#oc:carrie

[evita-shelby]

For the ask game ✍️

thanks for the ask!!

you get

Caroline 'Carrie' Adams

(nee Young), aka Gina's mom played by Hannah New

she will eventually make a full appearance in the National Anthem universe

[whumpster-in-a-dumpster]

Whumptober 8 - Stab Wound

Characters: Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, OC: Carrie Taylor, Illyria

Fandom: Buffyverse/Angel

AU Warning! This work takes place in a canon-divergent timeline

Soooo this one is long. But I saw the prompt, and the only thing I could think of was That Scene from the end of Angel Season 5. You know which one if you’ve watched it and you’ve seen which character I tagged. I’ve wanted to write a fix-it for a long time, and this was the perfect opportunity. It got kinda long, but gd it was cathartic. I’m putting the whole thing under the cut for spoilery reasons.

SPOILER WARNING for Angel Season 5!!

Carrie skidded into the doorway, her shoulder colliding roughly with the frame. Her hand left a red-brown smear of blood across the wood. She caught her breath as she looked into the room, where the red-skinned demon lay in a crumpled heap against the wall, its neck twisted at an unlikely angle. She took a step, and looked right, and saw Wesley lying on the floor in a spreading pool of blood, with Fred – no, not Fred, Illyria in Fred’s form – kneeling over him. The goddess looked up, her expression as cold and blank as granite.

For a moment Carrie couldn’t speak, her mouth gone dry. Then she stumbled forwards, muttering quietly, “Get away from him.”

Illyria looked at her steadily, unmoving. “His injuries are beyond your skill.”

“You get away from him!” Carrie snarled, dropping to her knees beside Wesley, stripping off her jacket as she fell to press it against the bloody mess in Wesley’s side. Wesley didn’t move. Illyria regarded her a moment longer, then slid away, lowering Wesley’s head to the floor with a gentleness that Carrie completely ignored.

“Wes?” Carrie called, trying to keep her voice steady as she searched for a radial pulse, then a carotid pulse, coming up empty both times. “Wes, I need you to open your eyes for me. Open your eyes if you can hear me.”

Wesley didn’t respond. His face was pale, his eyes closed. She tilted his head back and leant in to listen for his breath, the air against her cheek still and lifeless. The blood beneath Carrie’s knees was cooling on the hardwood floor.

“Alright. Alright, buddy, stay with me.” She folded her hands and pressed them over his sternum, arms straight, elbows locked. Illyria watched her with her head slightly tilted as Carrie pumped down into his chest, struggling to contain her panic and hold her strength in check.

“Your efforts are meaningless.” Illyria said flatly. Carrie shot her a look containing as much venom as she could muster, her rhythm barely faltering. “His body is already lifeless, and too damaged to sustain the soul.”

Carrie growled and shook her head.

“I don’t want to hear it. You want to be helpful, you put pressure on the knife wound.”

She stopped compressions as her mental count reached thirty, and leant in to Wesley’s face, tilting his head back as she pressed her mouth over his and tried to ignore the sharp, bitter taste of sweat and copper.

“This delay is pointless.” Illyria replied without emotion as Carrie breathed hard into Wesley’s lungs. “Wesley is dead. And while you attempt to revive him, Angel and your friends may be fighting for their lives.”

“They can take care of themselves. And they already have each other. Wesley hasn’t got anyone. I’m not going to abandon him to die alone in this godforsaken place!”

She pushed too hard as desperation crept into her voice – a rib snapped under her hands and she faltered, then pressed on.

“He was not alone.”

“You don’t count!” Carrie spat with sudden fury, her head snapping up from her hands crossed over Wesley’s chest. Illyria’s head tilted, and her eyes narrowed very slightly. Carrie stared her down, her compressions slowing as both women sized up the other. The moment shattered as a sudden hammering noise echoed from along the corridor – Illyria turned to look, and Carrie shook herself and forced her shoulders back into motion.

“There are more men and demons still trying to serve their dead master.” Illyria told her. “Will you stay here to fight them and die, Slayer?”

Carrie ignored her, pushing herself up from Wesley’s mouth and returning to his chest.

“Will you abandon your duty?”

“Fuck my duty.” Carrie hissed. “I was never the only Slayer. The only thing I care about is protecting the people I love. But you aren’t human enough to even grasp the concept, so if you won’t help me then just sod off and leave us be.”

Illyria stood over them, watching her a moment longer as the hammering down the corridor grew louder, interspersed with the sounds of splintering wood.

“Very well.” She said, and walked away.

 *

Carrie didn’t look up to watch her go, but once Illyria’s footsteps faded into nothing, she glanced behind her with fear, trying to gauge how much time she had.

“Come on Wesley. Come on, keep fighting, don’t do this to me.”

She heard the lock splinter down the hall, and a high-pitched scrape of something heavy being forced away. Unconsciously, she pushed a little harder, sweat beading at the base of her neck and rolling down her back.

“Wes, please, we’re running out of time here.” She felt another rib break under her hands, winced, kept on pushing, muttered an apology. She breathed into him again, once, twice, kept on pushing. There were voices in the hall now, searching for them.

She pushed down again and Wesley jerked, a harsh, laboured breath staggering out of him. Carrie let out a noise between a yelp and a sob, useless tears welling up unbidden.

“Oh, well done.” She whispered, only half-aware of what she was saying. “Well done, that’s it, that’s it.”

Wesley’s eyelids fluttered as he struggled to drag in shallow gasps of air. Carrie glanced up at the far doorway and the shadows on the wall, and realised they didn’t have time for him to catch his breath.

She hefted him up as gently but as quickly as she could, all but carrying him with his weight across her shoulders. His left arm twitched feebly against his side, numb fingers pressing semi-consciously against the wound which was still sending thick ribbons of blood down his leg.

“Let’s go.” She coaxed him. “We can do it, just keep your legs moving. That’s it...just a little bit further...”

 *

The streets were chaos. For a while after they’d escaped from the house, blood-soaked and hop-scotching from cover to cover, Carrie had thought of screaming for help or calling for an ambulance. She abandoned that idea as soon as they hit the main road, and watched as a demon leapt from the roof of an abandoned car and devoured a woman in plain sight. The sky was black, starless, and the night was alive with sirens and screams.

“Jesus God.” Carrie whispered. Wesley sagged in her arms, and she pulled them back into the alley they’d emerged from. She held them both hidden, crouched behind some industrial bins as the demon, laughing with gleeful abandon, sprinted off down the street to a further chorus of screams.

“Am...hll...”

She turned quickly as Wesley stirred, his clammy face turning to her as she knelt beside him. His eyes were wide, and his pupils so constricted that his eyes seemed almost entirely china blue.

“Is this hell?” He whispered.

“No, love.” She replied gently. “You’re not dead. We’re still in Los Angeles.”

He took a moment to process the information, panting slightly.

“...I’m not dead?”

“No. But you’re still losing a lot of blood, so I need you to stay sitting down for the moment.” “That does explain the pain...” He grimaced, and stopped trying to shift position. “Feels as if I’ve...cracked a rib...”

Carrie winced again. “That was me. Sorry.”

“Oh…why?”

Carrie hesitated, then decided that colouring the truth wouldn’t do either of them any good.

“You stopped breathing.” She said softly. “I had to get your heart started again.”

He stared at her with those wide eyes, and didn’t say anything for a moment.

“And…Illyria?” He asked finally. Carrie shook her head.

“She took off. Maybe to find Angel and the others.”

Wesley nodded, grimacing.

“We should probably join them–”

To Carrie’s shock he actually started trying to lever himself up, though it made what little colour he had drain dramatically from his face.

“Don’t even think it!”

She put a hand on his shoulder to force him back down, and as she did so a not-so-distant explosion rocked the street, the far wall of the alley briefly reflecting red. Both of them froze, and Carrie tensed, ready for an attack. However, none came, and she unbent from the protective crouch she’d fallen into over Wesley.

“Things are…bad, out here.” She explained to Wesley’s look of confused horror. “I don’t know what’s happened, but there are demons out on the street. The power’s out, maybe across the whole city. We can’t get to Angel. You’re hurt, badly, and we don’t know what’s waiting between us and them. Our best bet right now is to hole up and gather information.”

She was laying it out to herself even as she explained it to him. She knew it was the smart move – possibly the first one they’d made in months.

Wesley was still panting, and his cool, sweaty face still hadn’t regained any colour. His hand was pressed over his side again, new blood glistening over the dried stains between his fingers.

“A-alright.” He stuttered weakly. “But I don’t think we can go too far.”

Carrie nodded.

“Don’t worry.” She said, more confidently than she felt. “We’re both making it out of this.”

[art-of-nighto]

quick carrie for today

Support me on Patreon!

[number-one-buffa-fan]

I’m so sorry @arthrmorgann​ that this took so long, but here they are!

Claudine Gray - Red Dead Redemption Online/Tin Star

Irenleigh Palven - Dragon Age Inquisition

Ginger O’Neill - Stardew Valley

Carrie Luther - Fallout 4

Thank you for tagging me!

[whumpster-in-a-dumpster]

Whumptober Day 14 - Alt 10 ‘Nightmare’

Characters: OC: Carrie Taylor, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce (and Angel, for like 2 sentences)

Fandom: Buffyverse/Angel

I’m not so much into crying as a main theme, so instead have some traumatised Carrie and concerned Wes!

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Cold. Starless. Bloody feet. Harsh breaths. Frigid water. Rotting bark.

Pursuit. Keep ahead of the pack. No time to erase the trail, they’re too close behind. Half-starved howls split the endless night, empty bellies, empty eyes, empty souls. Sharp teeth shine in the darkness.

Keep moving. Force fetid air through screaming lungs. Push aching, stinging legs just a few miles further. Trip. Fall and catch yourself on the stinking soil, don’t think about it, just get up, keep running, just keep running –

*

Wesley paused by Carrie’s door, his train of thought derailed. For a moment he’d thought he had heard something inside, like the murmur of a voice. But after listening for a second or two he decided he’d imagined it, and was about to walk away when a female voice cried out quietly.

“Carrie?” He called, worry rising like a wave. She didn’t answer, and he hesitated for almost a minute with his hand on the handle before pushing his way quietly inside. The room wasn’t fully dark – Carrie had dug out a string of fairy-lights from somewhere not long after getting back and hung them haphazardly over the battered desk and chairs on the far side of the room, and had clearly taken to keeping them lit when she slept. She was sleeping now, curled on top of the covers with her back turned to him and the sheets twisted around her feet, twitching fitfully. As Wesley watched, she murmured wordlessly again and curled even tighter in on herself. He felt slightly uncomfortable watching, as if he were intruding somehow, and wondered if he ought to leave, but then she cried out, louder now, and flinched violently, kicking free of the sheets. He was by her side in an instant, hovering just outside the range of her arms if she decided to flail out at him.

“Carrie. Carrie.” Her breathing was short and hitched; She didn’t seem to notice him. “It’s alright. You’re at home. You’re safe. You’re just having a nightmare.”

She didn’t react, still tense and rigid in the foetal position, and after a moment of hesitation he reached out to touch her arm.

“It’s alright –”

The reaction was instantaneous. The moment his hand touched her skin she jerked awake and whirled at him, snatching at his wrist even as she launched herself from the bed on top of him, face drawn in an unseeing, terrified snarl. Wesley yelped as he collapsed back, banging his shoulder against the bedside table before slamming down onto the carpet with Carrie’s weight pinning him to the floor.

“Carrie –!” He had time to time to gasp before her hands went to his throat. “It’s me! It’s just me!”

Her expression unclouded, and she looked at him in one moment of horrified connection before she scrambled back, her shoulders hitting the bed.

“Oh -! I’m, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry…”

“It’s…it’s alright,” Wesley sat up slowly, slightly winded. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Carrie shook her head, lips pressed tightly together, blinking hard. With a shock Wesley realised she was on the edge of tears. She seemed to realise it at the same moment and briefly looked almost angry at herself, rubbing her eyes with one hand as if she were just tired.

“It’s my bad.” She said shakily. “It was…”

She trailed off, avoiding his eyes. Cautiously, he moved to sit next to her.

“What were you dreaming about?” He asked gently.

Her eyes looked through him, focusing on something far away. For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to answer, but finally she took a shaky breath, returning to herself.

“Being chased.” She said shortly.

Wesley nodded slowly. “I see.”

Carrie had drawn her legs up, hugging her knees.

“Do you dream about that often?”

There was that haunted, faraway look again.

“I do now.” She said softly. “Since…since getting back.”

Acting on instinct, Wesley gently put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. It was the right move – she closed her eyes and leaned against him, losing some of the nervous tension.

“If you wanted to talk about it…”

“I know.” She cut him off. “But – not yet. I just…I need a little more time.”

They lapsed into silence, until a quiet rap at the door startled them both.

“Wes?” Angel called from the other side. “Carrie? You two OK?”

“Fine,” they called back together. There was some hesitation in Angel’s voice as he replied,

“I heard something banging.”

“Just me.” Wesley answered quickly. “I…knocked over a lamp.”

“Oh. Well…try not to knock over any more, okay? It’s coming out of your paycheck.”

[whumpster-in-a-dumpster]

Whumptober 20 - ‘Trembling’

Characters: OC: Carrie, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce

Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)

Sorry it’s short - working on two in one night, and I am technically at work!

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The car was quiet as they rolled along the empty highway. The radio played some bouncy pre-packaged bubble-gum pop song but the volume was turned down low, and they were far enough out into the desert that the signal was more static than music anyway. Wesley risked a glance over at Carrie as she sat in the passenger seat. She sat stiffly, staring at the corner of the front windscreen with unfocused eyes. Her head was resting on one fist propped up against the passenger door, shifting slightly as the wheels rumbled over tiny changes in the road surface. A bruise was beginning to purple on her cheek, and the collar of her jacket was torn. Her expression was tight but vacant, a thousand miles away. Her other hand rested in her lap. The knuckles were bloody and split, and as Wesley watched, glancing back briefly to keep them on the road, he saw that the hand was shaking, trembling almost imperceptibly. Looking back up at Carrie’s face he barely had time to see her eyes shining with gathering tears before she sniffed and turned away, resting against her window.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, he reached out, taking the hand in his. She looked back, surprised, but didn’t pull away. He gave her a very small smile, trying to express things he wasn’t sure how to say. She didn’t return the smile, but her hand tightened on his as she turned back to the window. The drove the rest of the way home in silence, their hands a warm, quiet bridge between them.

[whumpster-in-a-dumpster]

Whumptober 30 - ‘Recovery’

Characters: OC: Carrie Taylor, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce

Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)

Thiiiis one got a little heavy. But recovery isn’t a smooth line, right? 

I realise the scene might be a little odd without context - I hinted at some of it in previous fics featuring Carrie, but in essence, it’s not been very long since she was rescued from/found her way out of a demon dimension where something important was lost, something she hasn’t opened up about yet. This is that conversation.

Mostly emotional whump, a little bit of bruised & bloody since it’s post-fight with a Monster of the Week.

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There was blood on the bedsheets.

That was the first thing Wesley noticed when he entered the room, quiet and careful. At first, he thought the bedroom was empty, and with a worried twist of his gut he wondered if Carrie might truly have run – jumped out of the windows and across the balconies, perhaps. A risky move in her condition, but she’d made more reckless choices than that before.  

Not recently though, he realised. Not since she’d come back. When she’d attacked the vampire in the foyer, it had been an act of desperation, a last-ditch effort to save her friends. She’d known already that she didn’t have the strength to fight it – Wes had seen that quite clearly in her eyes when Angel had killed it with a stake to the back, freeing Carrie from its grip as it turned to dust. Her look had almost been one of humiliation, mingled with fear and a deep, deep hurt that Wesley hadn’t been able to put to words. She’d looked away quickly, and by the time Wesley had picked himself up and done the usual quick check-around to make sure everyone else was alright she had fled upstairs. They’d all looked at each other, no-one wanting to be the first to say anything.

Wesley had given it almost twenty minutes before he broke, standing up suddenly and heading for the stairs.

“Wes,” Angel had called quietly after him. Wesley had paused, looking back at Angel hovering hesitantly near the front desk.

“Take it softly,” he’d suggested quietly, after a moment. “Don’t rush her.”

Wesley had nodded, and gone upstairs. Now he hesitated, wondering if he ought to call for the others. But no – the bedside light was on, even if the fairy lights weren’t, and the window was open but not far enough for someone to have climbed out. The curtains waved slightly in the warm California night air. Slowly he stepped around the bed. Carrie was sat with her back to the wall, wedged into the small space between the bed and the night stand. She was crying, thickly, silently, wordlessly, lips slightly parted. She didn’t look up at him, gazing dully at the space between her knees through puffy eyelids.

“Carrie.”

She swallowed, sighing wetly through tears.

“You don’t have to say it. I know I should have told you.”

He shook his head slightly, kneeling stiffly while keeping a respectful distance.

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

She scoffed quietly and went to wipe at her face, but flinched when her hand brushed against the raised red scrape on her cheekbone, wincing. She made a small noise of mingled annoyance and disgust at herself and let the hand drop. He paused, knowing what he needed to ask but unsure how to phrase it. Finally, he simply asked, as gently as he could,

“What happened?”

She shuddered, fresh tears springing into her dark eyes.

“Ttt – I – ”

“It’s okay…”

“No. It’s not. I’m not…” She closed her eyes, struggling desperately to compose herself. Wesley fell silent, watching her quietly.

Don’t rush her.

After several seconds she took a shaky breath, and when she opened her eyes again they were clearer, a little more resolute, but somehow more full of that wordless hurt he’d caught a glimpse of earlier.

“S-something happened to me,” She said eventually, “- in the other place. Something…something was done to me.”

Wesley frowned, a thousand questions already gathering in his mouth. He said none of them out loud, just listened.

“I told you there was…there was someone chasing me, over there.” She continued. “Not a demon. Something more – more like Illyria, I think. I didn’t –”

Her voice caught for a moment and she stopped, gathering herself.

“What I didn’t tell you,” she said slowly, as if the words were being drawn from her with difficulty, “was that he – that I…he caught me.”

The last admission came out in a breathless scramble, and her expression changed, momentarily flashing hollow with terror. Wesley caught a flicker of the fear himself, his mind already whirring through the possibilities, each more awful than the last. Carrie’s eyes were red-rimmed and wide with horror, looking past and through him.

“He said it – it needed to be harder. The chase. For me. As punishment for getting caught. And he -”

She gulped, losing the words, and gestured at her chest with one trembling hand, vaguely miming clawing at her skin. She was breathing fast, tight, as if her lungs wouldn’t expand. She forced in the air, panicked tears suddenly flowing again.

“H-he took it! H-he just r-reached in and…” – that clawing action again – “…tore it out of me! And now i-it’s gone, the connection, it’s just gone, and I’ve got nothing, I’m just weak, and I, I - I just feel so h-helpless –”

She gasped, high-pitched and verging on hysterical. Her hands grasped at her short hair, pulling hard enough to hurt as her breaths came faster and faster, shaking hard enough to bang her shoulders against the edges of the tight space. Wesley jerked forwards, pushing the night stand aside as he grabbed at her wrists, trying to stop her from tearing her hair out.

“Carrie, Carrie -!”

“I can’t, I can’t do this Wes, I can’t do anything, I c-can’t –”

He just held her tighter, and she almost collapsed against him, crushing up against his chest, sobbing. His arms fell around her, still holding her wrists at first until she clutched at him and he let one go to hold her closer, pressing her head into his shoulder, shushing her, trying to be gentle, trying to be soothing, when in truth he was shaking almost as hard as her, his heart pounding.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, shh, shh now, just breathe…”

She let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a howl, still crying out weakly,

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t – ”

“You’re safe. You’re safe now. I have you. I have you. Everything’s alright.”

He held her, the two of them rocking gently, him slowly stroking the short, close-shaven hair at the back of her head, until the shaking subsided, and she lay quiet and spent against him, tear-tracks drying on her cheeks.

After an eternity she whispered something into his jacket, and he stirred, his arm loosening slightly around her.

“What?”

She turned her head sideways, away from him. “Don’t leave me.” She murmured in a tiny, broken voice to the darkened room. “Please. I’m…I’m not a S-Slayer, now, but…please…”

He was glad she’d turned away; he was glad she couldn’t see his face at that moment. He leaned down, pressing his lips briefly to the top of her head.

“I could never.” He said softly. “I could never in life.”

Her grip on his clothes tightened. They stayed like that for a long time, each of them exhausted, finally drifting in and out of sleep almost in turns until pale morning light slowly seeped in through the crack in the curtains.

[whumpster-in-a-dumpster]

Whumptober 5 - Gunpoint

Characters: Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, OC: Carrie Taylor

Fandom: Buffyverse

This one ended up going in a completely different direction than I intended, but I’m still pretty happy with it! It introduces another OC, Carrie Taylor, who I may have to make an introduction post for, since I have a sneaking suspicion she’s going to end up in a lot of these prompts...I love the Buffyverse for many many reasons, not least because of the potential to go completely off-the-rails weird in terms of plot, but also because of the exquisite examples of whump dispensed on almost every character. Anyway, this is a snippet from a story involving mind-controlling centipede demons that eat your spinal cord. Enjoy!

Thank you @violentgril for the inspiration

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“You don’t need to do this.”

Wesley tried to keep his voice calm, his hands half-raised defensively in front of him. As if that would help. That wouldn’t stop a Slayer, and it certainly wouldn’t stop the bullet if she fired the semi-automatic she was holding, now aimed squarely at his chest. Something wavered in Carrie’s expression, her aim faltering very slightly, and he decided to chance taking a step forward.

“Carrie –”

She jerked back and the gun twitched upwards, her grip tightening. Wesley froze, momentarily forgetting to breathe. Carrie’s expression flickered through one of near-panic, her cheeks and short black hair shiny with sweat. Her pupils were contracted almost to pinpoints, showing every shade in her frightened brown eyes.

“Don’t!” She managed to gasp out. Her jaw was tight, as if she were fighting to bite the words back. “Don’t, don’t come closer, I can’t stop myself.”

Wesley’s heart was hammering in his throat, but he managed to push it back down, get it back under control, so that when he spoke his tone was gentle, comforting.

“I understand.” He said quietly. “I know you feel out of control right now –”

“You – you don’t.” She cut him off, almost panting with the effort of speech. “You don’t know. It’s – it sounds like me.”

“But it’s not you. Whatever you’re hearing, it isn’t you, it isn’t what you want, and you can fight it.”

Her head turned, denying, and the barrel of the gun trembled just a little.

“Wes –”

“Carrie, I know you’re scared –”

BANG

Wesley fell back, one hand reaching out but failing to catch himself before his shoulder hit the wall. His side was on fire, and when he looked down his hand was already slick with blood. Carrie cried out, a short yelp of pain, the heel of her free hand going to her head. Wesley looked up, saw her cringing, paying no attention to him, the gun held loosely and pointed down. He launched himself at her, using force rather than finesse to push her to the floor, struggling awkwardly to pin the gun with his knee on her wrist. His hand fumbled for the back of her neck, searching for the demon’s insectoid body. He’d caught her off-guard, but he didn’t have long – the moment it regained control, Carrie would have the upper hand. She was stronger, faster, more skilled – she could kill him in seconds. His fingers scrabbled for purchase, and just as he finally found it, his hand closing around the cold hideous lump latched onto Carrie’s spine, she shuddered, looking back at him with an alien expression of malice. Her knees came up underneath him and she kicked, throwing him back and away from her, ripping the demon free in his grasp. Wesley came to a crashing halt against the wall of the basement, doubled over and retching, clutching at his stomach.

Carrie lay gasping for a moment, then suddenly rolled jerkily onto her knees, clawing at her back. Wesley tried to find the breath to reassure her, when she dragged the remains of a long black centipede-like body from underneath her t-shirt and flung it away from her in horror. Confused, Wesley looked down at the object in his hand, and found himself holding the head and around a quarter of the demon’s segmented trunk, now leaking something like a pale yellow pus. Disgusted, he threw it to one side, and collapsed back against the wall with a groan.

Carrie was there in a moment, on her knees beside him.

“Wes -! I’m…it’s okay, move – move your hands, let me see –”

He let his hand fall away, wincing as she quickly peeled back the layers of his shirt and jacket. She probed gently for a moment, and then let out a shaky breath. He closed his eyes and looked away, pressing his lips tightly together.

“It’s – it’s alright.” He choked out. “As long as you’re safe, I’m okay.”

“Wes…”

“Just…do what you can. Don’t blame yourself.”

“Wes.”

“I don’t know if – if I can hold on. Oh, god, don’t tell Angel I died in the basement -”

“Wes!”

He turned to see her looking back at him, exhausted but smiling.

“The bullet barely grazed you. Middle-sized dressing and a bit of tape, you’ll be fine.”

“Oh.” He blinked, perplexed. “Well, that does explain the relative lack of pain.”

She made an exasperated sound, somewhere between a snort and a growl, and flopped against him, headbutting his shoulder.

“I did think it was a lot more tolerable than the last time I got shot.”

“Shut up.”

[whumpster-in-a-dumpster]

Whumptober 19 - Asphyxia

Character: OC: Carrie

Hey, look at that - I got the prompt done before 10pm! It’s a Halloween miracle!

TW for a house fire/smoke inhalation

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The fire was everywhere. It scorched the ceiling and peeled away the wallpaper, faded floral designs blackening and bubbling away to cinders. The heat was beyond description – even through the cloth tied over her mouth, every breath Carrie took scorched her throat, and every centimetre of exposed skin was raw and tender. The flickering, fluttering orange light was around every corner and on every surface, but still Carrie couldn’t see – thick clouds of acrid smoke filled the corridor and every room of the apartment block, hot ash stung her eyes, and she was lost; corners that should have led to stairs only opened onto more rows of doors, and every time she stumbled through one, searching for an exit, she found herself more confused. She staggered heavily against a wall as something in another room exploded with a cacophony of shattering glass. She felt the hot wind dragging at her skin and hair, choking on the ash and the fumes. Dropping to her knees, she started to crawl forwards blindly. The smoke was thinner down here, but still, she felt lightheaded, and knew if she couldn’t find her way out soon, the lack of oxygen would kill her before the fire even touched her.

With a sudden, desperate burst of hope, Carrie saw a dim green light through the smoke and the heat haze. Her lungs ached from coughing, and she was beginning to feel dizzy, but she struggled towards it, dragging herself across the burning carpet and still-glowing debris that littered the corridor. The light from the fire exit hadn’t been far – she looked up to find it again, and felt her heart drop into her stomach when she realised she couldn’t see it. It couldn’t be gone – it had to still be ahead of her – she just had to keep going –

Her hand broke through a heap of charred wood, stoking the fire beneath back to searing life and throwing up a plume of smoke and burning ash into her face. She choked, recoiling, and then she couldn’t stop choking, coughing hard enough to make her ribs pop and her stomach turn. She couldn’t get enough air; her head was spinning, her hands and feet buzzing. The last thing she remembered before passing out was the flames drawing ever closer, licking at the boards around her hand.