villain and hero

1219 words

warnings: past abuse discussed, bruises, cursing, hospital stay mention (not discussed heavily)

a/n: this one kinda got away from me, but oh well? i like it, it's just not that whumpy. anyway, hope you like it!

part one here

~

Villain looks up from his phone and watches a shadow pass his frosted window to the front porch. The figure stands there, frozen. Villain rises from the couch and stuffs his phone in his pocket. He walks over to the door and looks through the peephole. 

Hero stands there, arms wrapped around herself. Villain opens the door and pulls her inside, checking the street for any cars that might have followed her there. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, locking the door. 

She looks through him, barely acknowledging him. 

“Hero, what’s going on?” he says in a soft voice. 

For a few more seconds, they just stand there. Villain trying to calm the worry rising in his chest with every second Hero doesn’t respond. 

Hero chews on the skin inside her cheek, tears welling in her eyes. She finally focuses on Villain and shakes her head, “You were right.” 

Slowly, she unzips her jacket and pulls it down for Villain to see. Her arms are covered in bruises, so is what he can see of the rest of her. 

“Will you help me?” She asks, voice breaking. 

Villain nods, “Of course.” 

He leads her into the living room and sits her down on the couch. She pulls her jacket back over her arms and zips it up. Villain digs through a bin of blankets and tosses one her way, then takes another one out and sets it on the chair next to the couch. 

“Tea?” he asks, already walking to the kitchen. 

She nods, “Yes please.” 

He dips into the kitchen and calls out, “What kind? I’ve got…well how about you just tell me what you like and I’ll bring it over.” 

“Green tea would be great if you’ve got it,” she calls back. 

He rustles through the cabinets and pulls the box out triumphantly, “Green tea: check!” 

He swears he hears her chuckle and he smiles to himself while pouring boiling water into mugs.  Villain sets the mugs on a plate, the tea bags next to them and digs into his cupboard for the sugar. He gets out a few packaged snacks and sets them on the plate and picks it up and brings it into the living room. 

The blanket he tossed onto the chair for himself is on the couch next to Hero now, her eyes dart from him to the cushion, then back to him. He smiles warmly, sets the plate down on the coffee table and plops onto the couch, leaving a cushion between them. 

“I didn’t want to guess on how strong you liked your tea, so I just bought the bag. Take whichever mug you want, I’ll drink whatever. Sugar if you want it, take some snacks, anything you want.” 

Hero smiles and takes the smaller mug. She cups her hands around it and closes her eyes for a second before reaching out and grabbing the tea bag from the plate. She rips the wrapper and dunks it into her mug, swirling it around for a few seconds. 

Villain takes the other mug and does the same with his tea bag, then reaches to grab a package of cookies from the plate.

Villain looks over to her, trying to gauge how to start the conversation. She’s taking a sip of the tea, letting it sit in her mouth before swallowing. He clears his throat and reaches for the remote, “Music?” 

Hero nods, “Sure.” 

He nods and pulls up instrumental music. “This work?” 

She nods again and smiles, “Yeah, thanks.” 

He sets the remote on the coffee table and opens his cookie bag. He offers it to her first, then takes one out when she rejects it. 

“Do…you wanna talk about it?” He asks, wiping the cookie crumbs on his blanket. 

She bites her cheek and shakes her head, “Not right now.” 

Villain shifts into a more comfortable position and nods, “Do you want to talk about anything?” 

She nods, but doesn’t say anything. Villain inhales sharply and sets his mug on his knee. “What about the weather? It’s been crazy lately! I mean- 20’s then 50’s and even the 70’s? What’s up with that? My perennials started to sprout and now I’m afraid they’re gonna freeze next week.” 

Hero chuckles softly and smiles, “Yeah, it’s fucking with my migraines, the pressure change really messes me up.” 

“Migraines suck!” Villain says, leaning forward slightly. “It’s like. Hey do you want to have a constant owch pain in your head? Too bad, here you go!” 

Hero snorts and nods, “Yeah it’s horrible. And it’s so much worse because Superhero wants me to-”

She cuts herself off and looks at her hands, suddenly very interested on the border of the blanket. She bites the inside of her cheek and her brows furrow. She shakes her head and inhales shakily. 

“Yeah, I remember.” Villain says, picking at his fingernails. 

Hero looks up, “What do you mean?” 

He shakes his head, “It was a long time ago…and I’ve changed a lot since then, but I used to be you. Or…I did what you do. I wasn’t you…obviously.” 

“You worked with Superhero?” Hero asks, disbelievingly. 

He nods and takes a deep breath. “I know what he’s like. Used to think that him pushing me was what was best for me…just like you do. But then…” 

He shakes his head and lifts his shirt up, showing off a long, jagged scar along his abdomen. 

“He told me that…everyone fights dirty and I needed to be prepared for it. So he used a piece of broken glass and…” he makes a slicing motion along the length of the scar and drops the shirt, covering the scar once again. 

Hero looks at the floor, “I’m sorry.” 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Villain responds. “Anyway, he told me I couldn’t go to the hospital and had to patch it up myself, because there would be a time where I wouldn’t have the hospital as an option. And naturally, I couldn’t take care of it because I was nineteen…it got infected…and he dropped me off at a hospital. No money, no support, and he pretty much erased my existence.

After a few days in a coma, I figured out he wasn’t worth feeling sad over and I made sure that he could never actually succeed in what he’s been planning.” 

“What’s he been planning?” Hero asks, opening a bag of cookies.

Villain scoffs, “Of course he stopped telling people. He wants to branch out. Cover more cities, get more power. More control. That way he can take over everything. Make it so no one steps out of line, no one can do anything he doesn’t approve of. Of course, that’s not how he says it. He just ‘Wants to be able to keep more people safe.’ And the only way he can do that is by ‘Being able to monitor people who risk the safety of others.’ Which could be anyone, by the way, so he’d have to monitor everyone.” 

Hero shakes her head, “Why hasn’t he…I mean. Why does he let you…y’know? How come-”

“He doesn’t think I’m enough of a threat to kill me.” Villain interrupts. 

She nods to herself, “Is he right?” 

“God I hope not.” Villain says. “Could you imagine? I’ve just been doing all this for no reason?” 

[whumpinthepot]

@febuwhump 2024

Day 21, Alt 2. “I love you”

—

Whumper saying “I love you” every torture session, conditioning the whumpee to associate that word with hurt, so when they’re brought back to the people who care the most they can’t stand being told those words. They won’t say it, they hate hearing it, so caretakers have to come up with different forms of showing their love. The worst part is that whumpee knows that whumper meant every word of it. Every time whumper said “I love you.” It was said with so much affection. Making it ten times harder to accept love from the people they actually care about.

[writersmorgue]

Febuwhump Day 21 - Unresponsive

TWs in tags || read on Ao3 || wc: 1332

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Time-activated quirks are rare. Izuku knows, he’s studied many. He was fascinated by the logistics the first time he read about one in the news. The quirk usually being transferred by some physical touch or substance from the user- slowly dissolving into the victim like a pill. 

Pro hero Buzzkill has a quirk that gives its victim a bee sting-like welt every four and a half minutes. The vigilante Combo Breaker has a quirk that breaks one of its victim's fingers every two minutes. 

And apparently, the villain he’d been fighting on patrol also shared this unique quirk factor. 

The debrief had said the guy was quirkless, but one look at the shoes on his feet told Izuku otherwise. 

Now, four hours and twenty-five minutes later, he’s lying on the floor of his kitchen unable to move. 

His nose is pressed at an uncomfortable angle, mere inches from where his coffee mug was smashed to pieces when he dropped it. 

He’d felt this odd pain in the base of his spine when he got off of patrol, and after his post-shift nap, it had only been higher up on his back and twice as intense. 

Apparently, when it got to his head, he was due to lose all motor functions. Great!

The good news is that Katsuki should be home any minute, and he can pull Izuku out of this cold, black coffee puddle. Maybe he’ll even put him back in bed if he’s feeling generous. 

He’s not sure how long he waits. His eyelids have drooped close, though he couldn’t open them if he wanted. He spends a while trying to determine if he’s breathing or not, but his whole body is so uncomfortably numb that he gives up. 

Soon enough, the door opens and Katsuki’s gym shoes are kicked off into their cubby. 

“‘M home.” He grumbles, probably not expecting an answer because Izuku is usually still napping when Katsuki gets back from his morning gym run. 

Izuku isn’t sure what Katsuki notices first, maybe his socked feet lying on the ground, or the bits of red, blue, and yellow ceramic that probably skidded across the room. 

“Deku? Did you fuckin’ fall?” His husband scoffs, rounding the corner to see Izuku sprawled on the floor, “Oi, get up dumbass.” 

Izuku mentally winces, not prepared for the absolute earful Katsuki is going to give him later. 

Katsuki walks closer, nudging the broken pieces of mug away, “Izuku?” 

Ah, he’s anxious. 

Izuku might’ve predicted this issue if he had thought a little harder. He’s not in any real danger, so there’s no need to worry-

“Izuku?!”

But he doesn’t know that. 

“No come on,” Katsuki mumbles out loud, trying to reason logically like Izuku knows he does when he’s scared, “he hit his head and passed out- no, there’s no blood. He was tired? Maybe he wanted to sleep on the floor…”

Katsuki comes up behind him and drops to his knees, rolling Izuku over. 

Light flashes in front of his eyes, but he’s powerless to blink at the sudden flash. Katsuki curses when his head flops back and smacks the tile. Stars fly across the black of his eyelids. 

“Izuku, wake up.” Katsuki presses his fingers under Izuku’s jaw and curses. 

There’s no way this quirk stopped his heartbeat- right?!

Katsuki pries one of his eyelids open. The cool air burns but he doesn’t flinch. 

His pupil must not react either, because before he knows it Katsuki is tugging him into his arms with a frantic whimper and launching himself across their living room. 

Katsuki places a leg in between Izuku’s own and wraps one of his arms under Izuku’s shoulders so he can use the other to propel them into the sky. 

The wind whistles by Izuku’s ears as Katsuki wastes no time getting them to what he can only assume is the hospital a few blocks away. 

The strain his arm must feel right now can only be extremely painful but Katsuki makes no sign of it. 

Izuku can feel them descending, just as Katsuki’s grip on him begins to slip. Katsuki stumbles a bit on the ground, lurching forward but being sure to keep Izuku’s body in his solid grip. 

“HEY!” He shouts as soon as they step through the sliding doors of the emergency bay, “I NEED A DOCTOR NOW!”

“Sir please don’t-”

“Pro hero Dynamight!” Another nurse interrupts the first, rushing towards them, “What are his vitals?”

Izuku feels himself get flipped onto a gurney, lying face up on the cold, thin fabric. He can feel everything down to his hair follicles itching to form goosebumps. 

He hears the nurse gasp as soon as his hair falls out of his face. 

I might be wearing pajamas, but I’m still the number one hero, he figures. I’d recognize All Might in his pajamas.

“Is that-”

“Someone who needs a fucking doctor?!” Katsuki growls, “YES.” 

The nurse barks a few orders at her coworkers and, from what Izuku can tell, sprints with him down the hallway. 

“Vitals?”

“No.”

The cart shudders when she briefly trips, “N-No? What do you mean-”

“I mean he wasn’t fucking responsive. I came home and he was on the fucking floor. No pulse, no breathing, no pupil dilation.” Katsuki’s voice moves to his other side, and there’s more movement before Izuku is lifted over to a different bed. 

The nurse hooks a machine up to him to start pumping his chest while she darts around him, checking various other vitals. 

“Shit.” She whispers to herself, pressing her warm hands into his wrist harder. 

Someone slams open the door, running to Izuku’s side. His hearing blurs while they yell orders at each other, pricking Izuku with various needles. 

“C’mon.” A new, higher-pitched male voice grunts in his ear as what he can assume is a shot of adrenaline is pumped into his fresh IV. 

“You said you found him like this?” Another female voice asks, farther in the corner of the room where he figures Katsuki is watching. 

“He passed out, there’s no obvious trauma. I have no fucking idea why.” Katsuki grunts, voice warbling. “He was on patrol a few hours ago but there was nothing in the report that would warrant this.”

“It’s not looking…” She pauses, “It’s not ideal, but we can’t rule out the possibility of it being a quirk.”

“Nothing is rousing him. We can keep the compressions going, but his body isn’t showing postmortem symptoms. I think, truly, if he comes back it will be regardless of what we do.”

Katsuki sighs, “I’m going to call his mom. Take the machine off him, she shouldn’t see him like this.”

Izuku’s head jostles as they remove the machine, his chest already feeling the ache and forming bruises. 

The nurse clamps a heart rate monitor onto his finger and leaves his side, rolling whatever monstrosity of a contraption they had waiting for him on a cart out of the room. 

It’s completely silent for a few minutes, not even the usual steady beep of his heart that he associates with the hospital to keep him company. 

The door swings open and footsteps move towards his side. 

He knows it’s Katsuki as soon as their hands touch. 

His husband’s warm hands cup his own, rubbing circles into his skin. 

“If you die on a random ass fucking Thursday morning when you’re not even working I’ll make sure they send you to whatever hell exists for idiots like you.” 

Izuku laughs inwardly, enjoying Katsuki’s touch. 

“Shitty prank. You broke your favorite mug.”

Ah damn, he forgot about that. 

Katsuki’s hair tickles his forearm as the man presumably leans down, pressing his lips to Izuku’s inner wrist, “If you leave me I’ll never forgive you.” He stretches a hand over Izuku’s stomach, resting it on his soft sleep shirt. “I love you, I don’t tell you nearly enough.”

“Come back to me, Izuku.”

And Izuku wishes more than anything that he knew how.

[scratchandplaster]

FEBUWHUMP DAY 21 - Lightning strike

CW: parental Whumper, conditioned Whumpee, hypnosis, betrayal

Previous | [Masterlist] | Next

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The storm raging outside had been no surprise. Otis helped to upgrade the tents beforehand, so the aftermath would be predictable enough to not resow any doubts. In barely half a week, everyone who dared to saw Reuben's efforts to settle in as a smooth success.

His "other one" was still writhing aimlessly.

Nothing more than a few clicks and a hopeless fight against the sluggish Wi-Fi were necessary, after nearly two years in the dark, Shepard was awarded with the address of Luke's shelter. 427 Parkway Drive - the brick front was virtually smiling at him, a half turn away from the international house of pre-diabetes and Red 40. Birdie would get an aneurysm if she every caught her children in there.

A shy knock at the door, nearly inaudibly through the gusts of wind and its rumble, ripped Shepard from his thoughts. Ben slipped through and latched it tightly shut.

Perfect timing, as if appointed. The laptop screen was preventively closed down to a bright slit.

"Hey, Dad," he carefully draped his raincoat over a rack, "I brought the kids over, they are a bit restless." Over to their guardians, as it should be. Handling even two children felt like a Herculean task to Shepard, five would go beyond any reasonable cat herding.

"Well done, sweetheart." He grabbed a spare blanket from the couch to wrap around Ben's wet self. Little droplets fell from the short curls he hopefully planned to grow out again. All bundled up, Ben was pulled in closer for a hug: "We can have a sleepover too."

"Yeah, well, I'm not stepping out there again!" He, too, felt nervous about the storm and winced at every flash of lightning shining through the windows.

"Me neither," his dad huffed skeptically, "Let's hope this shed doesn't turn into a houseboat overnight!"

Nature continued to let its fury whip through the fields, twisting and turning every loose object to its pleasure. Cradling his son and arranging him so sit comfortably on his knees was Shepard's first priority, the second quickly followed suit.

"Do you know how lightning comes to be?" he spoke and let his voice offset the wild howling behind the glass, "Far up in the clouds, thousands and thousands of little raindrops grate against each other. Imagine the tension between them, the electric current jumping from every water bead to the other, over and over and over and over, never stopping, never resting. But the tension doesn't fade. It builds up by a tenfold, over and over and over, until it has no choice but to - release."

Exhaling deep on the last word, or rather command, Ben once again found himself relaxing. Any escape from the storm was welcome.

Shepard's restless scientific speech was finally interrupted by another harsh flash that pulled his son out of the comfort surrounding them. A loud boom quickly followed.

"What do you think, Ben: is it close above or already drifting further away from us? Check this for me, please."

Ben, trying his best to stay calm and secure, began to count the seconds between lighting and thunder. This skill had been a lot more important when they used to live in the old camper: just Shepard, Luke and he.

A flash.

"One...two...three-"

Thunder rumbled.

Waiting for the next one didn't take long. Shepard kept himself busy by warming his son's freezing hands with his own.

"One...two...three...four..."

Ben lulled his brain into mindlessness at his own free will, dragging himself up and down the states of consciousness without Shepard even needing to lift a finger. Every new thunderclap brought him back up, though the lingering relaxation continued to twist into itself with every new count-up.

"...sixteen...seventeen..." The tiny thoughts got swallowed halfway between his lips and ears as Ben sunk further into Shepard's embrace.

Another round, and then another. Just as nature above, Ben stared to let go of all tension that sparked up inside his gray matter.

"...twenty-two...twenty-three..." At last, the telltale soft voice, slack face and distant gaze surrounding his son made Shepard reach out for the laptop and interrupt the peaceful counting.

"Believe it or not, I found something really interesting. Be a gem and help me for a second, starshine."

Oh. Ben could always help his dad out, it was his special talent. He sat up straight, surely this hot new project was nothing more than a breed of zucchini he wanted to cultivate or a plan to cobble a different beehive blueprint together.

Shepard, cautious and at his limit, had to be play it safe. One mistake and Lukas would slip from his grasp once again; an unforgivable error.

"I need someone to greenlight the info I've collected."

Instantly, as Ben recognized the house on the screen, his expression turned from calm to startled. Brow furrowed in confusion, he began to twist uncomfortably out of the blanket, verifying everything Shepard had to know.

"Thank you, Reuben." His father's apologetic smile didn't help a bit. Ben was shocked, more at himself than the situation he was stuck in.

"I never-"

Thunder rolled through the fields, but Ben couldn't care less. Looking away in panic, he struggled to push the gentle presence in his mind away, to resist the urge to agree with every single of Dad's words. Shepard, for one, didn't appreciate the sudden antipathy. A hand sneaked to the small of Ben's neck.

He had to ignore the soothing gestures, for Luke's sake. Ben had kept his mouth shut, he knew that he did! He was so relieved that Shepard didn't even ask once, so how was this possible? 

Should he lie to his father? They both knew he was horrible at it.

"I-I don't understand!" A single finger under his chin made Ben's face turn around to witness his helplessness mirrored in honey-brown eyes. They were studying him intently.

"I don't want you to understand, Ben," Shepard said gently, only the murmur of rain withstanding his words, "I want you to follow."

The world was pulled out from under Ben like a rug.

An all too loved force spread through his body at rapid pace, forcing his pupils to blow wide. Like a deer in the headlights, only the shock let his last thought hang by a threat of resistance.

"Don't fight it, you're going to give yourself a headache again. Just listen and follow."

Eventually, Ben's heavy eyelids fluttered until they were simply too heavy to do so anymore. Weak against any command, he collapsed into his father, arms hanging numb at the sides.

Hours of persuasive assurance were now ingrained as absolute truth into the most delicate part of his mind, the one that wailed for fatherly attention. It listened without protest. In return, Shepard would always take care of it, finally making a pledge in earnest. 

There was lightning at the end of the valley.

This time, Shepard counted for his son, pressing his mind deeper into docility. Ben was safe, loved and a traitor; gone completely as he slipped down the shortcut which Shepard had whittled into the twirls of his cerebral cortex. 

The chances to twist away from him again were just as lost. The storm had moved on.

"Secrets will only eat you up, it's better to share them. I absolve you from my and Luke's complicated arguments. I swear I will never make you do something like this again," Shepard assured and carefully stroked along his son's back, allowing the fatigue to catch on, "It's an emergency, you surely agree. We need Luke, just as he needs us."

Acceptance popped up in his son's face: he was an open book you could rip newly written pages out of and blacken to your whim. Reuben would've never survived out there, nothing to be ashamed of.

Shepard warily carried him to the cot and turned the heater on high. Electricity was the office's main perk. One day, Ben's mind would explode because of all his contradictory feelings. For now, it was kept safe in capable hands.

Shepard needed to pack his essentials, yet before setting out he made sure no sting of guilt would bother Reuben in the morning.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Who Heals the Healer? Day 21 – Unresponsive

Continuation of Day 7. Hyrule passes out from his injury. Legend takes care of him with Warrior’s help. He berates himself for not noticing. TW: description of injury, discussion of death

“How did it get this bad?” Legend whispered in horror. Hyrule’s condition had grown no better over the hours since he’d fainted. The hole in his side, tinted green at the edges, had been stitched up and bandaged, but the sight of it still burned itself into Legend’s mind. “How did we let it get this bad, Warrior?”

“He… I don’t know, Legend,” Warrior answered quietly. Crickets chirped in the rustling grass, announcing the coming morning. In the east, light only just brushed the low hanging clouds. Legend hadn’t slept a wink that night, keeping a vigil beside Hyrule as he tossed and turned in his sleep, whimpering when his side caught with a flare of pain that he wasn’t conscious to feel. Warrior had taken it upon himself to stay up with him, no matter how much the vet fussed about being babysat. “It… it was a chaotic situation. He just wanted to make sure that Four was safe. We all did.”

“But someone should have noticed that he wasn’t well! I should have noticed. If he hadn’t spent all of his magic healing Four—we had potions, and once Four’s life wasn’t in danger—or even fairies, Time could’ve—Hyrule wouldn’t have to be this hurt,” Legend finished finally, dropping his head into his hands. He let out a small sniffle. “I can’t believe we let it get this bad.”

“There’s nothing to do but wait it out, now,” Warrior said. “He’ll be okay, I’m sure of it.” “But what if he wasn’t?” Legend shot back tearily. “I saw that he was looking unsteady, but I didn’t even do anything about it until he was already collapsing and—I already knew that he has this stupid self-sacrificing tendency that we all do, but I went and let him heal Four without making sure that he wasn’t—!"

“Shhh, you’re going to wake the others,” Warrior hushed him. Indeed, he was sure that half of the camp was awake by now—Time’s breathing was too even to be natural, Twilight’s ear flicked irritably, and Wind grumbled out some sort of protest and turned over, pulling his pillow up over his head. Across camp, Wild sat up, made eye contact with Warrior, and slipped out of camp silently. Legend noticed none of it, and if he did, he didn’t care to mind his interruption. Warrior reached out and put a hand on Legend’s arm. “I understand that you’re upset. But it’s no one’s fault. And Hyrule doesn’t blame you. None of us do.”

Legend shoved him off irritably. “I do! I blame myself!” he protested. “Christ, he could have died, and I just—!”

Hyrule’s face twisted. He squirmed where he lay with his head in Legend’s lap, turning towards the older boy’s voice even in sleep. 

Legend ran a hand through Hyrule’s curly hair. “Rulie, are you awake?” he whispered, his voice so soft and gentle, so unlike his normal acrid jibes. It made Warrior… sad. “Rulie, can you hear me?”

“Link, can you open your eyes? Warrior found Hyrule’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Can you squeeze my hand? Let us know you're in there, buddy.”

They both waited with bated breath, but there was no more response from Hyrule. He settled with a huff and fell back into an uneasy slumber. Legend sighed and dropped his hand back into Hyrule’s dark curls. Warrior sat back, frowning.

“He’ll be awake soon,” Warrior promised the empty air. “He just—just has to heal a bit.”

“It’s not just the injury, it’s magic exhaustion,” Legend said, his expression clouded. “It… It can be a lot more dangerous than just a simple injury. Both combined…” He trailed off and didn’t start again. 

“I’m sure he’ll be alright,” Warrior repeated, as it felt he had dozens of times before. “He just has to get through this… this magic exhaustion thing.”

Legend gave no answer. By the look on his face, he didn’t believe him, either.

Read the whole story here! Who Heals the Healer

Or check out my Febuwhump Series here! HotCheetoHatred's Febuwhump 2024

[aquinnix]

Febuwhump Day 21 - Unresponsive

“Please.” Scott ran his fingers along the edge of Jimmy’s pale jaw. “Please don't let this be the end.” His eyes drifted up to Jimmy’s forehead, and he forced them back down again. It was just a little blood, both of them had been through worse. Jimmy would wake up. Scott’s hand fell to Jimmy’s arm, squeezing his wrist. Jimmy was just resting, the battle had taken a lot out of him. A poppy was lying beside them, it must have fallen off when… when Jimmy went to sleep. Scott fumbled for it and tucked it back behind Jimmy’s ear, for when he awoke. Scott stood, hoisting Jimmy up with him and wrapping Jimmy’s arm around his own shoulders. They needed to get back home, that way Jimmy could be more comfortable. He staggered over the desert sands, the ground littered with pits and red. A glance back revealed a trail of crimson following the pair, Scott must have gotten some on his shoe or something. The sun was high in the sky, the heat making Jimmy feel heavier. They were almost to the forest, it would be easier to walk on solid ground. Maybe Jimmy would be up by then, and they would laugh about Scott having to carry him like a body bride. They would clean up in the river, Scott might even let Jimmy cook tonight, he wasn't really that hungry anyway. 

It would be peaceful, away from all the death.

Just the two of them.

The way it's always been. 

[flowersfromwind]

Febuwhump - Day 21

(Last one I did for febuwhump. 21/29 days yay :)) Day 21: Unresponsive

[lamaenthel]

Unresponsive

[read on ao3][masterlist]Febuwhump prompt: unresponsive

There's a tight stitch in Depa's chest. She feels a profound emptiness, a hole in her heart that feels almost physical. She cannot feel Caleb's happy warmth where she felt it only seconds previous, only a pulsing umbilicus of a Force bond clenched in agony. She cannot feel Caleb. She cannot feel Caleb.

Characters: Depa Billaba, Commander Grey Wordcount: 510 Warning: Major Character Death

SIGNAL LOST. SIGNAL LOST. SIGNAL LOST.

Depa cannot tear her eyes away from her commlink, nor can she feel her heart beating. The sensations of her world have been replaced by an overall tingling numbness, as if she had meditated for a full night and day and returned to the physical plane in the same position she'd started in. Static on her skin, and bright red letters blinking SIGNAL LOST where the tracking beacon for Caleb's crashed ship had been only moments ago. 

"Sir, are you alright?" Commander Grey shouts, crawling on his elbows towards her. There's a massive stripe of of jungle mud smeared all the way down his front, covering everything from his visor to his shinplates. "We've got to get under cover before they launch another mortar! Sir, can you hear me?"

Depa ping's Caleb's commlink to get his location. The channel is unavailable.

"Sir please, we've got to move!"

She tries it again. And again. Even if the beacon is down, they were close enough before the strike to ping Caleb's location off his commlink to find him. The Felucian jungle is infested with battledroids. They must find him and evacuate before another mortar strike hits.

"Damn it, General… Bosun, this is Commander Grey, do you copy? Bosun, did you make it?"

Depa pages back over to the tracking beacon and restarts the signal connection. She doesn't have time to waste on technological problems! She blinks rapidly and wipes away something dark leaking into her eyes from her stinging brow.

"I'm here, Commander! I'm here!"

"General Billaba is in shock. I think… I think that mortar hit Commander Dume's ship."

"Oh, no, no, stars and tides say you're joking—"

There's a tight stitch in Depa's chest. She feels a profound emptiness, a hole in her heart that feels almost physical. She cannot feel Caleb's happy warmth where she felt it only seconds previous, only a pulsing umbilicus of a Force bond clenched in agony. She cannot feel Caleb. She cannot feel Caleb.

"She's unresponsive to any stimulus. I'll give her a jab and we'll drag her off. Last thing we need is for her to come to in a panic while we've got hands on her."

"You're the medic."

She feels the questing probe of Mace, alarmed at whatever he must sense on his end of their bond even from light years away. She doesn't remember how to touch back, and instead she slips away like a silk scarf from his metaphysical touch. She feels a fear that is foreign, sharp and hot and very much not hers. She doesn't remember ever sensing her Master's fear before.

"Easy, General. This'll just be a little pinch. There you go, lay back. I've got you."

"You carry the General, I'll shoot. Got it, Sergeant?"

"Yessir!"

Depa floats into the air, secure in a pair of plastoid arms. She cannot feel her body. She cannot feel Caleb. She cannot feel much of anything, anymore, but she does hear the whistle of another mortar right as the darkness overtakes her.

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @febuwhump, @soliloquy-of-nemo Divider: @saradika-graphics

[kybercrystals94]

The Fact Remains

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 21 | Prompt 21: Unresponsive

Rated: G | Words: 641 | Summary: After Wrecker is injured on a mission, the brothers wait for him to wake up.

“He is taking longer than expected to wake up.”

“He will. We have to be patient.”

“The medic said…”

Hunter stands up, nearly knocking the chair he’d been sitting in over backwards. “He will wake up.”

“I am not giving up on him,” Tech says, voice low. “I was simply stating his recovery rate suggests…”

“Not now, Tech,” Hunter growls. “I don’t want to hear about the numbers, or the research, or the odds. I just–”

Tech stares at him, waiting for Hunter to finish.

Hunter swallows, shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” Tech traces the edges of his data pad with his fingers, nervously. “I am fearful for Wrecker as well.”

Hunter sinks back down into his seat, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees.

Tech asks, “Have you spoken to Crosshair?”

“I’ve tried,” Hunter says. “He…needs more time.”

“That is understandable. It must have been very difficult keeping Wrecker stable until proper help arrived,” Tech says. “It is hard not to imagine what one might have done more efficiently to ensure a more favorable outcome…even if one knows they did everything to the best of their resources and abilities.”

Hunter glances up, catching a pained grimace flash across his brother’s face. Tech spoke from experience, he knew. Tech was never one to pass up an opportunity to offer his aid. He might appear cold and calculated at times, but he had an empathy that often led him to life or death situations on the battlefield. He rarely spoke of the uncertainties involved, always appearing self-assured by nature. But Hunter suspected he had battled this demon more times than he’d ever admit to.

“You should talk to him,” Hunter says.

Tech meets Hunter’s eye for a moment, a flicker of confusion. “I am notoriously deficient in offering emotional support,” he says with a humorless smirk.

“Crosshair doesn’t need ‘emotional support’,” Hunter argues, “He needs to know he did it right.”

Tech frowns deeply at his datapad. “That is not something one can easily be convinced of,” he murmurs.

“Maybe,” Hunter says, “but it might give some weight to the argument in his favor.”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“I thought I might find you here,” Tech says, stepping into the nearly empty firing range.

Crosshair looks up from polishing his scope. “Is Wrecker…?”

“Still unconscious, but stable,” Tech responds promptly to the unfinished question.

Crosshair scoffs, a sneer. “Then why are you here?”

“You performed your role exceptionally in stabilizing Wrecker on the field,” Tech says.

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

Tech shrugs. “Hunter thought it might.”

Crosshair returns to polishing his scope. “I know I did everything right,” he growls snidely. “Doesn’t change that it didn’t work.”

“I would argue that Wrecker is still alive,” Tech says, “and therefore, it must’ve been successful.”

“You can tell Hunter your little reassurances don’t mean anything unless Wrecker makes it out of this,” Crosshair says, tossing aside the polishing rag and beginning the process of reattaching the scope to his rifle.

“I told him as much already.”

“Then why’d you come down here and waste your breath?”

Tech levels Crosshair with a hard look. “I came down here as a favor to Hunter’s wellbeing, not yours. I know that you cannot be swayed from anything you’ve already set your mind to. If you’ve decided that you did not save Wrecker’s life, then I am not here to convince you otherwise.”

Crosshair stares back, gaze cold.

“That being said,” Tech continues, his voice softening as he stands, “the fact remains that you did save our brother's life, regardless of your opinion. And for that, Hunter and I are grateful. Do with that as you will.”

Tech moves to walk away, but a hand catches his arm. “Comm when Wrecker wakes up,” Crosshair mutters.

“Of course,” Tech says, and takes his leave.

END

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[iztarshi]

Fandom: tmnt 1987

Prompt: Unresponsive

Notes: AU where the window got Leo. Which then turned into "wouldn't it be funny if 87!Casey somehow had a farmhouse?" and somehow then into "Casey Jones gets bullied by turtles".

-

“So, would you have expected Casey Jones to have a farmhouse?” Raphael says. It’s the first thing he’s said in a while, for all he says it like he’s continuing a conversation.

“Nah, dude. I always thought he was feral,” Michalangelo answers.

“You mean homeless?” says Donatello.

“No, no, I think Michelangelo’s got it right,” Raphael says.

Casey Jones growls from the driver’s seat, Splinter clears his throat pointedly, and the three of them chorus, “Sorry.”

April glances back at them from the passenger seat. “Any change?”

Everyone looks to where Leonardo’s limp body is lying, his head cradled in Splinter’s lap against the bumping of the truck.

“None yet,” says Splinter. “We must have patience.”

“We’re here,” Casey says, turning suddenly down a path between trees. The turtles, eager to take their mind off their fallen leader, scramble forward to look over April’s shoulders.

“Okay,” Raphael says. “If I had expected Casey Jones to own a farmhouse, that’s exactly what I would have expected.”

The farmhouse is dark and delapidated, a dip in its roof making it look like it’s frowning. It looks like the sort of place where university students have their car break down and then get chased around by a guy in a hockey mask.

Casey Jones, guy in a hockey mask, gets out of the car and comes around to the back. “I’ll carry him,” he offers. He’s not stronger than the turtles, but he’s sure as hell bigger, and he can carry Leonardo in cradled in his arms with Leonardo’s head resting on one broad shoulder.

Inside the farmhouse looks neither like the setting of a slasher movie nor the home of a sane person. There is sports equipment everywhere, much of it broken, and everywhere there isn’t sports equipment there are televisions.

“If the window didn’t kill Leonardo, this dust is going to,” Raphael says.

In the bedroom, which may be Casey’s bedroom since it has a television at the foot of the bed and is not so full of sports equipment no one can reach the bed, Casey goes to lay Leonardo down and is stopped by Raphael.

“These sheets need changing,” he says. “Please tell me you have a linen closet.”

“In the hall, second door down,” Casey says, and hold onto Leonardo while Raphael makes the bed. Afterwards Raphael heads out with a pile of dirty linen in his arms, the other two turtles trailing him. Michelangelo pauses in the doorway and runs back to squeeze Leonardo’s hand one last time before going.

Splinter pulls a chair up beside the bed and sits down. Casey and April stand looking down at Leonardo.

“He’s small,” Casey says. “Especially for someone who’s pinned Casey Jones before.”

“Can I take a picture?” April asks. When Splinter looks questioningly at her she adds, “It might make going back easier if there’s public sympathy for the little guys.”

Splinter slowly shakes his head. “No. I do not think Leonardo would want to be seen like this.”

They look at the turtle, bruised and almost grey against the cover, and then Casey Jones turns and walks out.

In the basement of the farmhouse Donatello is taking apart a television to mend the washing machine. Raphael is sitting on the washing machine complaining about not being able to do the laundry, how can Casey Jones own a farmhouse with thirteen televisions and no washing machine? Michelangelo is poking through the piles of sports equipment to see if there’s something interesting.

Casey Jones enters with a bellowed, “Destruction of property!” and Raphael slides off the washing machine to square up.

“Listen, bub,” Raphael says. “You’ve already got more televisions than anyone needs. I normally leave this sort of declaration to Leonardo but I will defend this washing machine with my life.”

Casey aims a blow at Raphael’s head, Raphael drops to all fours to duck and trips Casey in the process — getting an exclamation of dismay from Donatello who he nearly lands on. Casey rolls back onto his feet, nearly gets pinned with a sai through the sleeve, and then lifts Raphael up to throw him and hesitates with the turtle dangling in the air.

“A little help here?” Raphael says to Michelangelo.

Michelangelo shrugs, “It’s his house.”

Raphael swings one leg up as if to kick and then drops it again.

“Look,” says Donatello, “I can either fix the television up again or fix the washing machine. But they’re both going to be broken beyond repair if you fight on top of them.”

“Okay, fine,” Raphael says, looking up at Casey. “It’s your house, you pick what gets fixed.”

Casey Jones puts the turtle down and looks away. “Fix the washing machine.”

Raphael hops back onto the washing machine and leans forward to tap the centre of Casey’s mask the way he’d tap his friends’ beaks. “Good choice. We can do your laundry too once it’s fixed.”

“No need,” says Casey.

“Trust me,” says Raphael. “There really is.”

-

It’s a sunny day. Outside a bunch of makeshift washing lines are strung between the gnarled and ominous trees. Inside the house Michelangelo and Donatello are sweeping with a brooms made out of hockey sticks with bunches of twigs tied to them. Raphael, perched on Casey’s shoulders, is dusting the ceiling with a feather duster made out of a lacross stick with a bunch of shuttlecocks tied to it.

“Never springcleaned before,” Casey says.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Raphael answers. “What’s with all the sports equipment, anyway?”

“I like sports.”

“Not enough to play it with thirty hockey sticks at once.”

“Do you like baseball?” Donatello asks. “I’m pretty good at that. We could have a game later.”

Casey is quiet for a moment. “It’s been a long time since I played.”

“Aw, jeez, now we’ve got to play,” Raphael says, leaning outward to get a cobweb and, coincidentally, resting a hand on Casey’s head to balance.

Michelangelo leans his broom against the wall. “I’m going to cook us some lunch,” he says. The kitchen, the first room they tackled, is sparkling clean and empy of sports equipment now.

After lunch they play baseball, slightly hindered by the rules being a bit unclear with only four players and Casey yelling about “rulebreakers!” with exactly as much passion as he yells about lawbreakers. It’s still a pretty good time. They can almost forget, until dinner, that Leonardo is lying upstairs, pale and unresponsive.

April has to go back to the city, the news waits for no woman, and her departure leaves things feeling more empty and hopeless than ever. The turtles try to keep themselves busy. Casey’s house has never been cleaner and Casey himself does jobs like fixing the squeaky doors and the leaking gutters that he could presumably have done all along. But now he does them with turtles giving advice, fetching tools for him and heckling.

-

It’s one evening as they’re watching the Dirty Harry movies to please Casey that Splinter’s shout rings through the house, “My turtles!”

They scramble up the stairs in a panic, clinging to one another’s hands and to Casey Jones, afraid of what they’ll find when they reach the top. But in the bedroom Leonardo is sitting up, pale and weak, but trying very hard to smile. They throw themselves onto the bed, trying to be gentle and to hold him all at once.

“Where is this?” Leonardo asks, as he wraps his arms around all of them.

“This is Casey Jones’ farmhouse,” Splinter informs him. “He has been kind enough to let us stay here while you recovered.”

Leonardo blinks. “Casey owns a farmhouse?”

“That’s what we said,” chorus the turtles.

“But y’know,” Raphael adds. “It’s not actually too bad.”