#major injury

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2023

No. 10 “You said you’d never leave.” | No. 13 “I don’t feel so good.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria (Saviors War)

Warnings: Illness, Descriptions of injury

It had taken you all day to get ready. The war with the Saviors was coming and you, as well as everyone else, were prepared to end it. Rick had a plan, one you knew your partner wasn’t willing to follow. Still, you had tried to reason with him. 

He wasn’t okay after what he had been through. He was lost in his lust for revenge. He wouldn’t let you be there for him, pushed you away harder than you were willing to allow. You were trying to pick up his broken pieces and cradle them until you could help him put them all back together. But he had slapped them from your grasp with venomous outbursts before cold silence. 

He was your everything. He was hurting in a way he hadn’t since he was a child, and no one could reach him. Not even you. You knew you’d be there when he was ready, but you were done begging. If the both of you lived through this, you’d catch him when he fell. There was no sense telling yourself otherwise.

Right now, though, you were angry. You were angry and you were tired. And it was time to end this and give Daryl the peace he needed to heal. You would do this for him. You would single-handedly raze your way through each and every Saviour to get your hands around Negan’s throat and rip it out. For Daryl. 

You threw your pack onto your shoulder, packed full of supplies that you never normally carried but still not as heavy as your heart. With a glance around your home, the one you had hoped to share with your archer when he was back, you were ready and you opened the door. 

Daryl was there. He was standing on the porch with his back against the support post, nervously tapping his fingers against the wood. His head immediately snapped up, your eyes locking. 

“Y/N.” It came out as an almost whimper. There was more on the tip of his tongue, his mouth moving but no sound emerging. You remained stoic as he began to approach you, a slight wobble to his gait. When his arms encircled your shoulders, your anger couldn’t withstand the tremble you felt in his embrace. 

The bag slipped from your shoulder to fall heavily to the floor just inside the doorway, your own arms weaving around his middle. When your small hands splayed open on his back, you could feel the heat radiating beneath his shirt. 

“Daryl?” You tried to pull away, just enough to look at him, but he wouldn’t allow it. If anything, he held tighter. 

“Ya said ya’d never leave.” God, he sounded tired. Resigned, even. Your heart shattered. Had you really given him that impression? With careful steps, you led him over the threshold without separating, grateful that the action hadn’t spurred him into retreating. 

Using your foot, your bag was pushed aside and the door closed. You carefully released him and gripped his forearms to encourage him to do the same for you. He let you without a fight. During the process, his expression was pained, as if you were denying him the comfort he was finally seeking. 

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay.” Slender fingers still loosely held his arms and guided him to sit on the couch. The coffee table became your perch. With the looming war all but forgotten, you needed to get a good look at Daryl. 

The two of you hadn’t spoken in days but you’d received reports that your friends had seen him during all hours of the day and night. He wasn’t sleeping. If the intel hadn’t confirmed that, the discolored circles under his eyes would have. There was a sickly pallid to his skin under the thin sheen of sweat. The archer continued to tremble, the damp strands of hair covering his fever-flushed face seemed to vibrate. 

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Your voice remained steady, though you felt anything but inside. 

“Yer pissed… gon’ leave me.” He was slurring, his gaze almost vacant. “Ya are, aren’tcha?” His brow furrowed, dull blue eyes searching for a moment before finally locating your worried ones. 

“Pissed? Or leaving?” You could answer both with certainty, but keeping him distracted allowed you to brush back his hair and press a palm to his forehead. Definitely feverish. 

“Gon’ kill ‘em. Me an’ Tara, we got us a plan.” The bowman carried on like you hadn’t even spoken. “Gon’ kill ‘em all.”

“We’ve talked about your plan, Daryl.” The attempts to coax his eyes back failed. There was a twisting in your gut that something more was happening. He was sick, that much was obvious, but since when did Daryl get sick. Perhaps the trauma he’d experienced had impacted his immunity? No, that wasn’t it. You could feel that there was more. “Don’t you remember?”

“I kept tha’ picture.” His tone had changed, almost void of emotion. “They made me look. Kept it so I don’ forget.”

“Daryl, baby, you’re not making any sense.” 

His head turned toward you at the pet name, eyes looking clearer than they had even mere seconds prior. You found yourself almost leaning away, lest you drown in the high tide of raw emotion in those azure pools. 

“Daryl?” 

“Y/N, I—” His brow knitted but he didn’t look away. You nodded for him to continue, watched him take a deep shuddering breath. “I don’ feel so good.” There was no time to interrogate him about his symptoms. The words had no more than slid off his tongue when his eyes rolled back and he slumped toward you. 

“Shit!” You caught him under his arms, only remaining off the floor because of the close proximity you had taken in front of him when you had sat down. “Daryl?” Your left hand moved to cradle the side of his head as you stood and guided his descent across the couch. Lifting his legs up was difficult but you managed, caring little for the effort it required. Your hands hovered over him, not sure where to begin, but the symptoms: fever, weakness, sweating, confusion. Had he… was he bit?

You grabbed his arms, lifting each to examine up to the rolled-up sleeves. You couldn’t see his biceps, so you’d have to remove the shirt. Grasping his chin, you turned his head toward you and then away, checking his neck. When you started on the buttons of his top, the corner of the gauze that covered his gunshot wound peeked out from beneath the fabric. What should have been a clean, white dressing was dirty and yellowed. 

“Oh, Daryl.” You knew before you even pulled back the taped edge. While you were relieved it wasn’t the death sentence of a walker bite, infection in these times was nothing to play with. His shirt was wrestled off and pulled  from beneath him, tossed somewhere. You’d find it later. “Jesus.” You whispered, removing the bandage completely and tossing it aside. The skin around the wound was angry, such a deep red that it appeared nearly purple. The poorly sutured wound was leaking puss, both yellow and almost green. Had he been to the infirmary at all since his escape?

“Goddamnit!” If he wasn’t in such a poor state, you would have shaken him awake just to knock him out again. You shoved yourself from the floor and began to pace. What could you do? Nearly everyone had left the walls to go fight. Shit! The war was happening without you. 

Daryl groaned behind you, bringing your steps to a quick halt. The battle was suddenly absent from your thoughts.  He didn’t wake, only turned his head back and forth before settling again. His breathing wasn’t labored. He hadn’t coughed. Maybe if you opened, cleaned and debride, and restitched the wound, you could buy some time to find antibiotics in the infirmary. Luckily, everything you needed for this was in your bathroom upstairs. 

You began the ascent to your room. “Oh my god, Daryl Dixon, I’m going to murder you when you wake up.” Oddly enough, the threat came out in more of a high pitched whimper than an actual promise of bodily harm. Items in your cabinets and drawers were meticulously organized for this very reason. You had all you needed in less than a minute and were back at his side and placing things on the coffee table. 

You could only pray he’d remain unaware. You’d given Daryl stitches before and he’d barely grunted at you. His tolerance for pain was incredible, hence the terrible mess in front of you. You just weren’t sure how a fever-ridden Daryl would handle having his skin cut open and away while it was so terribly inflamed. 

“Okay.” You situated yourself on a chair from the dining room, bringing it with you after washing your hands. Daryl was still fully unconscious but you leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek anyway. “Here goes nothing.”

Over an hour later, you had done all you could. You had cut away any tissue that appeared necrotic, cleaning out the yellow with some vodka before suturing the wound. It was significantly larger now but the stubborn asshole would just have to deal with that. At least it looked cleaner than the disaster made of it at Sanctuary. The mess had been cleaned up and the wound wrapped. A pillow had been placed beneath his head, his boots removed, and a blanket spread over him. You sat on the floor now, your back against the couch and your head in your hands. 

The streets outside were so quiet. It was unnerving. The sky was darkening and you found your thoughts wandering to the war you had missed and how many people’s deaths your absence had been responsible for. Would the Saviors come barging through the door to drag you and Daryl to Sanctuary? Maybe they would just shoot you both on the spot. Or would Rick come yell at you for ditching them before telling you of their victory?

Either way, you couldn’t have been there. There was no way you’d leave Daryl like this, even if it was the most cooperative he had been since breaking out of that hell. 

“Y/N?” His gravelly voice rasped out behind you. 

You twisted onto your hip and then onto your knees, one hand wrapping around his that lay on his chest and the other smoothing back his hair. “I’m here.” His eyes were barely open and he was still hot to the touch, but he seemed calm and lucid enough. “Just waiting for everyone to get back and we’ll get some antibiotics for you. Have you back on your bike in no time.”

“Wha’ happened?” He blinked slowly but didn’t appear to be struggling to stay with you. 

“You didn’t take care of yourself, dumbass.” You admonished gently even when you wanted to yell and throttle him for scaring you. “Your wound was infected. Had to do some fancy field surgery.”

“Oh.”

Your eye twitched at his flippant response but you sucked in a deep breath through your nose and got yourself under control. “Think you could drink some water for me?” He gave an almost imperceptible nod. Your water bottle was beside your leg, and you were much too tired to get up so sharing was caring. Cap off quickly, you wiggled a hand behind his head and pulled him up just enough to drink a few swallows. Once he was settled again, you brought his hand to your lips, kissing the too warm skin stretched across his knuckles. “You know I’m not leaving, right? Not now, not ever.”

“I didn’ know.” He admitted, his eyes slipping closed. 

“Well, now you do.” You smiled even though you had forty different emotions warring inside your head. “We have to start working through this, Daryl. Together. You have to let me in.” That pretty blue peeked out from behind his heavy eyelids again. 

“I don’ know how.” 

Your heart twisted inside your chest, an invisible vice squeezing and squeezing until there was no more room to beat. So much progress since the quarry and Negan had taken it all away. 

“You just talk and I’ll listen. I don’t understand how it feels to survive what you have but I can try. I want to try.”

“Then I’ll try too.” He lifted his left hand to your face, fingers tracing down your jaw. “M’tired.” You already knew he was losing the battle to keep his eyes open. The rest would do him a world of good. 

“Just rest.” There was cheering outside, but you couldn’t be sure who had come through the gate. Until Carol threw open your door, panting and concerned eyes wide. Her gaze flittered between you and Daryl. You jerked your chin toward the porch, sending her there until you could step out for a moment to give and receive updates as well as tell her what was needed from the infirmary. When the latch clicked, you looked back to Daryl, his eyes slipping shut once more. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

[aealzx]

“....Hey Donnie?”

“....I miss you…”

“....I miss the times your music would sometimes rattle the subway cars.”

“I miss how I’d hear you cheering from your lab when you figured something out that had been troubling you for a while.”

“I miss when you’d stumble into the kitchen in the morning, still half asleep but not wanting to miss another breakfast. Somehow you always knew when it had been too many times, and we were getting worried about you. So you’d show up even if you hadn’t slept much, because it made us feel better.”

“I miss being able to try cooking new things, because sometimes the old recipes were just too much, or not enough.”

“I miss how your phone gives us a second light during movies, because it’s not enough to keep your mind busy. But also when the light disappears, and I turn to see you staring with big eyes at the screen because it does catch your interest. And you end up shushing Leo for teasing you about being a nerd. Or the better times are when you’re both excited together over the movie.”

“I miss bringing you drawings, because the ones you have are too old and needed an update.”

“I miss when you’d carry on and on about something that you couldn’t make sense of, and that never made sense to me. But then you’d suddenly get it and run off in excitement.”

“...I miss all the little things you’d do….”

“It’s not the same. You being here, but not moving.”

“.... Those flowers you planted ended up blooming like you said. Blue, purple, yellow, white, red, and orange. They’re really pretty. I would have drawn them, but I can’t really draw right now. So I took a bunch of pictures instead. I hope……”

“…. I hope you wake up soon so you can see them for yourself….”

__________________________

Sometimes I want to do too many things at once, so give my friends a list and let them choose. This time wys picked self indulgence |DD Here you guys go too. Post movie ideas

I actually inked this one, and then tried to shade, but got fed up and gave up XDDD

[zaanesshaardz]

CW: MAJOR SCAR/INJURY

hi guys i did the trend thingy😊😊😊😊 (sorry for not being active im finally outta school so hopefully i’ll be feeding u guys more + i’ll be answering more asks promise)

heres the og pic + the sketch heheha

[the-lady-maddy]

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[hyuge]

Hospital Blues and Fantasy Hues

The lights are too bright, and the smell of antiseptic constantly tickles his nose as Katsuki lays in the godforsaken hospital bed after the war. Everything aches and it’s hard to breathe most days. The doctors said one of his lungs collapsed when his heart exploded. Turns out threading the muscle fibers of a heart back together in the middle of a war zone is a terrible way to triage a fatal wound but if it hadn’t been done, Katsuki would never have made it to the hospital. He would have died long before the battle ended, and that thought terrifies him. The nurses have to sedate him at night in order for him to get any sleep otherwise the night terrors make him thrash violently, ripping out wires, stitches, and IVs. It's a headache for everyone involved and sometimes Katsuki wishes the pro heroes hadn’t sacrificed so much to save him. Edgeshot is gone, and for what? He’s a mess. He’ll never be able to use his quirk the same way again. He’ll likely never be able to go pro now. His power has been cut in half. A prosthetic can’t sweat, which means he can now only create explosive blasts from his left hand. He won’t be able to fly anymore. God, Katsuki was so elated the first time he successfully flew in the air. There was nothing more freeing than launching himself hundreds of feet above the ground in a matter of seconds. Even Bird Brain can’t go that fast.

It's one of his bad days, where he’s left alone with his thoughts, staring out the window as life goes on, when there’s a knock at the door. It opens without him responding. It still hurts to talk. The nurses and doctors tell him he needs to conserve his energy and rest. He hates laying in a bed unable to move. His gaze drifts slowly toward the door. His vision is blurry, but that bright red hair is distinguishable anywhere. Kirishima moves to sit on the left side of Katsuki’s bed where he can see him best. The doctors said they managed to save his right eye, but he’s going to need one damn strong prescription to see out of it properly again.

“How are you feeling today?” asks Kirishima, smiling softly. He asks the same question every day because he comes to visit Katsuki every day. Even his parents aren’t here that frequently. They make do but their architectural firm is even busier than before. They’re helping with the relief efforts to rebuild the country. They’re true heroes unlike the bedridden shell he has become.

Katsuki reaches for his oxygen mask and lowers it to his chin. “Wish I could leave,” he says, because it’s the truth. Maybe his mood would be better if he weren’t stuck in this bed all the time.

“They’ll let you out soon,” says Kirishima. He sets his hand atop Katsuki’s and lifts the mask back over his mouth. They both know it’s not true. He has months of extensive recovery work in the hospital before he gets out, but the warmth from Kirishima’s hand and the kindness in his voice are comforting enough that he almost believes it.

Katsuki lets his hand fall to his side and turns his head, cheek brushing against the pillow as he squints to see Kirishima better. He closes his bad eye, looking only out of his left and his vision clears. He’s wearing his school uniform. Class has been back in session for a few weeks. Kirishima must have come as soon as school let out. He’s talking about something, but Katsuki misses it. There’s a ringing in his ears that comes and goes—tinnitus, another wonderful side effect of having overworked his quirk the way he did. He tries to focus, and the ringing slowly subsides.

“—sent me flying but I was able to stop him. Man, I don’t want to praise a villain, but Rappa is so strong, and he just wants to fight other strong people. It really made me feel good that he saw me as a rival. Probably the last time I’ll get to fight him though… The government is doing a massive overhaul on all the high security prisons.”

Katsuki blinks, trying to register everything Kirishima was just saying. It’s slow. His mind is sluggish from all the painkillers he’s on. He reaches for the oxygen mask again, lowering it to speak. “You fought that big guy… from the yakuza?”

Kirishima nods. The sunlight filtering in through the hospital room window casts a halo over the crown of his head. It suits him. Kirishima has always been angelic. He shrugs, suddenly looking self-conscious about bragging and says, “Yeah. Sorry. I shouldn’t be excited. Everyone was risking their lives and I know the battles were hard. There was a lot of emotional damage done on the others: Midoriya, Uraraka, Todoroki… I guess for once it was just nice to know that a villain thought of me as their equal and wanted to fight me.”

“You’re my equal,” Katsuki says but even as he says the words, he doesn’t believe it. Not because Kirishima isn’t strong enough, no, on the contrary. He’s stronger than Katsuki. Katsuki isn’t Kirishima’s equal.

They fall into silence after that, neither one of them sure how to carry the conversation from there. Katsuki’s mind wanders. He doesn’t like it when his mind wanders. The quiet scares him, so many new fears he didn’t have before. His eyes fall shut. He’s tired, always tired, but he doesn’t want to sleep, not with Kirishima beside him.

Kirishima clears his throat. “I—uh—I’ll go. You should get some rest.”

Katsuki snaps his eyes open to see Kirishima scratching the back of his neck. He moves to stand, and Katsuki reaches for him much too quickly. He winces, feeling his stitches tug on his skin, and grabs Kirishima’s hand. “Don’t go,” he says, beneath his oxygen mask.

Kirishima sits back down slowly and carefully picks up Katsuki’s hand, placing it back on the bed. “Okay, I’ll stay,” he says. “I’m not sure what to talk about.”

Katsuki moves the stupid fucking mask. “Anything,” he croaks. “Anything to fill the silence. Please.” He hates begging. His chest aches and his throat is thick as he fights back tears. He doesn’t want the quiet to come. Mindless rambling was always annoying but not when it’s Kirishima’s. His voice fills Katsuki with immeasurable comfort. He won’t tell him that though, not in the hospital hooked up to tubes and wires. There’s a lot of things he wants to say to Kirishima but not here, not like this. So, he’d rather listen until the day comes when he can be independent again and it doesn’t hurt to breathe, when looking at the void where his arm used to be doesn’t fill him with a sadness as deep as the Mariana Trench.

“Okay,” repeats Kirishima. He sits silently, contemplating, then smiles. The evening’s golden light makes him glow as he parts his lips to speak. “Have you ever heard the story of the barbarian prince and his dragon companion?”

Katsuki knits his brows together, studying Kirishima. “No.”

“Hah. Okay.” Kirishima scratches the back of his neck again like he does when he’s nervous. What does he have to be nervous about? “It would be so cool to live in a fantasy world with magic and stuff.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Our world is fantastical enough as it is.” He puts the mask back on and sucks in a deep breath. His lungs burn but they’re thankful for the added rush of air. “Go on,” he says into the mask. It’s stifled, but Kirishima hears him. Katsuki watches the bob of Kirishima’s Adam’s apple and the way he picks at his nails. He’s stalling.

“So, once upon a time—”

“Once upon a time,” Katsuki barks. It hurts to laugh. He coughs and Kirishima admonishes him for it.

“Be quiet and let me tell the story.”

“Fine,” Katsuki concedes. He relaxes into the pillow and shuts his eyes so that he can listen properly, envisioning the world Kirishima is about to create in his head.

“A long time ago there was this fierce barbarian prince. His family owned the largest kingdom in the entire land. They were well respected; feared by their enemies and loved by their people. The prince was strong and handsome and manly. Everyone wanted to be him or court him. He was very direct about what he wanted and while it rubbed some people the wrong way, others admired him for how straightforward and determined he was. His strength wasn’t just physical either. The prince was super smart and tactical. His magic was unmatched. So, he got bored easily. There wasn’t anyone he considered his equal because of how strong he was. He wanted to fight even stronger people to prove he was worthy of leading someday.”

Katsuki lowers his mask and speaks without opening his eyes. “He sounds cool.”

“Yeah,” says Kirishima fondly. “He really is.”

That makes Katsuki crack his eye open and peer at the soft expression on Kirishima’s face, the way the corners of his mouth are just slightly upturned, and the look in his red eyes is a little distant. Katsuki’s heart aches seeing him like that and not because of his injury. Kirishima clears his throat and continues.

“The prince decided to set out on a journey to find someone he could call his equal. He met and battled all sorts of people and creatures on his journey but none he would call worthy of being his partner. He slayed some ogres, fought some bandits, cleared out a cave of goblins, and while he enjoyed the fights, they never left him feeling satisfied. He had been traveling alone for a while when he heard rumors of a dragon nearby. The prince decided to check out whether or not the rumors were true. He wanted to take on the challenge of fighting a creature as big and strong as a dragon.

“He went to the forest where the dragon’s den was supposed to be and followed a trail that seemed too big to be anything but. The dragon was eating when the prince found him. He made a warning growl, but the prince wasn’t deterred. He unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the dragon, shouting, ‘Hey, you overgrown lizard! I want you to fight me and if I win, you have to become my partner!’

“The dragon huffed a breath of warm air and said, ‘If I win, you’ll be dead,’ which made the prince grin triumphantly.”

Katsuki snorts. “The prince sounds like an idiot.”

“Yeah,” says Kirishima, “but that didn’t stop him. He fought the dragon with his sword and with his magic, sending waves of fireballs at the beast. It was a heated battle.” Kirishima laughs at his own joke. “The prince used his spells to propel himself into the air to avoid the dragon’s lethal tail swings and the dragon spewed flames from its mouth into the air to keep from burning the forest. The dragon was enjoying the battle almost as much as the prince was. They both found someone worth fighting for once. The sound of sword clashing against scale echoed through the trees, and trenches were dug from the dragon’s massive talons scraping against the ground. The prince was getting tired and knew if he didn’t finish the battle quickly, he would die, so he landed on the dragon’s snout and swung his sword, slashing just above the dragon’s eye where the scales were thinnest.

The dragon shook him off and wrapped its giant hands over its face, covering its eye. Gradually, it’s size began to shrink until it was the size of a human man. The dragon stood in front of the prince with one hand covering his eye and the other held out for the prince to shake. ‘Looks like you win,’ said the dragon. The prince stared at him, surprised to see the dragon look so human. His eyelid was bleeding, but the dragon didn’t seem to care. He smiled at the prince and spread his large red wings wide behind his back.

“‘You can shapeshift!’ said the prince, taking the dragon’s hand. The dragon nodded and pulled his other hand away from his face with blood trickling down his cheek. The prince pulled his hand free and tore a part of his cloak, handing it to the dragon. ‘Here. Use this to help stop the bleeding,’ he said. The dragon took it and pressed it to his eye.”

A knock on the door startles them both and Katsuki looks to see the nurse walk in. “Apologies, but visiting hours are over now.”

Kirishima bows apologetically. “Sorry. I’ll go now.” He turns to Katsuki and smiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bakugou.”

Katsuki pulls the mask off his face and takes a slow breath. “You better tell me the rest of the story.”

Kirishima beams at him, thrilled that Katsuki wants him to continue. “Promise.” He holds out his pinky and even though Katsuki rolls his eyes, he happily locks pinkies.

***

Kirishima returns the next day as soon as school lets out. He’s red in the face from running the whole way from the bus stop. Katsuki’s brows arch as he watches Kirishima stumble to take his seat next to the bed. “H-hey,” he greets, breathless.

Katsuki lowers his mask. “Why the rush?” His voice is raspy. He had physical therapy earlier in the day which resulted in an abundance of shouting and cursing from the pain.

Kirishima drops his bag on the floor and slides the chair up against Katsuki’s bed, placing himself inches away. “Just wanted to get here as quickly as possible. I know how lonely you get.”

“M’not lonely.”

They both know it’s a lie, but Kirishima doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he smiles and says, “Where did we leave off yesterday?”

Katsuki buries himself in the pillows and holds his oxygen mask in his hand. “Shitty dragon lost to the prince.” The elastic on the mask snaps and smacks against his face. Katsuki scowls.

“You deserved that,” teases Kirishima. “The dragon isn’t shitty. He’s manly.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. Kirishima starts to talk again, recounting the story as if he had been there in that fantasy land. The dragon and the barbarian prince travel together. They make the perfect pair and even though the prince beats him in battle, he doesn’t look down on the dragon. They’re a partner duo, not master/servant. They spend all their time together visiting new lands, fighting monsters, defeating bad guys, taking on odd jobs when one is posted. They don’t need the money, the prince brought a hefty amount of coin with him on his journey and the dragon has a lofty sum accumulated in his horde, but they take the pay. They donate it whenever possible. The prince never tells anyone who he is. He wants to see the kingdoms as a traveler, not as royalty, and he doesn’t fear death by anonymity. They’re too strong to be killed.

“—the dragon admired the barbarian prince. Everyone admired him. The people they helped showered him with praise, but they were wary of the dragon. Whenever they turned in a job, the dragon would stay back so that the villagers wouldn’t be afraid. The prince would collect their reward and head back to him. He always smiled after hearing how good of a job he did. When the dragon would tell him the same, he’d just shrug it off and say it wasn’t a big deal.

“The dragon would brush it off. He was happy enough just getting to adventure with the prince, so they’d head to the next town and take another job. They’d camp in the woods or find an inn to stay at. It was the two of them against the world.”

Everyday after school Kirishima would rush to Katsuki’s bedside. Work studies are canceled for the near future, so he has time to kill. The HPSC and the Japanese government are both in the middle of rebuilding. Because of that, they decided that student hero work would be put on pause indefinitely. That was one less thing for Katsuki to worry about falling behind at, not that he has any shot of going pro anymore.

He listens as Kirishima continues to tell stories about the dragon with his impenetrable scales and the barbarian prince with his explosive fire magic. With each visit, Kirishima becomes livelier with his storytelling. Katsuki watches as he jumps around the room, pretending to be the characters fighting. He watches the way Kirishima stands on the chair as if they’ve just conquered a battle. He laughs when the nurses chide him for his outlandish behavior, and Kirishima’s forced to apologize and sit down. It brightens Katsuki’s days, and he feels less like he wishes he had died.

They meet other people on their adventures, but in the end, it’s always the barbarian prince and the dragon. The two of them are inseparable and they don’t feel the need to have others around for exceedingly long. They explore caves, they slay monsters, and when one is injured, the other does everything in their power to tend to the wounds. When they camp, the dragon varies between sleeping in his full form or as a human. On cold nights, he takes his true form, allowing the barbarian prince to curl up next to him and leach off his body heat. When it’s warm, they sleep in bedrolls beside one another, the campfire crackling a few feet away. They never pitch tents—they block the view of the stars above.

It's romantic, though Katsuki won’t admit that thought aloud.

After two weeks of Kirishima’s storytelling, he gets to a part he has difficulty with. Katsuki watches him struggle to tell the story the same way he did when he first started telling it. He assumes Kirishima is likely running out of ideas for it, until he finally speaks.

“One night, the barbarian prince and the dragon got separated. They agreed to meet up later in the evening after completing a lengthy list of errands they needed to run. While they were a part, an evil warlock that specialized in torture and death magic captured the prince. He had apparently been watching them for some time. The dragon was devastated when he found out. If he hadn’t left the prince’s side, then maybe he never would have been captured.”

“There’s no way to know that for sure,” says Katsuki.

Kirishima gives him a sad smile. His lips are turned up, but his forehead is scrunched, and he shakes his head. “He should have been there. The dragon will never forgive himself for not being there.”

“It’s just a story,” says Katsuki, studying Kirishima carefully.

“Yeah,” says Kirishima. He sighs. “The dragon sent an urgent message to some of the people they met while traveling. They were able to help him find the warlock’s location and cause a distraction for him. When the warlock and his allies were distracted, the dragon swooped in from above and called out to the prince. He used his fire magic to launch himself into the air and land right on the dragon’s back. The rest of their friends withdrew, and the dragon scooped them up as well. They made a hasty retreat. When they were far enough from the warlock, the dragon set their friends on the ground, thanked them, and flew off into the night with the prince.

“They found an inn to stay at. The dragon didn’t want to risk being out in the forest, so they paid for a single room. It took a lot of reassuring from the prince that he was okay for the dragon to calm down. He kept getting worked up and starting to transform and the prince had to remind him that the fees would come out of his horde if they destroyed the inn because he went ‘full dragon’ while they were inside. The dragon didn’t sleep that night. He laid awake until the sun came up, watching the prince as he slept. Whenever his eyes shut for even a few seconds, he would fear the prince was gone again or that he failed to rescue him in the first place.”

Katsuki’s chest ached and not because of the open-heart surgery. Kirishima wipes away a few stray tears with the back of his hand and turns to look out the window, trying to hide his breakdown. Katsuki knows he can be dense at times but he’s not clueless. He sees the lines in the sand for what they are. He wishes he could reach out and properly comfort Kirishima, but Katsuki is limited to the small range of motion he has on his shitty hospital bed. So, he quietly waits for Kirishima to compose himself and carry on with the story.

***

Kirishima keeps telling tales of the prince and dragon each day he comes to the hospital. Katsuki doesn’t have any more bad days. There were tough days, but no longer did he wish he were dead. Instead, he stares at the clock, waiting impatiently for the redhead to arrive. His stomach flutters every time Kirishima walks through the door. It’s annoying as fuck because Katsuki still doesn’t have a deadline on when he can leave the fucking hospital. And it’s getting harder to stay quiet about it. He knows the implications buried in the stories Kirishima tells. The dragon and the prince are more than friends, even if Kirishima doesn’t outright say it. It’s also blatantly obvious that they’re a metaphor but he’ll play along for now. It’s all he really can do.

“They helped a pair of knights from the neighboring kingdom search for the lost prince of that kingdom. While they searched, the prince ran into someone he knew from his childhood. They hadn’t been on the best of terms growing up, but as they worked together to search for the prince who had apparently run away from home after a fight with the king, they had finally managed to work together and grow a true bond of friendship. The dragon was proud to see how much he had changed in such a brief period of time, and the barbarian prince’s friend knew all sorts of facts about dragons that even the dragon himself didn’t know. The dragon couldn’t help feeling embarrassed about that.

“They escorted the prince back to his palace. He thanked them. Even though he ran away, he was glad to be home. The neighboring prince had gotten into a lot of trouble on his own. He said people kept getting mad at him for no reason and he was covered in scratches and bruises from wandering in the forest. The barbarian prince said it was pretty obvious why people hated him. He was scolded for that, but the neighboring prince didn’t seem to get what he meant. That was probably for the best.”

Katsuki snorts. That idiot has to be Kirishima’s personification of Todoroki. It makes sense. The fucker is as dense as a board of plywood. Kirishima will never admit it, but he obviously thinks so too. Katsuki’s gonna pocket that one for later. He knows it’ll come in handy eventually.

Kirishima stays until Katsuki finishes his dinner, then he leaves so that the nurses don’t yell at him. They like to hover outside the door, lacking confidence in a teenage boy doing anything on time. They’re not wrong. Given the chance, Katsuki is certain Kirishima would stay long after visiting hours end. He’d spend the night if he could. Katsuki sort of wishes he could. His days might be better, but his nights are still rough. He could use a familiar face at his bedside as he tries to sleep. He lacks the comfort of friends and family at night. He’ll take that admission to the grave. They’ll all get too full of themselves if he ever says it aloud.

The better days bleed into better nights. He wakes up with less panic attacks, which means the nurses sedate him less often. That leads to mornings that are less groggy and quicker to start. The doctors say the ophthalmologist will be able to visit him soon and get him fitted for a pair of glasses. Katsuki is thankful. The blurry vision makes him dizzy and gives him headaches which require more medication. The ouroboros that is his life. He briefly wonders how stupid he’ll look in glasses and then remembers he looks good in everything he wears.

***

One afternoon, Kirishima comes in with a story of even greater magnitude than the rescue mission the dragon had gone on to save the prince. He talks about how the evil sorcerer has mounted a retaliation, pissed off with the way things went previously. The sorcerer knows who the prince is, and he declares war on the kingdom. The prince and the dragon have to call on all their allies to help them fight the sorcerer. The prince reaches out to the king and queen who mount their army and request aid from the neighboring kingdoms.

Katsuki sits up in his bed on his own. He’s finally able to do so without it hurting. He’s got a wicked grin on his face as he smiles at Kirishima. He lifts his mask and says, “I bet the prince kicked his ass good.”

Kirishima laughs solemnly and nods his head. “Yeah. Yeah, he did, but it takes everyone to defeat the sorcerer and not without casualty. They lose important allies. They mourn the loss of their friends and comrades, and the prince… The prince is severely injured. He’s on bedrest in the palace. Servants come and go tending to his wounds and bringing him meals. They wash him and bathe him because he’s too weak to get out of bed. The prince is alive, but at a great cost. All the while he’s in his bed, the dragon is at his side. He’s there from sunup to sundown, only leaving to stretch his wings in the sky and bathe. Then he returns to the prince’s side once more.

“The barbarian prince heals quickly. The royal healers use strong magic on him, and in no time, he’s back on his feet. He’s offered the crown, but he turns it down. He says he’s not ready to take over yet. He wants to keep on adventuring. So, he does, and his dragon is right by his side. The dragon is in awe of him. He doesn’t feel admiration for the prince anymore. It’s grown into something more, something deeper. The dragon likes the prince more than any treasure in his horde. It’s been that way since before the battle with the sorcerer, but he’s been too afraid to say anything.”

“Why?” asks Katsuki. His words are muffled behind the mask.

Kirishima stops talking and looks at him confused. He quirks a brow as he says, “Huh?”

Katsuki clears his throat. “What was the dragon so fucking afraid of?” he asks, callus as ever. “Did he think the barbarian wouldn’t want him? After everything we—they’ve been through?”

Kirishima splutters. “Well, maybe the dragon was afraid they wouldn’t last. Maybe he was afraid that once their time adventuring ended, that would be it. Maybe the barbarian would realize just how strong he is and that he doesn’t need the dragon’s help anymore. Maybe he’d decided to finally move on and find a stronger partner once he realized just how weak the dragon really was. They made a lot of friends on their journeys and the prince even reconciled with an old friend from his childhood. He might think one of them was a better option. Anyone was better than the dragon.”

Katsuki wrenches the mask from his face and tosses the stupid thing down on the bed so that it’s not in his way. He can breathe fine on his own now, but the doctors insist he keep using the mask for a while longer.

Kirishima lunges forward to reach for the mask. “Bakugou wh—”

“That’s fucking dumb,” snaps Katsuki. “If I had a kickass dragon as a partner, I think I’d wanna adventure with him forever.” Kirishima puts the mask back on his face and Katsuki huffs. He folds his arm across his chest and glowers at Kirishima. Kirishima’s cheeks flame red and Katsuki breaks eye contact, directing his focus on the wall across the room. His face is warm but he’s not fucking blushing because Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t blush like a bashful little girl. If his face is pink, it’s because the hospital room is unusually warm.

Kirishima smiles beside him and continues the story. “Well, maybe the dragon finally gets enough courage to confess once the barbarian prince is healed after the big battle. They set off on their adventure together again and the dragon searches for the perfect spot to tell the prince how he feels. There’s a clearing near where they first did battle. It seems like as good a spot as any. It’s the place they first met and where they first fought. It’s important to them, so he takes the prince there, and he finally tells him how he feels. It’s terrifying.”

Katsuki lifts the mask again, determined to speak without it hindering his voice. “The dragon better be ready for the barbarian to one-up him before that. He’s not clueless. He would take them somewhere they would both enjoy, maybe with some nice dumbass sunset or some shit. The prince already made the dragon his once. He’s gotta do it again, but official.”

Kirishima tears up. Fat, wet tears track down his face as he smiles. He chokes back a sob and nods his head. “I think the dragon would like that a whole lot.”

Good, Katsuki thinks. Now, he just needs to get out of this damn hospital bed so he can prove to the ‘dragon’ just how much the ‘barbarian prince’ cares about him.

Link to fic on AO3

[mercurydancer]

Burning Matches Pt. 3

CONTACT

_

            It took Peni a long time before the collective Spiders could finally make actual physical contact with each other, and somehow longer to finally gain contact with Pete. As their monochromatic friend had never had any real experience with cellphones or any other object that Peni could think to make to allow them to talk to each other, Peni had decided to wait until she had a working method of jumping to alternate universes before attempting to reach him. It was a hard decision to make, Pete had been the one to spend the most time with her, and she missed him dearly, but it made sense.

            It was likely that the sight of the group of them would be a lot easier to take, and likely easier to trust, than some random device that called his name, or otherwise tried to contact him in that way. The fact that he wouldn’t know how to actually use the device helped solidify the decision, and so Peni focused on calling up the others, helping them contact each other, and then buckled down to open up their dimensions without destroying the universe, or their cells.

            It was a good thing that Peni thrived under pressure. Adapt or force the world to bend, and Peni in this instance, had decided to use force.

            Communication came first, and it started with Gwen. While it would have been easier to start with Miles as she had a baseline for what his universe felt like…a part of her had been scared to try it. They had taken out everyone aside from the Kingpin.

            They had taken out everyone aside from the one who had killed Spider-Man, and while a part of Peni really believed that Miles had adapted and knew what he was doing, another part of her was terrified. She contacted Gwen.

            Peni hadn’t spent a lot of time with Gwen, but in that time, she had discovered that Gwen was cool. Gwen was a drummer in a band, had an amazing haircut that Peni would get Grounded-For-Life for if she tried, and her poise and dexterity had been amazing. If that wasn’t a person to emulate Peni didn’t know what was. It also turned out that Gwen’s universe was also very close in structure to Miles’.

            When she finally gained contact with the other girl it was to drop a communicator in the vague shape of a watch into her lap. Naturally it was able to be charged with a USB, which had not been a small feat. Figuring out the proper current as well as the pin size and length had been a chore, but the result was something that Gwen could wear without issue and use to both text and call with. The holographic keyboard was a touch of Peni’s own universe, but also one that she thought would be appreciated.  

            Gwen was the one who pushed for Miles’ universe to be the second, and Peni accepted without any pushback. When Gwen was finally able to open the small portal and drop his own watch onto Miles’ it was a moment of celebration. It had also been a true breakthrough. Passing the watch to Gwen to run some tests, who was then able to rip her own portal through to Miles’ and give him his watch and not having any lasting consequence to either wearer or watch?

            Brilliant.

            Peni had trouble finding Peter B. More trouble than she really expected. It wasn’t because his universe was that different to theirs, but more…his universe seemed to be the norm. There tended to be a lot of Peter Parkers that acted as Spider-Man, and finding the right one was a bit like finding a needle in a haystack. Made of Peter Parkers. Which was weird. When she finally found him, it was to stumble upon the sight of Peter B kissing a very familiar red-head.

            Peni had been unable to contain her squee at the sight, Peter pulling back in shock at the sound, and then reeling at the sight of a portal hovering behind MJ. MJ, for her part, took the rip in space like a champ, and aside from stepping behind Peter as he was the most prepared to deal with the strange and unusual, she stood her ground.

            “You got back with MJ, oh, Peter, that’s so good! I’m so happy for you!” Peni cried out, her hands under her chin, and hearts in her eyes. Literally.

            “Peni!” Peter exclaimed, shock, embarrassment and awe on his face in equal measures. “How…?” he started.

            “Can’t explain, not enough time, take this! There’re instructions on the back! Miles and Gwen are connected, too!” She threw the watch at him with a slip of paper taped to the back, something he caught without trouble due to his literally sticky fingers, and the portal closed on a pair of baffled expressions.

            Peni wasn’t surprised when she gained a frenzied series of texts from Peter B, but she was too busy laughing to care that much. She texted Gwen and Miles and alerted them to the fact that Peter B was with MJ and they had contact. The texts slowed to a halt when the other two immediately started texting Peter B their own congratulations, and it didn’t take long for a very simple, but very heartfelt: “Thank you” to appear on her screen, followed by “MJ says hello, and thanks you, too.”

            Peni felt a warmth spread from the bottom of her toes to the top of her head, and a grin spread as wide as possible on her face as she gave another ferocious squee. She was rocking this.

            Peni immediately set to work contacting Peter Porker, fueled by the success and the thanks she had been given. While it was true that Porker was a bit like Pete in the way that he didn’t have access to a lot of their technology, Porker also operated by this… Porker had called it ‘cartoon-logic,’ and Peni hated it, but that didn’t change the fact that he was absurdly good at making anything given to him work. She didn’t think he would have any trouble getting the device to work, nor did she think he wouldn’t be able to make it adapt to him in the same way he forced everything else around him to change.

            She was right.

            Porker took the watch when she gave it to him and sealed the portal again, and within moments had managed to not only get it to send pictures of his own world, something that Peni hadn’t originally given it the ability to do, but also sent her flowers through it. Two of them were a bright pink, and while one she recognized as a rose, the other took her a bit to learn the name of. It was a geranium she eventually discovered, and came with a beautiful white flower that she also learned was a lily of the valley. In combination, these three flowers turned out to be, not only an expression of friendship, but a return to happiness when she looked up old flower meanings later.

          Peni put them in water and had to fight back tears.

           She finally took a moment to relax and just texted and talked to the others for what seemed like hours, listening to their voices, memorizing the sounds of their laughter and the quips that seem to never stop from everyone, herself included. It just seemed to be a Spider thing.

            MJ talked, too, and it was so nice to hear her voice, and Peter B’s voice responding to her, and to them. He sounded so much happier, and that made Peni happy, too.

            Spiders Adapt or they Force the world around them to Bend, and Peter B had managed to force his, if only with a good deal of groveling and reevaluation, and promises, promises, promises.

            The only one left was Pete.

            It was time to work on actual prolonged physical contact, because she owed everybody one hell of a hug.

            It was difficult, first because she had to isolate what made them corrode, and then because she had to find out how to fix it all. There was also the danger inherent with that stability being connected to a watch that could either be destroyed or malfunction. If she was going to make this work, she had to make sure that either that watch was going to be near-indestructible, or she had to make them adapt.

            What to do, what to do.

            Eventually, Peni decided that she was going to have to make some serious tweaks to the watches themselves. While it would probably be safer to make either a nanotech injection or something else that would make their cells physically adjust to the other universes, a field wouldn’t have as much physical adjustments, and there was no telling how everyone else would react to the nanotech. That was one thing in particular that would have to be studied later as soon as she had access to the others and they could really dive into it. As it was, a protective field would make it so their own bodies wouldn’t corrode, but would also be a hell of a lot less invasive.

            Peni worked and she worked, her Spider a constant presence handing her tools and whispering encouragement into her brain, until finally…finally.

            Peni took her first step into Gwen’s world, Spider on her shoulder, and the older girl greeted her with a loud cry of happiness, and arms that wrapped around her and spun her around. Peni had brought her tools with her, and she worked on fixing Gwen’s watch while Gwen brought them pizza, the two girls laughing and talking as they ate and Peni modified Gwen’s watch. The entire time Peni never glitched once, nor did she feel the slight wrongness that had always been at the back of her mind when inside of Miles’ universe. When they were finished, Gwen followed Peni back into her universe, so she could properly examine Gwen and see to it that the field worked the same on her, and Peni had access to better tools if it didn’t. 

            It also brought her back to the actual SP//dr mech, the one that she had been recreating at the same time as connecting to the rest of the Spiders, and also the one that had been left behind to finish its own field. The plan with the SP//dr mech was to provide another safe-zone should anyone else’s watches bust. The trickiness of making sure that it could create any field in an isolated manner had left it behind the first time, but now that she had Gwen to help test with it was done faster. 

            When it was discovered that Gwen was able to not only stay in her universe and her own feeling of wrongness wasn’t present, Gwen and Peni both made the leap to Miles’ universe, this time with the entire mech.

            Miles greeted them with all the grateful enthusiasm a new Spider that had been missing his friends could. He also formally introduced them to his roommate, Ganke Lee, who seemed a lot more accepting of them when they didn’t have a talking pig, and also when he knew what was happening. Ganke had talked to them a few times through text and over a…technically seven-way group-chat when MJ had joined the five of them, and Ganke had gotten involved. It was good to see him properly, and…not give him a mini heart-attack.

            When Peni finally managed to properly adjust Miles’ own watch, they said a very sorry goodbye to Ganke, who was not only very understanding, he was also very supportive. They were going to Peter B next, and Ganke knew not just how much Peter B meant to Miles, he knew how much Miles and the others meant to Peter B. They didn’t have enough watches to bring him, regardless, and Ganke honestly wasn’t that sure how sold he was on hopping dimensions anyway.

            Peter B greeted them with a large hug and laughter, holding them all on the side of the building they had leapt out onto as their dimension hopper locked onto him perching there. Peni had leapt out of her mech at the sight of him, Peter B instinctively catching her much like he had the watch, and then simply gathered the other two teens up in his arms and held them. They held him back, laughing, and very much near tears. He was so much happier, so much more whole. He’d even managed to lose some weight, something he was endlessly ribbed for. When Peter B invited them back to meet MJ they accepted without hesitation, and a procession of spiders swung through his New York.

            MJ, who was used to being able to get into places she otherwise wouldn’t have, was waiting on another rooftop after Peter called her to let her know what to expect.

            MJ was sweetness and warmth in equal measures, combined with an unrelenting strength that made them instantly understand why losing her had caused such a strain on Peter. It also made them understand why he loved her so much in the first place. There was a moment when the urge to tease Peter for managing to gain someone so far out of his league rose, but then they saw the way they stood together. That familiarity and closeness that only came from knowing each other, and understanding each other, and above-all struggling together.

            Peni made more heart-eyes and clasped her hands under her chin, sighing deeply.

            “I’m so glad I get to meet you all,” MJ said, and she hugged them, too, and it was… Peni didn’t have the words, but she felt like she didn’t need to. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you so much for…everything you did for Peter. For each other,” the smile she gave them was soft and they couldn’t help but beam back.

            “Thank you for taking him back, he was an absolute wreck!” Miles finally said with a pair of finger guns and a wink, and the moment was broken with a great deal of laughter and teasing. MJ had a wicked smirk and quipped with the best of the Spiders, and Peni idly hoped that she’d have someone like an MJ one day. That would be nice.

            Peter B’s watch was taken and fixed, and with one last kiss, Peter B joined them on their second-to-last dimension jump.

            Peter Porker’s universe was loud and chaotic, and felt a bit like they had stepped into a Looney Tunes episode, not just because of the way everything looked, but because of the context. Peter Porker’s position was slightly different. While Gwen had been on the side of a building, Miles in his dorm, and Peter on another building, Porker was in the middle of something else.

            Peter Porker was in the middle of a shower.

            The screaming that exploded from everyone was a mixture of truly horrified and embarrassed. The door slammed behind them as they all dove out of the room, and a moment later a (decent) pig stormed out of the bathroom with his face blushing a very bright red, but he recovered quicker than they did.

             “Ah, relax, that gag’s a staple in my universe, you wouldn’t be the first, and I doubt you’re the last.”

            The hopeless giggling that finally escaped Peni’s mouth was echoed by Gwen, and then finally the rest had fallen into a mixture of hysterical laughter. Porker made them tea, which was…an odd experience to drink. It felt there, but it didn’t feel…real, somehow. It was so surreal, but it also left them with the one watch that Peni had left. Porker finished bringing out chairs from a supply closet that looked like it couldn’t hold as much as it did, and they all gathered around the table in the kitchen as they drank their tea.

            Peni worked on this last watch that hadn’t been given to an owner yet, as well as Porker’s, tongue poking out as she fought to work out the kinks. Finally, it was finished, and the rest looked to her in anticipation as Porker put his watch on his wrist with a smile.  

            “Alright, guys,” Peni said, anticipation building up inside of her like a balloon, a smile on her face as she walked back to her robot. “Last one, are you all ready?”

            “Let’s find Mr. Tall, Dark, and Gloomy!” Porker called out with a fist-pump, and Peni sent them one last series of coordinates.

            The dimension hop was accompanied by the familiar lurch in the bottom of their stomachs as they tumbled end over end through a webbed-void, and then they lurched to a stop as they finally hit smog, black, and gloom.

            They huddled together on the roof of the building they had found themselves on, rain pouring down around them and almost immediately drenching them before Peni’s robot spun into position to protect them from the rain.

            “…Hello, Tall, Dark, and Gloomy!” Ham called out, patting the concrete of the building beneath him. There was a brief snort from Gwen, who immediately put her hand over her mouth.

            “What, it was funny?” she snipped at the rest of the Spider’s combined disbelieving looks. Porker crossed his arms, nodding proudly.

            It was then that the sound of machine-gun fire broke the silence. They immediately went into battle-stances, ready, senses straining as they fought to figure out where it came from.

            Flashes of light from a nearby building that resembled an old-timey speakeasy drew their attention in this world of gloom, and they soon realized that that was where the bullets were coming from. The flock of screaming men and women was another tip-off. They immediately leapt off the building, falling in a formation that they gravitated to without thinking. Peter B was the first to break through the door, flipping to stick to the ceiling above as Spider-Gwen landed on the railing overlooking a much bigger establishment than had been originally anticipated. Spider-Ham was on a table, Miles standing next to him with his hands ready to shoot webs at anyone who came near, while Peni rose behind them in her mech.

            They weren’t expecting the sight that they came to

            Pete was behind a kicked-over table, a tommygun and his usual pistol both held out before him, both aimed at something that a few of them instinctively recognized.

            Larger and more horrifying than they had ever seen or expected, teeth twice the length of Peter’s hand held in a mouth that couldn’t properly hold them, tongue lolling out between the gums and all held in a scaled and familiar head whose large black eyes focused and reflecting no light. Its hunched-over body loomed over the much smaller man with his weapons, tail whipcord thin and lashing behind it as its claws were bared and ready.

            At the sudden banging of the door and the leap of everyone into position paused, Pete paused in his firing to see who had appeared.

            “You guys-“

            In an idle sort of way, none of them had expected for Pete’s blood to be black. None of them had expected that their sudden appearance would be just the distraction that the Lizard had needed. None of them had expected for that very black and very unexpected blood to be painting the wall behind him as Lizard’s claws dug into his flesh, and sent his body flying limply to hit the wall with a wet-sounding smack.

            In the end, no one knew who screamed, but it was Gwen who attacked first.

[blinded-and-bloody]

That trope of amazing sharpshooters and precision fighters losing their sight and ability to defend themselves is,, amazing. Like, yess, you can hold the gun, you can hear the villain — but you’re basically completely defenseless ohmygod

[tsarisfanfiction]

Carnage

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Lee Fletcher, Lizzy White (OC), Kim Ha-Yoon (OC) "Three deaths and twenty-six mutilations," or the immediate aftermath of the chariot race from hell, as experienced by one of the youngest kids in camp. Whumptober day 3, “Make it stop". Pre-canon this time; that throwaway line in Sea of Monsters about why the chariot races were discontinued has always intrigued me, so I figured why not try and explore it in a fic?

Lee was shaking.  There were screams in his ears, some echoes from earlier that wouldn’t go away, the terror as everything went horrifically wrong, and some still shrieking now.  Pain, grief, horror.

There was blood on his hands, splattered across his face and his mouth tasted of metal and it was disgusting but worse was the knowledge that it wasn’t his.  It was someone else’s, and no amount of spitting could get rid of the taste.

Chiron was shouting orders, and Ha-Yoon, too.  Lee tried to listen, but there was so much noise and his spine kept tingling because people kept promising that things were going to be okay, that things would be alright, but no-one was believing them.

Even without the tingle of a lie, Lee wouldn’t believe them.  How could he, when there was so much blood, so much pain?

He could see the crushed head of Berta, the head counsellor of cabin six, long blond hair matted with blood and skull completely caved in.  The one grey eye visible was glassy and sightless.  She hadn’t even been in a chariot, but she’d been in the wrong place when the Ares chariot had careened into the stands and something had gone boom.

Lee was pretty certain Ramona and Xander were dead, too.  The Ares chariot had been red already, but now it was liquid-red, and there was a single limp hand visible from the wreckage.  It wasn’t attached to a wrist.

“Lee!”  Hands grabbed him and spun him around so fast he almost lost his balance.  “Lee, are you hurt?”  It was Lizzy’s voice, and Lizzy’s tell-tale splash of dark pink bangs, but all Lee could focus on were the rest of the campers moving around, and the ones that weren’t, covered in blood and too still.

Ha-Yoon was shouting in English, he realised numbly.  That felt wrong.  His head counsellor never spoke in English.

“Lee,” Lizzy said again, and her hands cupped his face, forcing her to look at him.  Her hands cupped his ears, muffling the screaming.

There was so much screaming.

He blinked up at his sister as her thumb started wiping at his face.  “Are you hurt?” she repeated.  Lee shook his head.  No, he wasn’t hurt, just his ears ringing from all the screaming.

Lizzy’s orange camp t-shirt had red on the shoulder.

“Okay, good,” she said.  “Let’s get away from here.”

She didn’t give Lee a choice, tugging on his arm until he followed her, stumbling across the wreckage of the stands.

There was so much blood.  Lee saw Gabriel kneeling down next to Marisa from cabin five, his hand faintly glowing as he sang a hymn.  The words were drowned out by her screaming, her one remaining hand struggling to free itself from Gabriel’s firm hold while the mangled remains of her right arm slowly knitted up.

Lizzy pulled him past.  “Don’t look,” she ordered.  “Look at me, Lee.  Just me.”

That was easier said than done.  Everything was carnage and Lee tripped over one of the new Aphrodite kids where she was cowering behind her head counsellor as the pink-haired girl called out to the rest of her cabin.  It sounded like a roll call.

The Aphrodite chariot had been one of the first to flip, careening into the Hephaestus chariot which had then tangled with the Hermes chariot.  Lee didn’t know what had happened to the kids in it.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

The Hephaestus and Hermes chariots had exploded.

He didn’t know what had happened to those kids, either.

Under his feet, blood-splattered stone turned to red stained grass instead, and he felt Lizzy pull him against her side, burying his face in her dark pink-purple dungarees.  “Don’t look,” she repeated, but not looking meant he could just hear more.

Ha-Yoon was still yelling, sending runners to fetch ambrosia and nectar and anything else they could carry from the infirmary.  Hooves squelched into the ground, and Lee know if that was the horses or Chiron kicking and tugging at the wreckage of the chariots.

The screaming still hadn’t stopped, even though the voices were turning hoarse.

Make it stop, he begged, but he couldn’t find his voice and Lizzy was still pulling him away.  Please, someone, make it stop.

“Lizzy!” Lee heard Ha-Yoon shout.  “I need Lee over here!”  She was still speaking in English, and it sounded wrong.

Lizzy muttered something that didn’t sound happy, but Lee felt her change direction, tugging them towards their head counsellor.

“Lee’s too young for this!” she argued back as they stumbled forwards, and part of Lee wanted to rebel at that – he was nine, now! – but the world was still screaming and he just wanted it all to stop.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Ha-Yoon snapped back.  “Give him to me.  I’ve sent Lauren and Michelle to the infirmary and I need you to go after them and make sure everything’s prepped.”

“Why don’t I take Lee-”

“I need Lee here,” Ha-Yoon cut Lizzy off.  “Lee, come here.”  Her words were short and abrupt, but she’d just switched back to Ancient Greek, and Ha-Yoon always spoke in Ancient Greek rather than English and that comforted Lee enough to peel away from Lizzy’s side and stumble across the short distance to his Korean sister.

She let him burrow against her jacket, even though the fabric was damp in places.  It wasn’t as comfortable as Lizzy.  Ha-Yoon was shorter than their sister, and Lee’s head was pressed against her shoulder rather than under her arm.  “Lee, I know this is loud and scary, but I need your help,” she said, and he tilted his chin up until he could see her face.

“Mine?” he asked, wondering what he could possibly do in the face of so much blood.  He wasn’t a healer like Mitch or Gil or Gabriel.

Ha-Yoon nodded.  “We’ve got a triage system set up and I need someone to look after the people that are hurt but not badly,” she said.  “You’re good at healing, so I need that to be you, okay?”

Lee swallowed but nodded his head.  “Okay,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” Ha-Yoon replied, her voice softening a bit.  “Wait here, okay?  I’ll send the patients over to you.”

He whimpered as she pulled away, and felt her hand squeeze his shoulder lightly.  He didn’t want to be left alone, but he knew Ha-Yoon wouldn’t leave him alone if she had a choice.

He also knew that Mitch and Gil had been in their chariot, caught in the backlash of the explosion, and that they hadn’t got up from where they’d crumpled.

Mitch and Gil were the best healers in camp.

His first patient was the new Aphrodite kid, barely injured but shaking just as much as Lee had been.  Still was.  He was pretty sure her name was Silena, and that the two of them were the youngest kids in camp.  Her head counsellor, Belinda, was with her, and had a nasty cut on her arm that Lee hadn’t seen earlier.

It was something Lee knew how to treat – kids came into the infirmary with cuts all the time, usually after sparring with Ares kids – and Belinda obediently stayed still while he dabbed at it and wrapped it up with supplies Lauren had appeared with just after Ha-Yoon left him.  Other campers came up to him, white-faced and red-stained but never with anything worse than deep cuts, and every so often Ha-Yoon came by to make sure his patients were listening to him.

Anyone who didn’t listen to Lee definitely listened to Ha-Yoon.

Eventually, the screaming died down.  There was shouting, instead, and sobbing, but it was easier to listen, and to look, when he didn’t have patients to treat.

Looking was a mistake, but Lee couldn’t help it.  Marisa’s mangled arm looked horrible even after Gabriel’s healing, and at one point he saw Gil being run up the hill towards the big house on a stretcher, leg twisted the wrong way around and white poking up out of all the red.  Mitch had stayed where he’d fallen for some time, even after Gabriel ran to him after finishing with Marisa.  When he’d finally been stretchered away, Lee had seen something dark sticking out of his chest.

Slowly, things turned less chaotic.  Most of Lee’s patients left him once he’d bandaged them up, heading for where most of the head counsellors were starting to organise clean-up.  The ones that stayed tried to help him, or comforted each other.

But things were still bad.  The lack of screaming didn’t stop the blood from being everywhere.  The less injured campers moving around while the worse patients were transported to the infirmary didn’t stop others being dead.

Lizzy didn’t come back from the infirmary, but Ha-Yoon’s brief stops got longer and longer, until he had no patients left and just her for company, wrapping an arm around his shoulders lightly.

“Time to get cleaned up,” she told him.  “And to get away from here.”  She shooed him on ahead of her, towards their cabin, and didn’t let him stop until he was in the shower, a pile of clean clothes folded outside and waiting for him.

At the sight of the faint red swirling down the drain with the water and soap bubbles, Lee sat down heavily, wrapping his arms around his knees and cried, because there had been so much noise, so much blood, and he was only nine and people were dead.

He didn’t know how long he spent in the shower when there was a knock on the door, only that at some point the hot water had turned freezing.  “Lee?”

He’d used up all the hot water.  Lee sniffled.  “Coming.”

Lizzy was waiting for him when he stumbled out, dressed in fresh clothes but unable to stop himself from snivelling.  Her top was still stained red, but her hands were so clean they almost shone.

She was holding his headphones, the ones his dad had given him in a dream a few months ago and had been on his head when he woke up.  “Do you need these?” she asked him.  Lee snivelled again and reached for them, letting them close over his ears with a satisfying snap.

The bubble of silence they wrapped him in made him wish he’d had them earlier, when everyone had been screaming and everything had been too loud.

Lizzy tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to look at her.  She pointed at herself, and then the bathroom, then at him and his bunk, ending her pantomime with a shrug.

Lee curled in on himself a little more and nodded.  “I used up all the hot water,” he admitted, his voice the only sound that ever got past his headphones and sounding a little tinny in the silence.  “Sorry.”

Her laugh was silent, but the way she waved her hand told him she was telling him not to worry about it.  She pointed at his bunk again, and Lee did as he was told, slinking over to it and curling up under the covers, even though it was the middle of the afternoon and he knew he wouldn’t sleep.

It was quiet, and there was no blood here.

In the safe cocoon of silence and blankets, Lee could almost pretend the chariot race hadn’t happened.

Almost.

[ice-cap-k]

Empty Sensations

Home stretch. Only two more days left!

Cross-posted on AO3 here: Empty Sensations

________________________________________________

"I think she's waking up. False? False, luv, can you hear me?"

I could hear. The words were fuzzy and distant, but they were there.

“She’s moving. Is that a good sign? Does that mean she’ll be okay?”

“I think so… False, I ehm… I need you to open your eyes for me if you can. Tell me if anything hurts.”

Hurts? No, nothing hurt. It was cold, though. Cold against my back. And hard. This bed wasn’t very comfortable, was it? Not that I remember going to bed…

Through my eyelashes, I could make out the amber glow of redstone lamps overhead. They were so bright it sent spots drifting across my eyes when I tried to open them further. “S’bright.” My own voice surprised me. It sounded raspy. My throat and tongue were dry. The words themselves came out sort of mumbled.

“Sorry. Let me lower the lights.”

Some of the dazzling yellows faded away. The back of my eyelids became darker. It felt better on the eyes. When I peeked out through the eyelashes again, there was still light visible, but it was much less intense. The light of the lamps was cast on a different surface instead of directly in my face. Yellow beams now lit up motes of dust directly overhead.

“Is that better, False?”

“Mmhmm.” It made me want to go back to sleep. I rolled my head over, fully intending to curl up once more, but cold metal pressed against my cheek when I did so. That wasn’t a pillow…

I opened my eyes at the same time I reached up to feel what it was I was leaning on.

“Uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Doc?!?”

“Wait! False! Don’t… don’t do that yet. You should take things slowly.”

Oddly enough, when my hand should have come into view to touch the cold surface beneath me, all that came into view was a massive hunk of… copper?

It looked like copper at least. It was a massive mess of pistons, hinge pins, gears, and redstone wires. The redstone dust was packed carefully into see-through rubber casings that left the glowing signal passing through the line visible. Whatever it was had different appendages that moved along actuator joints fully visible through a roughly welded framework. 

As it leaned into view, the mechanical copper mess came to rest in front of my head where I had originally been intending to put my hand. I studied it for a moment, just watching the whirring gears and subtle glow of the redstone. It was a little mesmerizing, really. “What is that?”

“It’s the best I could do on short notice.” That’s Doc’s voice, I realize with a start. 

I turn away from the copper contraption. Blond hair falls away from my eyes and I finally see two familiar hermits standing nearby. One, of course, is Doc. The creeper hybrid’s eyebrows are furrowed and he’s nervously pulling at the arm of his tattered lab coat. Beside him is Stress. She looks like she’s on the edge of tears. Her fingers are gripping at the ends of her pink sweater, pulling it tighter and tighter around her like it will keep out the cold. 

“Thank goodness you’re awake,” she says, gnawing on her bottom lip. “Had all of us worried. The rest of the Hermits were scrambling. Just take it nice and slow, Falsie and everything will be ok. We’re here for you.”

“What do you mean,” I say, utterly confused. “What are you doing-” I was about to ask the two of them what they were doing at my base. In my room. By my bedside. But then I looked around me and realized, ‘This isn’t my room.’ It wasn’t even the same color pallet. It didn’t match anything in my mountain base, or even any of my shops. 

Instead, I noticed deepslate. Redstone lamps, aged copper, and Sandstone stuck out as accents in the walls. It looked more like something that would be in Doc’s Perimeter.

“Is this Doc’s place?” I tried sitting up to get a better look at the walls. My elbows pressed back against the hard surface beneath me. The fingertips of one hand trailed against what I now could identify as smooth metal. The skin even squeaked a little as it resisted the motion. I didn’t really feel much of anything with the other. I must have slept on it wrong and made it go numb.

Stress immediately rushed to the side of what I now realized was a metal table. A stainless steel table that I had been lying on for some odd reason. “It is,” she said, placing a supporting hand behind my back to help me finish sitting up. “We brought you here after the accident. You were pretty out of it then. Do you remember what happened?”

Accident? There was an accident? The last thing I could remember was that I had been working on the Blue River Raceway. “The stands were a little shaky,” I said tentatively. That was something I could remember. “Did I fall? Did I accidentally respawn at Doc’s place? Not gonna lie, I don’t remember setting my spawn here.”

Stress gripped my shoulders a little tightly. “You didn’t fall, luv. They collapsed.”

“And you didn’t respawn,” Doc added, stepping back away from the table. “ At least, not at first. Ren found you under the rubble and pulled you out.”

“Then it sounds like I owe Ren a thank you.”

“Mmm.” 

That wasn’t much of an answer, but Doc looked pretty shaken as well. I must have been out of it for a while if even he looked so… distant. That was the best word I could come up with that applied to Doc’s expression as he shuffled over to a nearby workbench. He pulled a few small tools I didn’t recognize off of a hook with his robotic arm and tossed them into a shulker box. “He left to go clean up the wreckage. Not safe leaving it like that. He’ll be back soon. In the meantime, we need to talk about your arm.”

“My arm? What do you mean?” I leaned forward, taking pressure off of both of my elbows so I could pull both my hands into my lap. When I did so, though, I was surprised to see the hunk of copper and redstone come swinging into view instead of my left hand. “Wh-what the-?”

The clockwork machine was on my arm. Instead of a wrist and a palm and five fingers, there were coils and wires and pins. It started just below the elbow with a massive metal cuff. The odd appendages that I had seen earlier were hinges and servos shaped vaguely like fingers and a thumb. “What is this!?! What happened to my hand???”

The tears that had been threatening to fall from the corners of Stress’s eyes finally spilled over. “Oh, I’m so sorry, False!” She threw her arms around me and pulled me into a tight hug. I was too stunned and confused to return it. “I tried to argue with him. I really did. But then we tried forcing a respawn with you and that didn’t help-”

“I don’t understand,” I said, cutting her off. I reached out to push her away. To my surprise, both hands reacted like expected. Even the copper one. They both moved forward instinctively, pressing flesh and mechanical fingers against Stress’s shoulders to gently push her away. As soon as the thought crossed my mind to go through the motions, the mechanical hand reacted as easily and quickly as the organic one. The only difference was that, while the copper fingers had reacted like my own hand would have, I couldn’t feel any of it. Not the movement of the pin joints or the brush of Stress’s sweater against the copper plate palm. If I hadn’t seen the hand move on its own, I never would have known it moved at all. 

Doc lurched away from the work table with a wide eye as soon as I did so. He held his own metallic hand out, palm facing outward as if trying to sooth a wild animal. It only made me all the more aware of the heavyweight now on the end of my own arm. “Please, False! You must be careful with that arm. It hasn’t been calibrated yet. You could accidentally hurt someone, or yourself.” 

“I swear, someone better start telling me what on Earth is going on,” I hissed. I shoved myself back to the side of the table, only now I realize that there is a bloodstain on the floor. It appeared to have dripped down from the tabletop where I had just been sleeping. “Why is my arm like this? What happened? Why am I in the perimeter.”

“We’ll explain everything,” Stress managed to say around barely-contained sobs. “I promise. Right now, even. Though Doc might have to explain some of the technical stuff.”

I wrap my normal hand around the elbow of the one encased in metal. My eyes are flicking back and forth between the two other hermits and the odd metal mass, still not sure what to make of it. “I’m listening.”

Doc nodded immediately. He backed away, looking nervous to take his eyes off of me. Almost like he was afraid I would disappear the moment I turned my back. Or worse. “Stress, can you tell her what Ren told us,” he asked, reaching for the shulker box he had left on the edge of the workbench. “And while she does that, False, how about you hold out your left arm for me to look at? I’ll calibrate it so you don’t accidentally break something.”

“Like what?” I snapped, shaking out my left arm. 

“Like accidentally crushing the table, or our bones.”

I was about to scoff at him. Laugh and say something about how that was an exaggeration, but then both Doc and Stress’s eyes went back to the metal table. I followed their gaze, only to realize there were four finger-shaped indents in the overhanging edge where I had pushed myself off the metal surface. Had I just done that?

I held the metal contraption out to look at, not sure whether to be afraid or impressed.

“Ok. Fine.”

Doc approached, pulling a small tool out and placing the filled shulker box on the metal table. Then with the careful fingers of his organic left hand, he guided the copper arm down to rest on the table next to it. “This won’t take long,” he promised.

“I’m not even sure how to explain this…” Stress came over to my other side while Doc worked. She leaned with both elbows against the table. Her shoulder pressed into mine comfortingly. It looked like she had gotten her tears back under control again. They had left streaks along her cheeks that were now starting to dry. The whites of her eyes still appeared agitated and puffy, though.

“Just start with the stands. You said they collapsed?”

She nodded. “Me and a couple of other hermits came running as soon as Ren started messaging everyone. I don’t know why they collapsed. I think Xisuma and Bdubs are still looking around the place for the answer to that question, but yeah. The stands did fall. It was all one big mess of stone and spruce. And then there you were. Ren had managed to pull some of it off of you before we got there. You were hurt. Really really hurt. There was so much blood. Cub happened to be carrying some regen pots. And they were splash potions too. Like, a lot of splash potions. I think he was in the middle of restocking the shop…”

 I frowned. Stress got the message. 

“Sorry. That’s not important. Now, where was I? Oh right. So we splashed you with everything Cub had. The good news is, it worked! All your bruises and cuts healed up. Probably a broken bone or two. I wasn’t entirely sure how bad the damage was but it really looked like one of your legs was a little crooked. That regen fixed that right up. The bad news is, when we went to clean some of the blood off you, we saw that everything from your left elbow down was gone.”

“Gone,” I said blankly. “Gone? As in, just wasn’t there anymore?”

“Exactly! It was like the skin had just healed over the bone. All jagged and odd looking like that. You didn’t wake either. At this point, we were starting to freak out because we thought something had gone wrong. And then Ren suggested just killing you real quick to force a respawn. I wasn’t really ecstatic about that idea, but you know how sometimes scars heal themselves over after a quick respawn? He figured maybe something like that could happen, and I didn’t have any better ideas. So I left you with him and ran back to your base to check on you after you respawned.

“But when you appeared in your bed, nothing had changed. Your hand was just missing, like it had glitched out or something. I panicked and started messaging everyone in the chat.”

I looked to the place where my left hand should have been, not quite believing what I was hearing. There was no telltale pixelation of a glitch along the seams where my skin met the copper. It didn’t look like a glitch, but there was clearly nothing of me left where the metal had filled in the empty space.  

I also saw Doc with what looked like an extremely thin screwdriver adjusting tiny knobs inset beneath the framework. Every so often, the mechanical fingers would twitch. He would press against the joints, testing their give and resistance, before going back to adjust something that was way over my head. As he worked, he reached into the shulker box and switched tools to adjust something different.

“Hold still for one moment,” he says, before pressing his thumb against the very center of the palm. I braced myself, not sure what to expect. The gap between the metal plates separated for him, revealing a set of tightly wound springs. Then he pulled out what looked like a small wrench with a bent head. With it, he loosened one of the bolts holding down the end of a spring. The coils relaxed a little. It sent an odd sensation up my upper arm, kind of like my forearm was relaxing, had it still been there.

“How does that feel?”

“Oddly nice, actually.”

“Good.” He pulled his thumb away, and the metal plates snapped closed. 

“Doc here answered my questions first,” Stress continued. “Guess he’s got a bit of experience with this sort of thing.”

The creeper hybrid nodded. “Indeed.” He twisted open the shulker box at his side to throw the wrench in. Then he slapped his hands together to brush off the redstone dust that had clung to his skin. His steel right arm made a soft ting ting ting as the ceramic casing vibrated from the impact. 

“Sometimes, if a player seems stable, capable, and healthy when they respawn, the world won’t recognize that there’s been an injury at all. It doesn’t matter if it was by choice, or by accident.” He taps one of the fingers from his left hand against the faceplate holding his mechanical eye in place. “She brought you here. I did a slight operation. A little messy, but I got the job done.”

“So you’re saying my arm is just gone?”

“Yes… ehm… no. Yes and no.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that yes, the way your arm used to be is gone. But you do have a new one.”

“I wouldn’t call this piece of junk an arm,” I say, pulling the copper contraption back into my lap. Doc winced, but I can’t find it in myself to take it back. It was big and bulky. It made noise and looked strange. It felt strange. It couldn’t feel, even if moving it came to me as easily as moving any other part of my body. The fact that it could do so was still unnerving. Nothing about this was natural. 

It was a redstone marvel, for sure. No doubt Doc had worked his genius to pull together something that could interface seamlessly with my thoughts and movements. Even now as I looked it over, the tips of the false fingers twitched with anxiety like my flesh and blood fingers did. I didn’t want this.

“I don’t like this,” I say instead. With a sigh, I turn so that I can lift myself up over the edge of the metal table to sit with my legs hanging. The metal fingers scrape unpleasantly against the stainless steel as I do. 

“Oh luv…” Stress presses both of her normal hands against the top of the table so she can sit next to me. When I look at her, she’s staring down at her feet. Both boots swing back and forth. “If I could fix it all for you, or take it back even, you know I would.” 

“Honestly, it isn’t all that bad.” Doc didn’t pull himself up onto the table alongside us. Instead, he leaned against it on the other side of me. His steel arm came to wrest alongside my copper one. “It just takes a bit of getting used to.” He sounded embarrassed. Both of his mismatched eyes looked up at the ceiling, not daring to meet my gaze. “And I could always make changes to suit your preferences. Goodness knows I … ehm… customized mine a good amount of times. I thought you might like to start with copper for now.”

With the two arms side by side, it dawned on me just how similar they were. Sure, Doc had a steel hand with a full plate casing that hid most of the inner workings from sight. The contraption replacing my hand had mechanics that were fully open and on display, but I could still make out the similarly exposed redstone tubing and welded framework between the gaps in his plating. 

I flexed the fingers along my left hand. I didn’t feel the movement, or the cold of the table beneath the copper fingertips, but it did exactly what I intended it to. As if in response, Doc flexed the fingers on his right hand. Was this how Doc had been living all this time? I had never really thought about it. It made me wonder what it was like to see the world through that red eye of his.

When I looked up, he still wasn’t looking at me, but Stress was. She was staring at me, my hand, my expression, all of me, with big watery eyes. “We’ll do whatever we can, Stress. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” The words had left my mouth before I even realized I had been thinking about them. I still didn’t like this scenario. Honestly, I wasn’t okay with the situation at all. It was hard not to focus on what I had lost. It had only been, what? Fifteen minutes since I woke up? A half-hour? Not nearly enough time to process what they were saying or what that meant for the rest of my life. “I’ll be okay,” I say, even though I’m not sure I mean it.

Stress hears the crack in my voice, though.“ She wraps her arm around my shoulder and rubs my upper arm comfortingly. I lean into it. There are tears forming in my own eyes as it weighs on me that, yes, my life really is going to be different because of this. Maybe not that much different thanks to Doc’s contraption if I stopped to rationalize it enough, but still different. People would see me differently. I would see myself differently. Things would feel different. Or not feel at all. 

My arm was gone, huh…

With the copper hand, I shifted it slightly so it would nudge Doc’s steel wrist. I wasn’t sure if he could feel it since I really couldn’t, but he dragged his gaze away from the ceiling to look at me while I clutched at Stress’s hand with the other. 

“So Doc, is this thing waterproof?”

[idrinkpasta]

Fire Inside (Mario Brothers)

Warning: this contains somewhat graphic violence and temporary death. Be warned.

Bowser let out an animalistic roar, filled with rage at Mario's attack. He breaths out scorching blue flames in a violent gust. He does this repeatedly, Mario dodging each time. Until he doesn't.

It's a direct hit. Mario let out a gutteral scream as his flesh burned from the ferocious heat. His conscientious fades fast.

It is silent. Luigi hesitantly walked towards his brother's corpse within this horrific quiet, breaking the ever fragile silence. "Mario... Mario... Oh, God." A sob rips its way from Luigi's mouth and he drops on his knees.

Bowser had stopped fighting, his anger quelled by a deep regret. His eyes were wide and he stepped closer.

"Go away. Look at what you did, Bowser. This is unforgivable. You killed him..." Luigi sobbed.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Bowser replied, eyes telling his regret.

"Apologies don't undo what you did. Nothing will. My brothers life was ended by your selfishness. It's all your fault," Luigi said, a harsh glare on his face.

Kamek flies into the room. "Your ugline--"

"Not now, Kamek!"

Kamek took a look at what was happening, and his eyes widen. "Your viciousness... You killed him..." Kamek took a deep breath. "Alright, we can fix this."

"How?! You can't bring back the dead!" Luigi yelled, cradling his brothers ever quiet corpse. "N...Nothing will ever bring him back... He's gone... Not even a one up could bring him back. Not from this."

"Bowser, I'm releasing Peach. She knows what to do," Kamek limply stated, then doing so without hesitation. Bowser lifelessly nodded in response.

Peach daintily walked over to Mario's corpse and sat beside him. She brings out a One-Up and holds his hand while placing it on his chest. She hums a rejuvenating tune, pink magic flowing in her hands from the One-Up. The One-Up shrivels up, and Mario's chest began to rise and fall.

"He's breathing. He's going to have to fight if he wants to make it," Peach murmurs. "But I know he will. He always does. And he always will until he cannot."

Meanwhile, Mario felt himself jolt within his consciousness. He looked around the lifeless area, pain within his soul. He was alive, he knew that, but how long could it last. It hurt. It hurt so bad. Did he even want to continue.

"Maaaaaario!"

Mario looked around, having heard his brothers voice. "Luigi... Luigi, I'm here. I promise."

"Maaaaaaaaaario!"

Mario wanders towards the light in his soul, but something stops him. He looked and Eldstar was floating in front of him. "Eldstar?"

"Do you wish to continue, or do you wish to extinguish your flame?" Eldstar asks, "Or do you wish to fight?"

"I... I want to fight. I need too," Mario answers.

"There's a flame inside of you. Embrace it with love," Eldstar murmurs and Mario felt a warm sensation.

Mario opens his eyes. He was now in his house, Luigi awake by his bed. "Lui...gi?"

Luigi hugged Mario gently. "You... You made it. You're alive."

"I'm... I'm alive." Mario nodded. "And I'm so so glad."

"I'm glad too, Mar... I'm glad." Luigi smiled, tears falling from the relief. "Now rest some more."

Mario was about to object but curled. "M'kay... Goodnight, fratellino."

"Goodnight, fratellone," Luigi smiled and watched as his brother falls asleep in his embrace.

Eldstar watched, smiling as he faded back to Star Haven. "Embrace your fire young one. It will keep you warm, even when you become a Star."

[macey-kasey-nope]

His hair was soposed to be waaaaaay darker ;-;

Also my camera quality is ass.

Zei gets his ass beat 👍🏽 babys first concussion

[r0achezz]

“Let’s call you…” she pauses, and smiles as a tear drops from her eye.

“link.”

The ending scene from my fic: I’ve fallen and I can’t get up

[spookywhumping]

Resale Value

This is a direct continuation of the last story, Broken Toy, and a major turning point in Dolly’s story. After the accident that left him severely injured, the Winthrops are keen to get rid of him. Wonder how they’ll go about doing that... Warnings for major injury and more Dolly-typical dehumanization. But hey, it’s not all bad this chapter... probably.

More of Dolly. Other major stories: Intro | Tea Party | Snow Day | Broken Toy

—   —   —   —   —

Dolly wasn’t sure how long he spent trapped in the darkness.

Long enough to realize that he was in a closet. Not Eleanore’s toy closet. A different one, that he didn’t recognize. It was probably still in the Winthrop manor, because he could hear people moving about outside sometimes, including Eleanore and her parents.

But beyond those details, he didn’t know anything. He didn’t know what the Winthrops had planned for him, if they were going to fix his injuries or just leave him in the closet forever.

He knew that everything hurt. Most of the time, he didn’t have space in his mind to know anything else. He couldn’t move his arms or legs without them screaming at him. If he laid on his side it hurt to breathe in, so he spent a while slowly rolling onto his back, inch by inch adjusting his position, trying to do so in the least painful way.

Time passed. The injuries seemed to hurt more. The skin around the painful areas was hot and tight. His arm and leg were stiff and hard to move. Breathing still occasionally hurt, so he tried to breathe shallowly.

His thoughts circled through the same anxious pattern. Denial of his situation (Eleanore wouldn’t let her favorite doll be thrown away), hope that it would change (Maybe he would heal eventually and everything would be fine), fear of his fate when he accepted it wouldn’t (I’m going to die I’m going to die slowly please god just get me out of here I don’t want this), and then... memories. Memories that he hadn’t thought of in ages. It was hard to remember his life before being a doll. Not “hard” as in he struggled to remember, but “hard” as in it made it difficult to suffer through all this when he thought about what used to be.

He wondered, for the first time in a while, if anyone missed him. He hadn’t been on speaking terms with most of his family when he’d been taken. But he had a few casual friends. Mostly people he’d met at college, or coworkers who’d taken the time to invite him to things outside of work. He was never good at approaching people, so he never ended up with more than a small group of people.

That was fine, though. He preferred it that way. He liked doing things alone. Partly out of natural introversion, partly out of a strange arrogance that “nobody else would do it right.” Was that arrogance? Or was it fear? Maybe they were the same thing. In either case, it was that mentality that had driven him to investigate rumors about local disappearances on his own. Despite his boss telling him that this was a matter for police, not journalists, especially not one as new to the business as he was. She’d been right. He was in over his head. If he hadn’t gone out that night, he wouldn’t be dying in some closet right now.

And with that thought, he would inevitably circle back to denial, and the cycle of thoughts would start over again. Occasionally derailed when the pain swelled, returning to where he left off when it faded.

Dolly couldn’t even guess how much time had passed before he finally noticed something different. There were voices outside the closet. He could also see black shadows interrupting the sliver of light that came into the closet beneath the closed door. Footsteps. He tried to focus on what they were doing, tried to listen to what the voices were saying, but he couldn’t concentrate long enough.

Then the closet door opened.

He immediately closed his eyes against the flood of light. After being trapped in near-blackness for so long, it was blinding. Someone sighed. “Well that looks worse than I thought,” said a woman’s voice. Mrs. Winthrop. He heard fabric rustle and felt floorboards shift, and then a cold hand pressed two fingers against his neck. “Good.” The hand withdrew and the floorboards shifted again. “Be careful, we don’t want to cause unnecessary damage. This’ll be difficult enough as it is.”

What will be difficult?! What was happening?! Were the Winthrops going to—going to cut their losses with him? Dump him outside somewhere? Or... do it themselves?

Footsteps, and then hands grabbing at him, pulling him. He gasped and whimpered, but couldn’t find the energy to scream. One of his eyes cracked open, and he saw two of the Winthrop’s servants carrying him, one holding his legs and the other holding him under the arms. Mrs. Winthrop was also there, wearing heavy makeup and an unusually nice red dress. Was she going somewhere?

The servants carried him through the hallways. Pain jolted through his body with every step they took. He saw the hallways in snapshots, like he was watching a slideshow instead of experiencing reality. Before he knew it, they were in the main entrance to the manor.

There were two people waiting. One was Mr. Winthrop, wearing a nice suit. The other was... they looked like a living shadow. It took him a while to process that they weren’t. Instead, the second person was a woman dressed entirely in black, her face covered in a veil.

“Sorry about the delay!” Mrs. Winthrop trilled. “Here it is.”

The veiled woman turned, and Dolly felt her eyes on him. “This is your doll?” Her voice was slightly muffled, but the shock was clear.

Mr. Winthrop cleared his throat. “We did warn you about the damage.”

“And you are not planning on paying for... fixing.. it?” the veiled woman asked.

“No,” Mr. Winthrop said. “But you will recall we’re selling it for a shockingly low price. You should be able to...”

Dolly stopped paying attention to the conversation. He understood what was happening now. The Winthrops were getting rid of him, but they wanted to get something out of it. That fit. That made sense. He wondered if Eleanore knew about this.

“Well, have your people take the doll to my car,” the veiled woman said. “It is unlocked.

“Ah, certainly.” Mrs. Winthrop stepped forward. “Boys, please take the doll out there and put it in our guest’s trunk.”

Silently, the servants moved, and Dolly’s breath hitched as pain raced down his arms and legs. Tears blurred his vision. He tried to look at the veiled woman as they walked past, tried to understand what she wanted with a broken doll. But he couldn’t read anything about her through the veil.

The manor’s front doors opened. He felt sunlight on his face, though once again, the light was blinding and he had to close his eyes for a while. By the time he was able to squint through the brightness, the servants had brought him down to the Winthrops’ long, looping driveway, where a black car was parked. The servant holding his feet awkwardly reached down and opened the trunk. The dark metal box yawned open like a creature’s hungry mouth. Dolly tried not to think about that image as the two servants lowered him into the trunk.

“Wait!”

Tiny footsteps ran across the driveway. Dolly looked up and saw Eleanore peer into the trunk. One of the servants tried to guide her away, but she shoved him back and leaned over Dolly. “Goodbye, Dolly,” she said quietly. “I promise I’ll find you again one day.” She reached in and untied the ribbon around his neck, taking it for herself. And then she was gone.

Dolly shivered. He was almost sorry that she was going. At least he knew what Eleanore wanted.

One of the servants leaned down and mumbled an apology. Then he closed the trunk and Dolly was left alone.

—   —   —   —   —

Dolly jolted awake when the car stopped. Wait, when had he fallen asleep? He couldn’t remember anything after being shut in the car trunk.

He heard the distinct sound of a car door closing. Then some footsteps, and another car door opening. It sounded like whoever was driving had stepped out and... was doing something. He couldn’t tell what. Who was the driver? Was it that woman in the black veil?

His limbs were aching, not only with the same pain as before, but with the discomfort of being curled up in a small metal box. His neck hurt a little, too. It was bent awkwardly to the side. He tried to adjust it, wincing silently.

Some time passed. And then he heard the footsteps again. Coming closer. There was a loud THUNK! and then the trunk opened. The light was a bit duller than earlier, but he still had to squint through it. A figure was lit from behind, leaning down over him. “I am so sorry about that, but I had to play the part,” said a voice. It was... the same voice as the veiled woman. Was this...?

The figure leaned down and slowly picked him up, being careful not to jostle him too much. But even with that gentle touch, he whined at the pain that came with the movement. “I’m so sorry,” the veiled woman whispered. She carried him a short distance, just to the side of the car. The door was still open, revealing the backseat of the car. An inflatable mattress sat on top of the seats, looking custom-made for the space, filling it up entirely.

The woman ducked through the door and gently laid him down on the mattress. She’d removed her veil, and Dolly got his first good look at her. He was mildly surprised to see her face was lined with wrinkles, and her pulled-back hair was a light silvery gray. He wouldn’t have guessed she was this old based on her voice.

Her eyes landed on him. They were a dark brown, nearly black. “Don’t worry,” she said with a gentle smile. “You will be safe now.” She backed out of the doorway, briefly disappearing before returning with something in her hand. “This will hurt a little,” she said. “But don’t worry, I know what I am doing.” She leaned forward, gently grabbing his arm. “You will wake up again,” she continued. “But I think it will be better for you if you sleep through what comes next.”

Something pricked his arm. He gasped. Now he understood. Glancing down, he confirmed his suspicions. The woman had a syringe, and was injecting its contents into his arm, right at the crook of his elbow.

Once the syringe was empty, she pulled it out again, and took a cotton ball and a roll of medical tape out of some unseen pocket. Quickly, she pressed the cotton to the injection site and held it in place with some of the tape. “Not a professional job, but good enough for the moment,” she said with a little chuckle.

Dolly wasn’t sure how to feel about this. The woman was... she was being a lot nicer to him than the Winthrops ever were. But... she had bought him. Why would she be so nice to a new doll she’d just bought? Was this some kind of trick? Or a game?

“I will see you when you wake up,” the woman said, setting his arm down and giving his shoulder a soft pat. And then she was gone. The car door closed. Dolly heard another door open as the woman got into the driver’s seat, then the engine turned on and the car started moving again.

A couple minutes later, Dolly’s head started to swim. His eyelids became heavy. Had the woman drugged him? That must be it. Well... not much he could do about that. So Dolly let his eyes closed. His last thought before he fell asleep was wondering what would happen to him now.

[the-lady-maddy]

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[hyuge]

Loving You Means the End for Me

Keys jingled against the lock as Katsuki unlocked the front door to his apartment. He shuffled the brown paper grocery bag to his hip and tucked a bouquet of roses under his chin as he turned the knob on the door, pushing it open to reveal a quiet apartment. Walking inside, he kicked the door shut behind him and stepped out of his shoes in the entryway. “Hey babe, I’m home,” he called into the hallway, followed by silence. Katsuki glanced around, eyes roaming over the pictures on the walls. Smiling faces stared back at him and he rearranged the shopping bag and the flowers in his arms as he made his way towards the kitchen to set them on the counter.

“Look, I know I’ve been busy lately, but I promise I didn’t forget. I’m just running a little behind. The city can’t save itself, after all.” He knew Eijirou was home, but he was still greeted with silence, sighing as he pulled a vase out of the cabinet to set the flowers in. He had stopped at the local florist, as was tradition at this point. Katsuki filled the vase with water and took the flowers out of the packaging made of decorative paper the florist had wrapped them in, setting them in the water. He was never really a fan of roses, they were too generic for his taste, but he knew how much Eijirou loved red. His husband had a fondness for roses from an anniversary years prior.

Katsuki gave them a sniff and smiled as he unpacked the groceries from the bag, placing them on the counter to make dinner. The dull sound of the television with the volume turned down was playing from the bedroom, where Eijirou was located. Katsuki could vaguely make out the news anchor talking about an accident that took place two years prior. “I promise, just because I forgot our anniversary one time, doesn’t mean I’ll ever forget it again.” He called out, loud enough for Eijirou to hear him in the bedroom. Katsuki picked up the deep green glass vase and carried it into the bedroom to show the roses to his husband.

“It’s been two years since the building collapse where he was gravely injured protecting a civilian. The reports stated he was unable to activate his quirk in time, causing the head injury that put him in a vegetative state. There have been no new updates with any hope that hero...”

As Katsuki walked into the bedroom smiling softly, he was reminded of an anniversary early on in their relationship.

Four years ago, he had been out on patrol after being away on a mission for two weeks. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he checked it to find a text from Eijirou asking if he was going to come home that night. Katsuki tapped a quick reply saying he wasn’t sure if he was going to make it. Things had just been too hectic. It was likely that he would be out all night.

As soon as the message was sent, it was marked read and his phone started to ring. Eijirou’s dopey face was on full display on the screen and Katsuki answered the call, confused why his boyfriend was call him so suddenly.

“I thought you would at least come back for our anniversary,” said Eijirou as soon as the call connected. He was pouting.

“Shit!” Katsuki had been making plans for weeks, but because of the recent mission it completely slipped his mind. He never forgot important things like birthdays or anniversaries. Guilt panged at his stomach, making him feel sick. “I’m sorry Ei. Really, I am. I didn’t mean to forget!” Katsuki apologized profusely, but Eijirou was already upset and not listening to his pleas.

“It’s fine,” said Eijirou, clearly not fine. “We’re heroes. Work comes first.” Eijirou understood the lifestyle of a hero as well as anyone, but he still sounded hurt. Katsuki fucked up. God, he hated disappointing Eijirou more than anything. Eijirou hung up as quickly as he called.

Katsuki flipped through his phone, scrolling to find Best Jeanist’s number. He was two years into his sidekick work at The Genius Office and had earned more than enough clout with the pro hero to get a night off. He called his boss, begging to be let off for the night. Best Jeanist sighed but agreed with little argument. He was a reasonable man and Katsuki admired that about him. Katsuki hurried back to the agency, showering in their locker room quickly, before heading home.

On his way back to the small, one bedroom apartment he shared with Eijirou at the time, he stopped to pick up a bouquet of flowers and some takeout for dinner. It didn’t make up for forgetting what day it was, but hopefully it was better than nothing. The florist made some crack about makeup flowers and Katsuki had to resist the urge to blow up the entire damn store. Apparently, he looked like every other desperate, forgetful boyfriend that had ever walked into her store. It only added to the building weight on his shoulders.

He entered his apartment in a rush, finding a forlorn-looking Eijirou sitting on the couch with a poorly wrapped gift on the coffee table. Eijirou was always terrible at wrapping, but he tried so very hard every time. Katsuki caught his breath at the sight. God, he loved that man so much. The poorly wrapped presents always made his heart melt. He crossed the room, setting the bag of to-go boxes and the flowers down on the coffee table, and taking a seat on the couch beside Eijirou.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to forget.” Katsuki apologized, grabbing Eijirou’s hands and giving each knuckle a peck of the lips. “I already have a present for you and everything.”

Eijirou’s brows lifted, but he didn’t say anything, committed to the pouting. Katsuki took that as his cue to go get the gift, leaving Eijirou on the couch and hurrying down the hall towards the linen closet. He flung the door open, rummaging through a stack of bedsheets, stretching his arm to the back of the shelf until his fingers grazed a small box. Katsuki freed his arm and shut the door, hurrying back to Eijirou’s side with gift in tow.

Katsuki took his seat on the couch once more, holding the small box out. “I promise I won’t ever forget again, no matter how busy hero work is.” He sucked his lip in, eyes darting back and forth as he studied Eijirou’s expression. “Forgive me?” He asked.

Eijirou hesitated, but nodded slowly, looking defeated. “Fine. I forgive you. This time.” His lips twitched, turning up into a crooked grin. Gingerly, he took the gift, unwrapping the delicate golden paper to reveal a small jewelry box. Eijirou lifted a brow, eyeing Katsuki skeptically, before opening it to see a pair of golden rings resting within. They shined in the glow of the lamp behind the couch, glittering ever so slightly.

Katsuki swallowed, heart racing in his chest. “I know we can’t really be open about our relationship, but I love you. Is... is it okay?”

Eijirou’s eyes widened, realization for what the rings meant taking over. “It’s better than okay!” He set the box aside, throwing himself onto Katsuki and showering him with kisses, smile wide.

Katsuki’s heart clenched, so thoroughly filled with love for the redhead on top of him. “Stay with me forever?”

“Always.” Eijirou breathed, peppering his jawline and throat with light, lustful kisses.

Katsuki smiled at the head of red hair lying in bed. He reached for the remote to shut off the television and moved across the room to set the flowers on the nightstand. “Hey,” he said softly as he took a seat next to the comatose version of his husband, hooked up to monitors and an IV drip, along with a respirator. Eijirou was sleeping peacefully in the hospice bed Katsuki had acquired for him.

Two years ago, Eijirou had dove in front of a crumbling building to save a woman in need. She was so far away that he couldn’t activate his quirk, or it would slow him down. He ran, pushing the woman out of the way and by then, it was too late. A large slab of concrete had hit him in the head. By the time the paramedics had reached the hospital, he’d been declared brain-dead. The doctors tried their hardest to bring him back, but he was unresponsive, and Katsuki couldn’t accept it. Countless heroes with healing powers came to his aid, but none succeeded.

He paid for home healthcare to keep Eijirou alive for as long as possible. A nurse came during the weekdays to tend to Eijirou while Katsuki was working, but the rest of the time, Katsuki did it himself. He made sure the IVs were always full, the machines were clean, his waste bags were emptied, and his body was washed. Eijirou had dramatically lost weight and muscle mass. His body was thin, muscles undefined, and cheeks sunken in. There was a red spot near Eijirou’s hairline – hair dye that Katsuki had missed cleaning up the last time he colored it. Every few months, Katsuki would painstakingly redye Eijirou’s hair in his bed once the roots got too long. He couldn’t risk his husband waking up one day to find his hair had suddenly returned to its natural blackened state.

Everyone tried to encourage Katsuki to move on – to put Eijirou in hospice if he insisted on keeping him alive – and move forward.

“It’s not healthy to hold on like this.”

“He’s not breathing on his own.”

“The doctors said he would never wake up.”

“You’re stuck in denial.”

“There’s no brain activity.”

“Please just come out with us. You never leave your house aside from work.”

“They seemed like your type. I just want you to be happy, Blasty.”

“You need to see a therapist.”

“He would want you to move on.”

“Don’t you think you’re making him suffer more like this?”

“Kacchan, you’re not processing the grief.”

“Kirishima’s not even a person anymore. He’s a living corpse.”

Katsuki refused them all. “Eijirou would never abandon me, so I won’t abandon him.” He told them repeatedly. Katsuki’s life had essentially become frozen in time for nearly two years. As long as Eijirou’s heart was still beating on its own, he would continue with the way things were. He wasn’t just going to abandon his husband. Eijirou had to suffer alone that day. Katsuki wouldn’t let him suffer alone again, not as long as his heart was still beating. There was no purpose in life without Eijirou.

The doctors had assured him there was no recovering, no possibility of Eijirou waking up, but the entirety of Katsuki’s life was lying motionless in the room they used to share with one another. Katsuki had converted the study into a spare bedroom. Every night he would tell Eijirou he loved him, shut off the bedroom light, and go to sleep on the small, single bed next to his computer desk. He wanted his husband to be as comfortable as possible, and there wasn’t room for their king-sized bed once his medical bed was wheeled into the room.

Nights were the loneliest. He no longer had those large, strong arms wrapped around him, holding him close. Eijirou was always like a furnace. Now, no matter how warm he kept his home, he always felt a little cold. The ache in his bones had taken up permanent residence within the marrow.

“Happy anniversary,” he told him, kissing Eijirou on the forehead, tears trailing down his cheeks. “I miss you every day. This world isn’t the same without your dumb, bright smile.” Katsuki choked out between sobs; his chest heavy. He hadn’t felt like he could truly breathe since before the accident. There was a perpetual weight pressing down on his sternum, threatening to crush him the way that building had crushed his husband. “I know you’re gone, but please come back anyway. It hurts to breathe without you.” As if on cue, there was another sharp pang with the breath he sucked in.

The only response was the dull, steady beeping of the heart monitor and the hum of the respirator pumping oxygen into Eijirou’s lungs. No change – there was never any change. Katsuki sniffled, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He sucked a sharp breath and carded his hands through his hair before patting Eijirou on the arm and rising to his feet. “I’ll be in the kitchen making dinner if you decide you’re hungry.”

He pressed another long, soft kiss to Eijirou’s temple before walking away and shutting the bedroom door as he went.

[firealder2005]

Whumpcember 2022 Day. 31 SLOW HEALING

and here’s the final part of one of my Luke, Leia, and Vader stories!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43754551

Enjoy!

```

Vader could physically feel himself draining as he constrained and forced the darkside to staunch the bleeding in his son’s side.

For the first time in a while, Vader cursed the darkside.

For the first time since Padme’s death, the darkside had failed him.

Had failed his family.

Again.

He growled and whipped the sweat from Luke’s brow, staring intently at his shaky breathing.

He could feel the sharp, cold hands of death surrounding his son, and Vader was in a constant battle against it to save Luke.

He could also feel…another presence. It was familiar, yet it was clouded, preventing Vader from pinpointing who it could be.

But Vader had a terrible feeling he already knew who it was.

He could worry about that later - what mattered was stabilizing Luke long enough to send a distress signal from his TIE-fighter. The TIE-Advance had been damaged in the explosion that had annihilated Luke’s X-Wing, but thankfully the transmissions still worked.

Now if only the darkside would just keep the blood in , that would be incredibly helpful!

But deep down, Vader knew the darkside wasn’t enough. It wasn’t meant to heal, to help. It was to be used for power, for gain.

Vader finally admitted that the darkside wasn’t strong enough - not enough to save his son.

But Vader had to be. For Luke. And for Padme.

A roar from outside made Vader turn his helmet. He hesitantly looked to Luke, brushing his hair from his eyes, and left the cave and immediately spotted an incoming, nondescript ship.

The door lowered, and revealed Leia Organa dressed in her cream and white fatigues.

Instantly, they both glared at each other.

“Where’s Luke?” Organa demanded.

“How did you find us here?” Vader was just as demanding. There had been no time for Luke’s X-Wing to send out a distress signal - so how did Organa find them?

“Luke.” she simply said, like that answered the question. “But nevermind that,” she quickly walked down the ramp and marched up to him, not blinking an eye as he towered over her. “Where is he? Is he alright?”

Vader crossed his arms, but conceded the answers she sought. “He is…alive. But his survival will depend on whether or not you have the adequate resources for his injury.”

“Very well,” Leia crisply said and called over her shoulder. “Artoo! Get the medical supplies!”

Vader felt his mouth open in shock as a familiar blue and white R2 unit rolled down the plank, chirping and whirling with a med pack in its claw.

But that wasn’t important now.

He had the medical supplies for Luke, and he wasn’t going to waste any time.

“Follow me.” he told Organa and Artoo, before spinning around and rushing back to the cave, Organa and the droid on his heels.

Organa gasped when she laid eyes on Luke, and immediately sprinted over to his side, inspecting his pale face and the bloodied bandages made from his flight suit.

“Artoo, get the bandages and bacta ready!” she ordered, and Artoo whistled in agreement before setting the med pack down and extracting the materials she ordered.

Vader stood to the side, holding himself back from hovering, as Organa began to unwrap his hasty bandages and coat the wound in bacta, before winding the white bandages around Luke’s side and stomach, expertly tying it off.

“That should hold him over till we get back to base,” the Princess muttered, patting Artoo’s dome as he let out a relieved beep-boop .

“He would receive better care on the Executor ,” Vader argued. “The Rebellion lacks necessary resources.”

Organa glared at him. “We’ve dealt with injuries like these before,” she firmly replied. “Your… care is not needed.”

Vader glowered at her through his helmet.

Infuriating girl.

If he had to commandeer Organa’s ship to get to the Executor , he would.

Artoo then angrily beeped at him, and Vader scowled at the droid.

Somehow, Artoo was still able to tell what he was thinking.

“I will allow you to move him to your ship,” Vader tightly said. “But we will continue this conversation later.”

Organa was still glaring at him, but nodded. Vader stooped down and scooped Luke up as Organa crossed her arms, suspicion in her gaze as she followed him out. Artoo was beeping behind her, before rushing to get up the ramp first. He turned his dome around and whirled impatiently.

Vader would have slapped the argumentative droid, but unfortunately, his arms were full.

Organa was hot on his heels as he entered the ship, and he carefully laid Luke down.

Now, he just had to get this ship to the Executor …

Leia’s day only worsened when the Red Guards showed up.

First, she got the terrible feeling that something bad had happened to Luke.

Then, she finds him half-dead with Darth Vader the only one keeping him alive (and wasn’t that just strange ?).

And now, now the Emperor’s Red Guards were attacking them.

Which was confusing. Why would they go after Vader as well as her and Luke?

Whatever the answer was, they had to fend the Red Guard off.

Which meant she had to fight with Vader, instead of against him.

Wasn’t that surreal?

Leia fired her blaster and managed to nail one guard in the shoulder, while Vader got himself engaged in a saber-to-electrostaff fight with two others. The fourth guard had broken through Vader’s defenses and was approaching her ship - but that’s when Artoo came barreling out of the ship, wildly screeching, and furiously zapped the intruder.

Leia saw her chance and shot the guard right through the neck. Glancing back to Vader, she saw one of the last two guards already in pieces and Vader cutting through the final one like they were nothing but butter.

“That the last of them?” Leia asked, spinning her blaster in hand. “No others hiding out?”

“I assure you, Princess,” Vader grounded out. “That I sense no other enemies around us.”

“Good,” she said, crossing her arms. “Then it’s time for me to get Luke back to the Rebellion.”

Vader’s mask stared at her, hands clenching and unclenching as he deliberated.

“I will…allow it,” he finally said. “This one time. It is clear he would not be safe, even on the Executor, since the Emperor himself sent his Red Guards to retrieve him.”

Leia still stared warily at him, once more wondering why the Sith would care about what happened to Luke, but nodded in agreement.

“As a…favor,” she replied grudgingly. “I’ll drop you off at the next Imperial planet.”

Vader had his hands on his belt as he inspected her. “Very well.”

Leia slowly holstered her blaster, and walked back up the ramp into her ship, greeting Artoo with a head pat.

What a strange day.