#i will defend them until i die idcccc

[song-witch]

RAHHHH PART TWO PART TWO PART TWO PART TWO

Hello I was just wondering when chapter 2 of Careful creatures will drop! If there will be a chapter 2 at all, (I really hope there will be)

Ope, not me dropping off the face of the planet fic writing wise. The depreseeion really gets to you. Anyways, here's FINALLY, Chapter Two 💚💜❤️

Careful Creatures: Chapter Two

Ship(s): Hela x Agatha, Agatha x Wanda, Wanda x Hela, Hela x Agatha x Wanda

Summary: Three powerful beings broken down back to the start somehow find themselves brought together as they relearn themselves and each other.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: angst, descriptions of being burnt, mild gore, mention of sexual assault/non-con/rape, abuse of alcohol/alcoholism/addiction, amnesia, split personality but make it ✨magic✨

Disclaimer: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI!

A/N: Please READ THE WARNINGS before proceeding. If this were on AO3 it would be rated E for explicit material later on in the series, and M for mature material for the heavy content this story deals with.

Hela groans, her head pounding.

The second thing she registers is how much pain the rest of her body is in.

“Sh…” A soft, sweet voice soothes. “You're going to be okay, let me finish cleaning out your wounds.”

Distrust immediately floods the goddess, but her limbs hardly even respond to her internal command, her fingers twitching pathetically as she tries to call forth for her twin blades.

She can't even get her eyes to open.

When a cool cloth is pressed against one of her numerous burns, she nearly whimpers, the pain cutting sharply through the duller agony she is in.

“I know it probably hurts.” The sweet voice says, tone gentle and quiet. “But at least it hopefully won't get infected. I don't know if you're awake or not, but I hope you can hear me either way and that it's helping.” A pause. “I like helping people, I think. It feels… That feels familiar.”

Hela’s head hurts too much for her to decipher what the voice means by that, and instead focuses on the rhythmic motions the cloth is making over her cracked and blistered skin.

More than anything, once the sharp bite of pain fades, the coolingness of it soothes the way Hela still feels as if her skin is aflame, burning and burning and burning.

An unconscious whine slips from her lips when there's a pause, and the sweet voice shushes her again.

“I'm just dipping it into the water again. I'm trying to be very careful, these wounds look pretty bad.”

Hela has enough of her thoughts together to keep herself from whining again, but just barely.

Her lips do part in a throaty sigh of relief as she feels the cloth once more resuming its motions across her heated skin, but the action makes her aware of just how thirsty she is.

“W’er.” She attempts to croak out.

It hurts. Her throat hurts so bad, like the rest of her.

“Hm?” The voice hums in question.

“Wa-er.” Hela tries to carefully pronounce, but her tongue and mouth are so dry, she can't get the ‘t’ sound out.

“Oh, yes! Of course.” The sweet voice sounds… Embarrassed, perhaps? “Let me prop you up, so you don't choke.”

Hela nearly whimpers again as soft hands grasp at her, her skin still feeling as if it's on fire, and the pain spikes as she's manhandled into a more upright position.

How low she has fallen.

No family, no friends, no allies.

None but whoever the voice belongs to.

When water drips down onto her lips, she parts them and greedily sucks down the water being tipped into her mouth.

It hurts to swallow, but everything will hurt worse if she doesn't.

A sigh of relief expels itself after a few minutes, and Hela can feel her head loll back.

“You can rest.” The voice says. “I won't leave.”

Distrusting as Hela generally is, she has no choice but to trust.

If she wasn't suddenly flooded with exhaustion, she would be furious at how helpless she has become.

As it is though, she can barely conjure two words in her mind to string together.

She falls back to darkness.

—»•«—

She leans against the kitchen counter, letting the other woman ransack the cabinets in search of coffee as she smiles viciously, enjoying the enraged yelling coming from the other room.

“Seriously, where's the coffee.”

“You'd have better luck just grabbing a beer, dear.” She replies. “Or a cooler.”

Darcy Lewis lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You can drop the flirty neighbor routine, I just saw you beat up, like, six different guys.”

Agatha huffs, and doesn't deign to respond.

Ralph shouts another threat.

“You're gonna have to do something else with him. You can't just keep him tied up forever.”

Agatha shrugs carelessly.

“Take him into custody for all I care.”

“Oh, um. I don't exactly work with S.W.O.R.D. anymore. Or… Any government branch.” Darcy mumbles.

She quirks a brow, and Darcy blushes harder.

“They might've put Dickward into prison, but they said that crashing a vehicle into him was ‘reckless’ and ‘needlessly risky’.”

“Of course they did.” Agatha snorts. “This is why I've stayed under the radar.”

“You mean until you thought trying to kill a wanted fugitive was gonna be beneficial for you.”

The older woman scowls.

“That was not what I was trying to do.”

“Sure looked like it.”

Agatha scowls harder and distinctly does not look in the direction of any alcohol.

…

Fuck.

She pushes herself away from the counter and opens the freezer, pulling out a margarita mix pack.

“Um.” Darcy sounds a bit startled, looking up from where she's crouched, victoriously clutching at the canister of coffee she finally found. “Do you really think more alcohol is a good idea?”

She ignores the other woman, and wobbles a little as she begins to walk around the kitchen, pulling the various things she needs to make the drink to her liking.

“Agatha..?”

“Agnes, hot stuff! I don't know why people keep trying to call me Agatha!” She smiles brightly, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Darcy seems frozen while Agnes whirls around the kitchen, determinedly ignoring the shouting coming from the other room.

The bubbly woman continues to smile with false brightness as she places the finishing touches on her drink, shrugging good-naturedly when Darcy shakes her head at the offered second glass Agnes holds out to her.

“More for me, dear!” She laughs, before taking a long drink from the first.

“I, um… Hot water?” Darcy asks weakly.

Agnes’s face shifts into a slight scowl that's gone almost as soon as it appears.

“You'll have to boil a pot.” Her tone is pointedly not cheery, and she drains the first cup of alcohol in her hand before moving on to the second.

Darcy steps in her way when she moves to grab another mix.

“I don't think more is a good idea.” The other woman says, flinching nervously as Ralph bellows again.

Agnes trembles slightly and tries not to let her anger get the best of her.

Being angry meant making mistakes and making mistakes meant getting punished.

“It's just a little something to help with the day!” Agnes attempts.

“How about some coffee instead?” Darcy offers.

Agnes does truly scowl now, and she crosses her arms.

“You’re in my home, dear.”

Darcy latches on to that.

“Yeah, exactly. I'm your guest. It wouldn't be polite of you to get smashed while I'm here.”

Agnes’s scowl deepens for a split second before a forced smile returns to her face.

“You're right, hon! I'll take some coffee too if that's what you want to have. Just make mine an Irish.” Agnes throws in a wink for good measure.

Ralph yells a string of crude words from the other room and both women exchange a glance.

“Maybe we should gag him,” Darcy suggests.

Agnes shudders.

“I– no. No, thank you, dear. I don't want my fingers anywhere near his mouth.”

Darcy very clearly decides not to ask.

Not that Agnes would have answered.

Ralph… Well, he is her husband.

Her husband who gave his friends permission to have sex with her. Who didn't care if she wanted that or not.

Agnes hisses with pain as a stabbing pain shoots across her head, right behind her left eye.

“I… I think I'm going to go lay down for a spell, dear.” She mumbles, not completely aware of her surroundings anymore. “I suddenly don't feel so well.”

Agnes doesn't know if Darcy answers her or not. Her ears are buzzing too much to.

—»•«—

…an…y…u…e…ar…me…?

—»•«—

Wanda sits and watches the mysterious woman diligently, her eyes roving over the places where her outfit is torn and burnt.

Pale skin is marred by angry red, and in some cases, a blackened soot color that only causes her to feel nauseated with guilt and fear.

She doesn't know why.

Raven locks, shining nearly blue, are a knotted, tangled mess, the long, straight strands seemingly determined to create a bird’s nest.

Wanda doesn't doubt that well taken care of, her mystery woman would be very, very beautiful.

Her heart twists painfully, and she scowls.

Her memory refuses to return, but not the echoes of the emotions. It's impossible for Wanda to make sense of what she's feeling without the memories attached to why she would be inclined to feel a certain way about any specific thing.

It's stupid.

She groans and thunks her head gently back against the tree trunk she's sitting against.

She hopes the pale woman wakes up again soon.

Wanda is beginning to feel restless, a creeping dread slowly overcoming her.

She doesn't know why, only that something in her, deep down, is pushing her, tugging her feet somewhere not here.