#my little cold dead heart hhhhhhh

[moderatepalpitations]

The what if game is so cute :(

[bailey-reaper]

Heya! Just wanted to say that your blog is just *chef's kiss*. Like seriously,, it makes my barok-simping heart happy XD. Anyways... can I request a drabble where Barok finds S/O crying (it can be whatever reason you can think of) when he came home from work and is trying to comfort them because it's the first time he ever seen S/O cry.

- crybaby anon T v T

Dry your eyes, love

Notes: Hhhhhhh at this rate I'm going to have to steal your crybaby title, anon, because that's really sweet of you to say! I'm so happy to hear that the blog is meeting your Mr. Leggy needs!

S/O is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). Barok refers to them using petnames.

Content Warnings: that crappy feeling when something bad happens; upset loved one

"Love?"

At first he thought maybe they had a cold or some sort of allergic reaction, because he could certainly hear sniffling sounds emanating from behind the door to their bedroom; but then a sinking feeling hit his stomach as he heard a few stifled sobs. He knocked on the door, "Are you alright?"

"Y...yeah," they answered, "I'm okay..."

Their voice sounded anything but okay to him, and in his line of work he'd heard a lot of people crying or attempting to stifle their tears. Barok frowned and wondered what on earth could have upset them. They were usually able to weather even the hardest of times with quiet calmness.

"May I come in?" he asked.

There was a long pause.

"... A... alright."

He opened the door, they were on their knees in the corner by a dresser with their back to him, "Love?"

"I promise... I'm... I'm okay," the soft tremble to their voice was still a dead give away in Barok's opinion.

"Okay... would you mind looking at me then?"

".... Um... no, no, that's alright..."

He sighed and knelt down behind them wrapping them up in an embrace, "What happened?" he glanced down over their shoulder and saw two broken oval pieces of metal in their hands, "What's that?"

"....T-This? Oh..." they sniffled, "It's... nothing.. just...." a distinct wobble ran through their words as they uttered, "Just... a locket my... grandmother gave me..."

"Oh."

Now it made sense. This precious heirloom had somehow been broken. He knew his beloved had loved their grandmother and been devastated by her passing. That locket held deep sentimental value, in the same way that Klint's prosecutor badge did for him.

"May I see it?" he asked gently, taking the bits of metal when they nodded. It was a simple oval of 14ct gold with a pretty little carving of a bird. Inside was a photograph of a young woman, presumably their grandmother in her youth, and a curled lock of silver hair, presumably taken before she died, "It looks as if the pin that holds it together has broken."

"...Y...Yeah. I dropped it," they whispered sadly, "And it just... split in half."

"Oh my little love," he kissed their crown and held them close while they silently sobbed. He had no idea how to console them, though he doubted he'd have been consolable if he'd managed to lose or irreparably damage Klint's badge--

Then, it came to him.

"Why don't I take it to a jeweller I know: I'm sure he can fix it."

"Huh?" they blinked, looking over their shoulder at him. He could see how puffy and red their eyes were from sobbing so bitterly. It broke his heart to see that sadness, but the look of hopefulness that was blossoming in their eyes was a welcome relief, "Really?"

"Yes, really, I'm sure he'll be able to fix this."

"Oh... yes," they nodded, "Yes please," before turning around in his arms and throwing themselves into a hug, "Thank you, Barok!"

He fell back from his kneeling position on to his posterior and chuckled softly while rubbing their back, "My pleasure, my little love," he'd do anything in his power to protect that smile.

[words-with-wren]

Whump Prompt 2 - Hunger

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy. 

Summary: Ben has always looked out for his brother, no matter what.

Word Count: 1,680

A/N: HHhhhhh I’m not good at doing lists. But here, here’s prompt number two. Enjoy! DO NOT TAG AS SHIP OR I WILL FIGHT YOU ADOPTED SIBLINGS ARE STILL SIBLINGS. 

Everything blurred together into a ball of fear and terror while he was trapped, but after the relief of being let out had faded a little, the first thing Number Four noticed was the hunger. Maybe it should have been the thirst, and sure - he was thirsty - but he hadn’t eaten since the day before.

Besides, satiating his thirst was easier - he only had to slip into the bathroom. Hunger was a little more difficult - Number Two and Number Five were in the kitchen, and there was no way Number Four was going to face them, not in the state he was in. Likewise, he didn’t want to make Grace get him anything - he wasn’t a kid anymore.

He managed to escape to his room unnoticed - not difficult, really. No one really noticed him. Wiping water from his thirsty gulps in the bathroom and the last of his tears from his face, he crawled onto his bed and huddled into himself, trying to relax.

The soft sound of Number Seven’s violin filled the house, and he realised that finally, he was home. He let out a small sob and scrubbed his cheeks as the last of his tears fell, tears of relief he hadn’t been able to show until he was alone.

He had tried to hug his father - that’s how relieved he had been to leave the darkness and the dead of the mausoleum. When his father had opened the door and stepped aside to let him out, Number Four had rushed to him. The relief of being able to leave - of being free from the dark and the small space and the cries of the dead was so much that he had wanted nothing more than the security of a living touch.

But Sir Reginald Hargreeves had just pushed him aside with a sharp “That’s enough of that nonsense, Number Four,” and turned to lead the boy home.

Now he was alone and he was safe. He wanted nothing more but to curl up and sleep - he was so tired - but the hunger gnawed at his belly. Why hadn’t he eaten lunch yesterday? He hadn’t expected to be locked in a mausoleum overnight, that was why.

He could still hear them. Calling out for him, whispering, reaching for him. Fainter than when he had been locked up, but he couldn’t quite ignore them. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forget their cold touch and whispering voices.

A knock on the door caused him to look up, blinking back the tears.

“Go away,” he said shortly, not in the mood to talk to any of his siblings. Not in the mood to talk to anyone, really.

But the door pushed open and he scowled, scrubbing his cheeks to remove the last traces of tears. Number Six stuck his head around the door, concern showing on his face.

“I said go away,” Four muttered. But Six didn’t listen, pushing the door open and marching into the room, crossing his arms and glaring at his brother.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked shortly.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Dad said you were doing special training.”

“I was.”

“What kind of training?”

“Training training.”

“Have you been away all night?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

That question stopped Four’s short and unresponsive answers. No one had asked if he was okay before - and if anyone wasn’t okay, wouldn’t it be Six? His power was terrifying and he clearly didn’t enjoy their life as superheroes. So why was Six asking if he was okay?

“Fine,” he muttered, but he had hesitated too long.

Six moved across the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at him. Four didn’t meet his eyes, trying to ignore the foolish urge to hug his brother. He still wanted that living comfort, needed the reassurance that he wasn’t still with the dead.

“Must have been a tough training lesson,” Six said quietly. Four didn’t answer, but his stomach growled loudly. Six picked up on it. Of course he did - he always picked up on everything. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Breakfast,” Four muttered. Six frowned.

“This morning?”

When Four didn’t answer, he sighed.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” he said quietly, dropping off the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to,” Four said quietly - but he was hungry. He wanted food, but more than that he wanted a hug. He tried to tell himself that was silly - he wasn’t a kid anymore and he didn’t need hugs anymore. But he wanted one, wanted the solid touch of another living human so much.

“I want to,” Six said, and then he slipped out of the room. Four watched him go, suddenly wishing he had stayed. Being alone meant he could hear the dead again, hear their whispered and calls.

He shuddered, wishing there was some way to block them out.

Six wasn’t gone for long, and he returned with a plate heaped with sandwiches and cookies.

“Mom made cookies so I grabbed some as well,” he said, scrambling onto the bed again and handing Four the plate. Four didn’t hesitate, he dug into the meal and for a moment there was silence as he filled the aching hole in his stomach.

“So,” Six said again, slowly. “What was the training like?”

Four didn’t answer. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to remember. They were still calling for him, whispering his name, trying to get his attention. They were always there, a constant background noise that drove him insane!

“I just want them all to stop!” he said suddenly, surprised and slightly embarrassed to find tears on his face again. He blinked rapidly, looking down and rubbing his sleeve across his face. “Sorry.”

But Six didn’t seem to care - instead, he reached across the bed and pulled Four into a hug. For a moment, Four didn’t know how to react - sure, he had wanted a hug, but he hadn’t expected to get one.

Then he let out a small sob, holding Six close as though letting go would mean losing his brother forever, as though letting go would mean losing himself to the whispers of the dead. Six was solid. Six was alive. Six was here and Four was safe.

“You're my brother and you don’t ever have to say sorry, okay?” Six said, and Four nodded, suddenly not caring that tears were sliding down his face.

~*~

“Klaus. Hey, Klaus! Wake up.”

Klaus groaned, blinking his eyes open to the blaring light.

“No, g’away,” he muttered, closing his eyes again. Someone snapped their fingers in his face and he groaned again, looking up at Ben who was standing over him. “Oh, it’s just you.” He waved his hand in the general direction of his brother, feeling a slight tingle as his arm passed through him.

Ben moved back, crossing his arms and leaning against the dumpster Klaus had passed out behind. Klaus sat up as well, already rummaging through his coat for the pills he knew he had on him.

Ben didn’t say anything, watching his brother for a long moment. He wished he could do something to make him stop - it broke his heart every time he saw his brother stuff himself full of that crap.

Klaus found the pill he was looking for and leaned back against the wall of the building behind him, closing his eyes again. Ben watched him for a moment longer, then knew he had to do something.

“Klaus,” he said sharply, and his brother looked up.

“Whaat? You’re always nagging Benny.” He waved his hand tattooed with goodbye half-heartedly at him. Ben didn’t react.

“When was the last time you ate - and scraps from a dumpster don’t count.”

“I dunno, like, yesterday? Who caaares.” He stumbled to his feet, swaying a little and tried to sling an arm over Ben’s shoulder. When he stumbled forward, Ben not having any solid form, he giggled to himself.

Ben clenched his teeth, wishing he could do something more than just be another voice in Klaus’ head. He wanted nothing more than to drag his brother to rehab and keep him there until he figured himself out.

But he also knew that as much as he hated seeing his brother addicted to crap, it helped - in a way. He remembered what it was like when they were kids - the number of times he had found Klaus a mess, crying because of the ghosts in his head, because he had been trapped in the mausoleum - something Ben hadn’t found out about until after he had died.

He wasn’t sure what was worse - Klaus a mess because of the ghosts, or because of the drugs.

He couldn’t solve all his brother’s problems, but he could help in what ways he was able. Moving after Klaus, he quickly caught up as his brother stumbled out of the alley.

“It’s been a week,” he said, picking up on the unfinished conversation. “A week since you’ve had a proper meal.”

“I ate yesterday! A wonderful bagel.” He kissed his fingers and flourished them. “Magnifique!”

“Dumpster diving doesn’t count,” Ben said, used to his brother’s antics by now.

“You worry too much,” Klaus said, going to gently shove him. Ben stepped quickly out of the way before he could, not wanting to see the confusion on Klaus’ face as his attempts at touch failed. Not wanting to feel the same disappointment as Klaus’ hands passed through him instead of the solid, warm, living touch he longed for.

“You need to eat,” he said, stepping quickly in front of Klaus. His brother let out a sigh, throwing his hands in the air.

“Fine! I’ll go get something to eat - happy now?” He turned sharply, as though he was going in a particular direction, and stormed off. Ben had no choice but to follow.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, not sure if Klaus heard him.

He’d been looking out for his brother since they were kids - he wasn’t about to stop now that he was dead.