#parental whumpee

[a-class-attempter]

Caretaker sees Whumpee for the first time after their rescue. Whumpee is like a parent to Caretaker and to see Whumpee reduced to scarred flesh on a hospital bed breaks them.

Caretaker stays with Whumpee for days, barely getting any sleep. When Whumpee finally wakes up, they hold Caretaker close.

“Do you want to know what kept me alive?” Whumpee asks.

Caretaker, so overcome with a mix of terror and relief, can only nod.

Whumpee squeezes Caretaker’s hand. “You did, Caretaker. I lived so I could see your face again.”

[distracted-obsessions]

Ok, but imagine Villain/Henchman/Assassin Whumpee being found by the heroes while they raided Supervillain Whumper's lair and they take Whumpee into custody. They don't handcuff Whumpee because they aren't fighting back (either too injured or in shock) but as they lead Whumpee out of the lair, Whumpee stops.

"Did you find them?"

"Find who?"

Whumpee pulls away from them and goes deeper into the lair. Every time the heroes grab them, they get more and more distressed, saying that they can't leave. They won't leave. After a minute, they start screaming out a name that the heroes don't recognize.

Just as one of the heroes goes to knock Whumpee out, they see a child crawl out from under the stairs and run straight for Whumpee who drops to their knees and hugs the child tightly, shushing their cries and whispering soft, comforting words. "Shh, it's ok. Mommy/Daddy is here. I'm ok. We're ok. it's ok. Shh."

[acornsandacorns]

caretaker’s head snapped up as they heard whumpee enter their bedroom. Their eyebrows furrowed as they watched whumpee shuffle into their bedroom.

“Hey, sweetie. What happened?” Caretaker got up from their desk and walked over to whumpee, looking down at them. Whumpee murmured something incomprehensible before slightly leaning forward and wrapping their arms around Caretaker’s back, burning their head into their chest.

Caretaker nearly stumbled back at the impromptu hug and just stood there, staring down at whumpee. They then let out an almost inaudible sigh and wrapped their arms around whumpee, one around whumpee’s back and the other brushing through whumpee’s hair.

“It’s ok, honey…we’ll be ok…”

[loserwithsyle]

Whumpee after being rescued, crying in Caretaker's arms, sobbing out how they want their mom or other parental figure

But with a twist. That parental figure is gone. Whumpee may or may not know that, and caretaker may or may not too.

A Caretaker knowing the parent died while their child was in captivity

Or a whumpee crying for someone they know can't be there for them

[jordanstrophe]

I love it when a high-status caretaker adopts a nobody whumpee. I also love a high-status whumpee getting adopted by a nobody caretaker, who has no idea who whumpee is, but whumpee adores it because someone is treating them like a normal person for the first time.

[whumperofworlds]

A Whumpee screaming out "MOM!", "DAD!", etc to a parental Caretaker as they're in danger.

Cue the parental Caretaker's parental instincts kicking in, and proceeding to destroy whoever harmed their kid.

[whump-allthe-way]

“thanks.. dad..” says whumpee, their voice rough and low, as caretaker threads their fingers through their tangled hair

vs

“no please-! dad make it stop! it hurts- please-!” as they thrash and scream, arching away from whumper’s blade as they slice and carve into their skin, caretaker watching in chains

[allthewhumpygoodness]

Whumpees! Calling! Out! For! A ! Parent!!!!

What's the situation? Do they wake up from a nightmare disoriented and confused, enough so that it takes them a second they forget they aren't with their parents and call out to the first person they see, only to be embarrassed a moment later when they realize? Are they so delirious they actually think their dad is there with them when it's really just an unrelated caretaker who's heart is breaking for them? Are they so scared, sick, or in pain that they just really really want their mom and don't care if that's impossible right now?

[bltzgore]

Tw: language, broken bone (whumper's), mention of past trauma, young whumpee (could be under 18, idk reader's choice), swearing, yeah just a lot of swearing. Caretaker is very protective and very mad.

Caretaker put their hands gently on whumpee's shoulders, guiding him to their left, "could you just stand here for me, baby?" Whumpee followed their guidance without hesitation, confused but mostly still shaken by the fact that whumper was here. How had he found them?! What would he do now that he had?

What whumpee hadn't noticed was that caretaker had carefully moved them out from between whumper and themselves. Once whumpee was clear caretaker reared back and floored whumper with a single blow to the jaw. Something in there cracked, and whumper was on his ass attempting to gather himself and figure out what had just happened.

Caretaker snarled, "I don't care who the fuck you are! I know what you fucking did to this child and you should feel lucky to be alive right now. Cause the only reason I'm not ripping the bones out of your body one at a time and FEEDING THEM TO YOU is because there is a child present. Now, here's what's going to happen, you're going to pick your sorry ass up off my floor and you're going to drag it out the door and out of my house, and you're going to fucking keep it there or next time I will not be showing any restraint."

As whumper shakily got to his feet, he glared at whumpee, who's trembling only got worse. He was frozen under that monster's gaze. He couldn't even manage to get his lungs moving. That's when caretaker stepped between them again and shoved their face stright up to whumper's.

"Don't fucking look at him, look at me! You're dealing with me! Not him." Once they were certain whumper was focused on them again they continued, "Now I gave you the good option, the other one is you stupidly refuse to leave and I beat your ass right here and now then dump your bitch carcass on the side of a road somewhere. So what's it fucking gonna be?"

Whumper seethed like he wanted to say something, but wisely didn't. Instead, he stumbled towards the door, glaring once at whumpee as he stood in the frame, "This isn't over."

Caretaker, however, shoved him out the rest of the way, flipping him off before they slammed the door in his face. "Yes, it is."

[paingoes]

Rubies - Trial III

the prosecution makes its argument

(Content: living weapon whumpee, past trauma, referenced child abuse, referenced caning, past emotional abuse, war, guilt, parental death mention, child death mention, emotional whump, crying, angst, comfort)

In the Emperor’s quarters, the dead far outnumbered the living. Delta knelt upon the bearskin run and ran his fingers through its thick white fur. He wanted to reach for the mouth of it, to feel the teeth, but he dared not move without permission. The fresh cane marks along his calves made sure of that.

“Here, boy.”

The Emperor had taken to calling him boy, which he found strange and overfamiliar. To his handlers, he had always been One-Oh-Seven. More and more, it has simply been Delta. There was no need for numeration when there were no others.

He rose up off of the carpet, taking silent steps until he stood in front of the weary form of the old man. 

The doctor was nowhere to be seen. For this, he was grateful.

A hand heavy with time and with rings pressed against his forehead. Did he look sick? He didn’t mean to. The Emperor would find no fever there, at any rate. Delta ran cold.

“Are the stars all in alignment tonight, poppet?” He withdrew his hand. “Will today be a good day?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

There was no gap in between their words. There was no hesitation. He would be punished for lying just as quickly as for failing, so he was careful not to lie. Of course today would be a good day. 

Delta was excellent.

But the Emperor still searched him. It was not illness he had sensed. 

“Is everything alright?”

The concern in his voice only made the sting worse. Delta looked down in shame.

It was sullenness. That was all. He was cold all over, soaked with shame. It was bad, he knew. He was supposed to take all punishment without complaint, but Delta so seldom needed correction. It hurt all the more when it did come. He couldn’t get the chill of it to leave him. He’d been torn into. 

Unfit, the doctor had said. Unworthy of the privilege. Disgraceful.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Delta responded, the shame of it deepening. He hadn’t meant to sulk about it. He was only proving their point.

There was nothing wrong with his ability to perform, which is all the Emperor had really been asking. A little emotional hurt had never impacted his powers before — thank god for that. Today would be no exception.

With that, the Emperor rose up. Delta followed a half-step behind him. He was getting on in age. It was never hard to keep up.

They walked all the way past the war room, out onto the deck of the ship. The air was thin in the upper atmosphere, but it was getting more bearable upon the descent. There were a collection of advisors and generals gathered about by the railing. Delta kept his head bowed respectfully, careful not to look them dead on. With the Emperor there, he knew they wouldn’t dare touch him. But it was a deeply ingrained habit and one he saw no reason to break.

There was a pressure at his shoulder. It was meant to be reassuring, but it only scared him worse. He could see the target below. Its perimeter was painted in a pale orange color.

They wanted showy this time.

Space was made around him as they clicked the collar off of his neck. He closed his eyes. The light was painful. All the hearts beating so close were distracting. 

Disgraceful. He felt the sting of fear in his chest and prickling at his eyes. It was going to hurt. He was getting frigid in a way he hadn’t before. He didn’t want to be hurt.

He zeroed in on the target anyway, visualizing its delimitation among the pale. He wished they’d given him something to hold onto. All he had now were his own hands and his nails cutting indents into the palms. Showy. The world snapped as the target was turned to dust.

The collar clicked back on. Blood was already pooling in his throat and in his sinuses. The migraine aura descended. He swayed, but not fall. The Emperor’s hand steadied him there. It moved calming circles into his back. He heard the applause, but to him it sounded miles away.

“Incredible.” The Emperor had whispered into his ear. “You were wonderful.”

And like that, he was glowing. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t supposed to feel a thing, but the warmth of the praise made itself at home in him. It was the only time he let himself feel anything close to pride — and he could have lived in its light. It was almost worth it. He felt sick enough to die and it was almost worth it.

~~~~~~

Silas placed the blank sheet of paper down onto the desk and slid it towards him. His expression was grim.

“I want you to write down every target you can remember hitting. Names and dates. It doesn’t have to be exact.”

The room was small and dark, not much bigger than a broom closet. Maryam sat beside him at the table. He had a legal right to keep her there — and thought he had not asked her to, she volunteered to accompany him. 

Delta rocked his leg a little as he felt at the rough graphite of the pencil.

He took the order for what it was. He had a good sense for it. There were some things he struggled to remember, but in general, his memory was better than most. He had been allowed no distractions. He’d had no choice but to focus in.

He started with the earlier days of his imperial career — the battleship he’d crushed on the water, the first show of strength before the purchase was made. And then there was all that came after. He was never told until the day of what he would be after, but he remembered them all the same.

Marisol

Pyrha

Holliday

Basalt

Clover

Killian

Versus

He wrote mechanically, appending the dates as best as he could. He’d already made up this list in his mind several times. He’d have offered it to Levon if things had gone differently, but as it stood, he’d never been given the chance.

Regina

Ursa

Deidra

Anatol

Timber

Jocobe

Weissan

He soon ran out of space on the page. He write in a smaller script around the margins.

“That’s enough,” Maryam said, eyeing the prosecutor nervously. Delta kept writing.

“You can stop now,” Silas agreed, reaching to take the paper back.

“I’m not done,” Delta snapped. 

He recoiled just as soon as he’d said it. He didn’t know where he’d gotten the nerve to speak like that, to talk back at all, and especially not to them. He dropped the pencil and drew back into the chair, fully expecting to get smacked in the mouth, bare minimum. 

The hit didn’t come. Silas took the paper and examined it without much reaction. It was a long list — and that was only with the Emperor. He hadn’t even gotten to Paris yet.

“Can I ask you something? For my own curiosity?” Silas said.

Delta looked up at him.

“About how far away from the target are you when activated?”

“…A mile, sir.” Delta tapped at the chair.

He nodded. “What’s the closest you’ve ever been to someone you’ve killed?”

He heard Maryam scoff beside him, but he thought it was a fair question, if an abrupt one. He had to think about it for a second. As the answer came to him, he felt the shock of ocean water, stealing just as much breath from him as it had the first time.

He held his hands up to demonstrate, having no other way to quantify the distance. Right up against his body. He’d garroted him, wrapped the chains around his neck and held him there. The water had done the rest. He hadn’t even used his powers.

“Daniel Martino,” he answered quietly, “The same night I got picked up.”

It was his most recent kill  — and if Levon’s word was anything to believe in, it would be the last. 

He hadn’t told anyone about it until now.

“Your handler?” Silas asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Silas and Maryam exchanged a look he could not read.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t fault you for that.” Silas folded the paper into his pocket.

The clemency caught him off guard. Delta looked down, embarrassed all the same.

~

The shades were drawn in the conference room. It was a stormy day outside — Delta could imagine how the static might’ve felt on his skin had he been out there. For now, all he could do was imagine it.

“Delta,” the prosecutor drew his attention back, “I asked you a question.”

Silas was sharper with him when there was a crowd. He was familiar with this tactic. It didn’t register to him as a surprise, only as a kind of dull pain.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Delta said weakly, but sincerely. “…Could you repeat it, please?”

He usually would not have been bold enough to make requests, but then he usually wouldn’t have zoned out in the first place.

“Were the accounts of lateral violence within the Institute true?” He asked, then clarified: “Were the students there encouraged to hurt one another?” 

“Yes, sir.” Delta closed his eyes. He did not need to guess the next question.

“Did you ever use your powers to injure the other students?”

Not because he wanted to. He didn’t know if he was allowed to answer with that. It had been a yes-or-no question — and his handlers had gotten mad whenever he tried to explain himself around it. He didn’t know if the same rules would apply here.

“Yes, sir.”

He caught the concerned looks of the others at the conference table. The council members had shown him no scorn so far, in spite of everything. He dreaded losing it. But in his mind, it was an inevitability. He couldn’t make himself look back.

“Did you ever kill any of them?”

It wasn’t the same as injuring. The administration had loved to use him as a threat long before he was in the imperial service. He’d always be the first they brought out they sent to scare the others into submission. After the first few times — cracked ribs, broken arms, and painful shocks — any actual violence wasn’t needed. The threat alone was enough.

That wasn’t the same as killing. While the punishment had been painful, the kills were quick. Those were for safety alone. Nobody ever died as a punishment. They died because they were about to kill everyone else.

It’d been a yes-or-no question. The answer was yes, obviously.

“Yes, sir.” 

He kept his eyes down. Kitty shifted a bit to his left. He didn’t want to see the way her face changed when she found out.

Silas ended his line of questioning. The lights dimmed further as the video began to play.

PYRHA 08

SOL 07

The caption showed against the grainy white backdrop. He could see the town in his mind before it was shown on the screen. It was before the disaster. Jade was pushed up into the edges of the home. All their streets were still cobblestone. From above, as he had seen it, the town looked to be built into a crescent moon shape. The blue tops of buildings stood out against the pale sand.

“…There was this burning, endless light…”

The voiceover played over still frames of the cloud. The images clipped together in animation. He saw the tip of the airship approaching the edge of the sky.

Whoever had produced the documentary had no knowledge of the cause. How could they? It was a superweapon, they were sure, but how could they have known what? 

All they could do was to quantify it. The ground temperature had reached the same peak as the sun. The duration lasted ten to fifteen seconds — 12.945 seconds, Delta corrected in his mind. There’d been no warning. 2,031 people had died. About five hundred families.

The focus was the math — and more than that, the footage. Few of his attacks had ever been so well documented. But almost as an aside, they had spoken to some of the eye witnesses.

A girl with chestnut brown hair smiled sadly into the camera as she held up the picture. The image quality changed again as a video from inside her house began to play. He could not tell if she was the infant or the child holding onto it inside the cedar living room. The camera shifted angles to capture their mother grinning on the couch, clapping along to the silent song. 

There was some primordial ache in him that would not sleep. It’d always burned too hot. After the first few times, he’d learned not to touch it.

He felt it burning now, pressed up against his skin with no escape.

“And my friends always made fun of me for being such a townie, because I had to ride the bus two hours just to get to school,” the girl chirped softly, “And I remember that morning, my mom telling me not to stay too long after classes. She wanted me to come straight home that day because-“

Her voice broke. 

“Because we were going to go out as a family.”

The clip cut away to the moment the sky tore open.

Delta stood up before he knew what he was doing. He stumbled blindly away from the table, pushing out into the hall.

He’d taken her parents from her. Ripped her away from them, the same way he’d been ripped away from his own. The loss cut through him sharper than he could ever remember. 

He was crying. He couldn’t stop it. The sorrow and fear enveloped him in equal measures. He’d walked out. He hadn’t been dismissed, he’d never walked out like that in all his life. But he couldn’t stand to hear anymore. He didn’t want them to see him cry.

He wanted his mom. It was silly. He didn’t even know what she looked like. She clearly hadn’t wanted him.

“Delta?” Levon called after him. He stopped dead. He was recall trained — he wouldn’t dare move farther. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn around. He didn’t think he could.

He sank to the floor instead. He tried to hide his tears, but his body shook from the effort. He was still good about being quiet when he was hurt. He was trying very hard to be good about it.

A soft sob escaped him anyway. Levon bent down onto the floor beside him.

“That was too far. I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.” Levon placed one hand lightly onto his shoulderblade. His thumb worked over the knots that had formed there, so bound up and painful.

“I’m sorry,” Delta said. It was always the first thing to come out of his mouth these days, no matter how much they tried to correct it. 

He remembered how young he was at the time. He remembered how proud he’d been.

“I didn’t know,” Delta said through tears, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know, baby,” Levon’s voice got quiet. It didn’t echo. No one else could have heard. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Then, even quieter, the admission: “It’s not your fault.”

Delta sobbed into his sleeve, leaning over so that his face almost touched the ground. He wished he could stop it. It was taking everything out of him.

He felt a gentle tug at his sleeve. It was an invitation. He accepted it before he could stop himself, too desperate for any semblance of comfort. Levon pulled him into the hug. His cries grew muffled as he hid his face in the fabric of the shirt.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” Levon said, the pain audible in his voice. He carded his hands through the boy’s hair, doing all he could to soothe him.

“I didn’t mean to,” came the soft whine in response.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @dietofwormsofficial @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #13

Trope of the day: team as a family

_

Team member looks at Caretaker, who stands in the kitchen, currently cutting vegetables. As they approach them, they see that they are making soup. "Whumpee still in bed?," they ask, knowing that Whumpee is still recovering from their last ordeal.

Caretaker nods. "The kid needs a break," they mutter as they throw some carrots in the pot. Team member never saw Caretaker act like this, always closed off and silent. But since Whumpee is part of the team - the kid, as Caretaker calls them - they have changed.

"Smells good," a voice interrupts them both, Team member and Caretaker turning around at the same time to see Whumpee in the doorway, scratching their nose. Their hair is ruffled from sleeping, face still a little pale.

It doesn't take Caretaker long to walk up to them, checking on the bandages that are wrapped around the other's wounds, but which seem to be okay. "Sit down," Caretaker says as they usher Whumpee in the direction of the dinner table, pulling out a chair for them.

"Thanks, dad," Whumpee says half-joking, probably half-serious because they avert their eyes from Caretaker, a soft smirk on their lips, but also a soft blush on their cheeks. Team member has never seen Caretaker this flustered.

[whumperwithwings]

Sicktember Day 7

Borrowed Hoodie

"Whumpee, why are you wearing my hoodie?" Caretaker asked with a chuckle in their voice.

"Cause' it's warm and big and cozy just like you," Whumpee said drowsily, wrapping their arms around Caretaker "And I like that."

[rosieposey-torturedpoet]

"Now, remember, we don't know what all she's been through: she's sleeping right now and may wake up in a couple of hours"

"Yes, Medic, I know all that. This isn't my first time" Caretaker smiled warmly.

"Just wanted to make sure, good luck" Medic patted Caretaker on the shoulder and walked out, closing the door behind him.

The house was the usual cookie-cutter house that Caretaker has been in dozens of times. Many people confuse Caretaker and Medic: assuming they have the same role. However, Medic's job is to get Whumpee out of the woods, and then Caretaker steps in. Whumpee is given a room in a house that's creatively referred to as a 'Caretaker house,' which is where Caretaker will live with them full time to help them heal from day to day. Caretaker knows the drill and this house like the back of her hand, yet she still looks across the living room, over at the door that Whumpee is currently sleeping in.

So Caretaker is as quiet as possible when walking up the steps to get to her designated room.

It had been around 4 hours later when Caretaker had finally seen a sign of life coming from Whumpee's room. She was in the kitchen making dinner, with quiet music coming from her record player she set up right next to the TV. Over the years, she's bought a vynl for each of her Whumpees. Once she got to know them: and their favorite artist, she would go out and buy a few records 'inspired' by them and they would sign one.

Caretaker had zoned out making dinner: she snapped out of her thoughts only because she heard a door open: snapping her head over her left shoulder, she was suprised to see a girl who couldn't have been over 17. Her dark curly hair was resting on her shoulders and it seemed as if she was coated in bandages. Her nose was crooked, but not in the natural sense, but in the sense that it had been broken one too many times. "Uh..who are you?" The girl questioned

"I'm Caretaker, I'm gonna be watching over you for a little while"

"Okay, uhm. What's that smell?"

"Dinner, you hungry? I made sure to make some for the both of us"

Even though the girl shook her head no, she still came up and sat at a barstool: still seemingly dazed, as if she couldn't process things at a normal speed. Which is to be expected. "So, would you like to talk, or would you like me to stay quiet"

"Hm?"

"Would you like me to stay silent and let you process things for a little bit. Or, would you rather have a conversation and small talk? I'm not gonna be mad at you for picking either option"

"Tell me who you are"

Caretaker's interest was piqued hearing that: "What do you mean?"

"Why are you here? Who are you? Why do you care? And what happened to that one big burly guy that save me?"

Caretaker thought for a second, and started, "Well, for starters: that man's name was Medic and he's a coworker of mine. A very sweet guy, you were in good hands. And like I said, my name is Caretaker. I am a registered nurse and this is where I am going to be living here for however long it takes you to heal. And I care, because you're human and deserve stability as much as anyone else." Caretaker sets a place of food in front of Whumpee, "Any other burning questions?"

[echoingalaxies]

Whump drabbles, 13/100: defender.

“Of course he’s different. But you mean it with malice, and that is not okay.” Caretaker loomed over cowering Teammate. Whumpee sat still across the room, his horned head bowed, hiding behind his wings. “He’s different, yes, but he’s also smart, and kind, and compassionate. You could learn a lot from him.”

As soon as Teammate stormed away, sour-faced and embarrassed, Whumpee revealed himself and nearly tackled Caretaker with a hug.

“What’s this for?” Caretaker asked, as they closed their arms around Whumpee.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Of course.” Caretaker kissed the top of Whumpee’s head. “Every word.”

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XX)redraft*

Revealing the Monster

Read part one here // Masterpost // Continued from here

Here's the tea, I am redrafting PART XX of this series and uploading it here, this is the canon - but I WILL POST THE NEXT PART TOMORROW!

The new part starts about halfway down XD

I am sorry, I wasn't happy with part XX! SO part XXI tomorrow, thank you for your time. :)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kit was wary about following Ambrose down a very dark, a very concrete set of stairs. “If this is the fucking torture basement I woke up in initially—”

Ambrose waved the accusation away, as if it was daft for Kit to be wary. “It’s to the garage,” he told him, keying a code into the pin-pad beside the metal door.

Ambrose walked through the door and held it open, rolling his eyes when he noticed Kit still lingering at the top of the stairs.

“Come on.”

“I’m not going to willingly follow you into your torture dungeon.”

Ambrose blinked, tilting his head. “The sex dungeon is two floors down, Mallory.”

Ambrose laughed at the face that Kit pulled. “Come on. I can always force you to come if I want, and we’re kind of a time crunch here.”

Kit glared daggers at the man and begrudgingly walked down the stairs. He stopped at the last step, trying to get a peak into the room. Ambrose walked away from the door letting it close before Kit could. Kit lunged forward to catch the heavy metal door, but relaxed immediately when he saw it was in fact a garage.

Kit let out a long low whistle after stepping into the garage. The door shut with a buzzer after him. Ambrose opened a lock box with keys hung up in a numbered order.

He grabbed the keys named ‘01’.

“You’re such a control freak,” Kit snorted. “Do you have OCD or something?”

Ambrose shrugged, taking off through the cars covered by different tarps. The only car that wasn’t covered was the one closest to the garage door. The same car that Ambrose kidnapped Kit in last night.

He hated that Ambrose had a good taste in cars. He hated that Ambrose had this many cars when Kit couldn’t even afford one, nevermind a garage full.

Ambrose grinned at Kit over the roof of the Wraith as he unlocked the door. “If you like, I can give you one of the ones I don’t like.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “I thought I told you to stay out of my head,” he said, opening the door and climbing into the passenger seat. The cream leather was so comfortable under him as he put his seatbelt on.

“Seriously,” Kit went on, anger curling around him the more comfortable he became with all of Ambrose’s luxury. “Don’t you have any thoughts of your own?! It’s fucking creepy, man. Just ask questions if you want to know my thoughts.”

Ambrose laughed as he opened the garage door with a remote and they rolled out of the house and onto the road again.

“I mean, don’t you have any friends?” Kit demanded hotly. In all honesty, he didn’t know why he was getting pissed all of a sudden, it’s not like Ambrose invading his mind was a new thing, but now? It pissed him off. “Don’t you know how to talk to people?!”

“Relax, Mallory. You’re the only person I relay their thoughts to. It might shock you, but generally, people love when you know what they’re thinking. It’s why humans seek connection. To feel understood.”

“Okay, Socrates,” Kit grumbled. “It’s just fucking weird. I don’t like it when you do it.”

“All of a sudden.”

“Yes!” Kit snapped, glaring at the villain beside him as the forest zoomed past them. “All of a sudden!”

What had Ambrose seen? What parts of him did he know? Could he see everything or was it selective?

“After you found out I’m Mentor’s son,” Ambrose said pointedly. Kit scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out the passenger window. They drove in a terse silence for a while, cause Ambrose was a psychopath and didn’t have the radio on.

“We have to talk about it, Kit.”

“Well, you already know my thoughts on it all, so enjoy having a conversation by yourself.”

“Mallory,” Ambrose said with a tired sigh, flicking on the indicator as they pulled to a stop. “I know it must seem like a weird coincidence to you, but I swear I didn’t know you were Mentor’s s—”

Kit’s hands tightened into fists. Son. He was about to say son.

“Prodigy,” he settled on, taking a right and messing with the gears until they were coasting again. The air seemed tighter. “I didn’t know that he meant anything to you. I swear— I just assumed that when you were scared of me turning you into him, that you had heard the horror stories in the academy, or Superhero told you. Not that you… not that you were personally affected.”

Kit’s eyes burned as he stared out the window, the forest growing sparser the closer they got to the city. “I didn’t know. You have to believe me.”

“And if you did?”

Ambrose hesitated.

Kit turned his head to look at him, studying the villain’s reactions.

“And if you knew that he was like a father to me.” Like a father, not an actual one. “If you knew how much it hurt to see a man who plucked me out of nothing be destroyed. Would it have been any different?! Or would you have laughed and rubbed it in like salt in a wound?”

“Kit—”

“Oh, come off it. There’s no one here, Rosey. It’s only me and you,” Kit said, his voice dripping with a horrible hysterical knowing. “You can be your usual sadistic, unfeeling, monstrous self and I can tell nobody about it—”

“Mallory—” Ambrose tried to interject but Kit spoke over him again.

“But you know the funniest part in all this? You already took away the one person who would have given a shit about this! About me, not the Hero. Me. And you made him a monster!” Kit roared, something wet hitting his cheeks and flowing like a stream down his face. “And now, because clearly God hates me, I have to team up with you of all people, to go and stop — the one man who ever treated me like a person — from becoming a monster like you.”

The silence was deafening. In some strange way, it was comforting. No electricity crackles or malfunctioning lights accompanied his breakdown with the power dampeners locked around his wrist.

It was cathartic.

They had just pulled into the main road that brought them to the outskirts of the city, the skyline visible over the horizon when Ambrose spoke.

“He wasn’t a hero to me,” said Ambrose quietly, almost imperceptibly. Kit glanced at him, but his eyes settled on the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

“Don’t fucking tell me you have daddy issues.” When Ambrose didn’t answer Kit let out a strangled laugh. Blinking in bewilderment, Kit raised his brows. “Are you telling me you have daddy issues? Mr Big Bad villain?”

“Oh fuck off, Mallory. At least I had parents.”

The words stung. They cut deeper than Kit would have ever admitted out loud or shown physically, but Kit knew that Ambrose was in his head after the villain winced.

Shifting in his seat, he said: “I’m— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off snarky. I just—” Ambrose let out a groan. “You just rub me up the wrong way.”

“Well who’s fucking fault is that, dickhead?!”

“Do you want me to explain, or are you just going to argue with me the entire drive to the hospital?” Ambrose snapped. “I can only do one of those things in our limited time, so choose.”

Kit clenched his teeth, glaring forwards at the car in front of them. “Fine. Tell me.”

“Mentor is my father. As you know, he only rose to prominence within our lifetimes, though you may be too young to remember. Before him, heroes and villains weren’t really a thing. There were a couple dotted here and there, but mostly they were vigilantes. The good guys and the bad guys.”

“Yeah. I remember learning about that in the academy.”

“Right. So after my father rose in public opinion and word of mouth, well the government started stepping in and trying to regulate it. Which they did and the rest is history, but he wasn’t the same heroic good man when he came home.”

Kit swallowed, tightening his fingers into fists. He didn’t want to hear this, he realised. He really wanted Ambrose to shut up and not tell him anymore, but he asked for this, didn’t he? To know the side of Mentor that Ambrose knew?

“He wasn’t abusive,” Ambrose said softly and Kit released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Not physically, anyway. When he discovered that I was born with powers he sought to train me, to make me in his image. A family of Superheroes. My Mom, she didn’t want that for me. She saw the toll it took on him to be the city’s saviour everyday, and that’s when they started fighting.”

Kit sat rigid in his seat, staring forward. He couldn’t imagine Mentor fig— well, no. He could, actually. How many times had Kit walked in on Mentor and Mr Silver arguing? Or Superhero trying to tell Mentor that the next step was a bad idea, that it was too risky.

“I trained hard. When he wanted me to push myself, I pushed myself. When he wanted me to commit 100%, I did 200%. It was never enough for him. None of it was. He wanted a son and a wife who adored him, who worshipped the ground he walked on, and instead he had a family. His ego was a problem.”

Kit cringed at that. Even he knew that Mentor wanted people to adore him, no matter who or why. He wanted to be the city’s saviour, the man on everyone’s tongue and in their thoughts.

Kit let out a breath of a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“I guess… that’s why he adopted me, isn’t it?” Kit asked, his voice hollow. Ambrose didn’t answer, and that was answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? How could he not have seen that to Mentor, Kit was just some charity project he knew would always support him. Worship the ground he walked on, defend him even when Kit knew he was in the wrong.

Ambrose opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, setting his lips into a thin line.

“Mallory…”

“No. It’s okay,” Kit replied, letting out a long breath. “It’s fine, go on.”

Ambrose hesitated, fingers lifting from the steering wheel, before curling around them again. They passed the memorial garden in silence, taking the diversion around the square towards the hospital. They weren’t far away now.

“He started the Hero academy when I was twelve. A school for children with powers to develop their abilities to become heroes. I saw it for what it was though, incentive and resentment. He failed to teach me to control my abilities, and found a fault in me that I couldn’t rectify. My ability wasn’t flashy enough, or showy enough for him, for the great Mentor.”

“He wanted a child who would make the world stop and look at them. Someone who was as fast as him, as strong, but not stronger. In his eyes, I may as well have been born with strong charisma because you couldn’t see the effect of what I could do, only experience it.”

Kit looked down at his wrist, at the power dampeners locked around it. Lightning was flashy. Lightning gave Kit strength and strong reflexes, he was fast, he was flashy. He trained hard, to the point of exhaustion everyday in the Hero Academy. Not caring if he had no friends. Not caring if he passed out from pushing himself too hard. He just had to be the best. It was all he had. It was all he could do.

It wasn’t until he was beating people three years above him that Mentor started to pay him any attention. It felt good at the time. It felt like somebody finally recognised him for what he was.

Mentor made him feel seen. He saw that Kit had put his everything into training, because everything in him was all he had to give.

He didn’t have a family to worry about him getting hurt.

He didn’t have friends that would mourn him if he died in action.

All he had was being a hero.

Of course Mentor would latch onto that. Of course he would pick up on the fact that Kit was desperately trying to prove himself. Of course he would take pity on the orphan and bring him home like a trophy. Show him off to the world.

But that… that wasn’t the Mentor that Kit knew.

He brought him home, but it was after Kit denied him so many times. Told him to piss off, and asked if he was a pervert that prayed on boys his age. Kit had grown up on the streets, he knew what happened to skinny kids like him. One day they’re there, and the next, you never see them again.

Mentor was patient, and kind. He didn’t push Kit after Kit said no, told him he had everything he needed in the academy.

“Then my Mother got sick, and well…” Ambrose said, trailing off, pulling Kit from his memory and back into the car. “After she died it was like he… he didn’t even care. All he cared about was building the city up, saving everyone from possible Villains that lurked in the night. He didn’t sit with her in the hospital because he knew he couldn’t rescue her. He wasn’t there when she—”

Kit was quiet beside Ambrose, head tilted down. He knew what loss was like. He knew the absence a parent can leave behind, but losing someone who meant that? Kit didn’t know how to relate to that. When Omen destroyed Mentor’s mind, it wasn’t the same as if he died because Kit could still go and see him. Still talk to him, even if the Mentor he remembered was dead.

“I’m sorry,” Kit said softly. Ambrose cleared his throat, turning his head so Kit couldn’t see his face.

“Yeah,” he agreed, going rigid. “Me too.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. It wasn’t far. Five minutes in the car, and two minutes to park.

“Are you…?” Kit began, then cut himself off when he met Ambrose’s black eyes. What was he going to say? Are you Okay? Alright with going into see the unfeeling man who wasn’t a good father? The man you cursed for being…

Ambrose shook his head, no. “Of course I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Kit said with an awkward shrug. They got out of the car, closing the door in unison. Kit thought nothing of it.

It was borderline awkward in the lift. Ambrose kind of just, stood there like a totem pole. His hands behind his back, standing straight up like a serial killer.

“Would you relax?” Kit said, rolling his neck. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m fine,” Ambrose said slowly, voice cold. Kit shrugged and said: “fine.”

He ahead and almost cried in joy when the doors opened to the ground floor. He stopped at the reception desk. Ambrose was walking and stopped when Kit stopped, two steps ahead and glancing back to see what Kit was doing.

He joined him a moment later, standing beside him and glowering at Heather when she turned and beamed at Kit.

“Hi Heather.”

“Hey, Kit. You goin’ up to—” her big blue eyes trailed to Ambrose beside him, who looked as if he was under a storm cloud, or extremely constipated. “Oh. Hi. Is this your brother?”

Kit’s eyes blew wide, but Ambrose didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Older. We’d like to see—”

“I didn’t know you had a brother, Kit. Of course, darlin’s, go ahead. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Ambrose nodded stiffly and stepped back. Kit blinked, shaking his head, and smiled at Heather. “Oh, actually. Was there anything strange with him? Any new visitors or—”

“I’m sorry, hun. I’m just the receptionist for the main desk. You’ll have to ask the nurses up there.”

Kit nodded, standing up. “Thank you, Heather.”

“Anytime. And nice meeting you.”

Ambrose nodded at her. “You too.”

Kit clapped him on the back, a wide grin on his face. “Let’s go, bro.”

Ambrose made a noise and Kit had to stifle a laugh until they were in the stairwell. “What was that!” He barked, laughter bubbling up his throat.

“I— panicked.” [***RE-DRAFT STARTS HERE***]

“I thought you weren’t nervous,” Kit teased. He was turning to walk up the next set of stairs when Ambrose slammed his forearm against Kit’s throat, shoving him back into the corner of the stairwell, pinning him there.

Ambrose’s nostrils flared, his eyes blazing with cold fury down at Kit. “Of course I’m nervous, you fucking child. Tch. Don’t you ever switch off?”

Kit pushed Ambrose’s arm off him, and to his surprise, Ambrose let him, running a hand through his hair and letting out a breath.

The realisation only dawned on Kit, his mouth opening into a small ‘o’.

“You’ve never been to see him.”

Ambrose straightened. The villain returning as he stared down his nose at Kit, a sardonic smile on his lips. “And why should I? He didn’t give my mother that courtesy.”

Kit put his hands up, showing Ambrose he meant nothing by it. “Hey. It’s your decision. Not mine. He’s your dad, not—” the words choked up before he could say them. Ambrose didn’t pry. He knew what Kit was going to say.

Ambrose stared for a moment longer before glancing up the stairs and nodding stiffly.

“Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat and started walking up again. “What floor is it?”

“The fifth,” he replied, starting up the stairs beside Ambrose. “Top floor. They don’t want anyone stumbling amongst the crazies.”

“Probably for the best,” Ambrose muttered. Kit had meant it as a joke, but, he didn’t disagree with Ambrose as they climbed the stairs. Thankful that their footsteps filled the silence he couldn’t in the lift. They knew something had happened when they got to the fifth floor.

Kit stepped in first, Ambrose craning his neck around the door into the hall. Kit breathed a sigh of relief. No police tape, no police, no anything. That meant there was nothing to worry about.

Kit smiled at Ambrose and slapped him on the back, walking towards the door to the locked ward. “See! You were irrational. Overthinking everything. Nothing’s insidious about Mentor. He was here the whole time.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because if he did somehow magically vanish, there would be police and Superheroes and politicians here to interrogate him about what happened.”

“And if they just moved him down to the station to do that?” Ambrose asked, raising his brows. Kit’s smile dimmed a little, but it remained on his face.

“Too much risk. Trust me. Everything will be fine.”

The door buzzed open after Kit waved to the camera and the pair stepped through. Kit walked his usual path to Mentor’s room, and only realised halfway there that Ambrose wasn’t following him anymore. He paused, looking over his shoulder for the villain, before turning after laying eyes on him.

Ambrose stood in the middle of the hall, his eyes blazing and his little finger twitching by his side. A muscle in his jaw clenched and tightened when he met Kit’s questioning eyes.

He swallowed. “This was a mistake.”

“No,” Kit said, coming to stand beside the Villain. “It wasn’t. He’s out of it most of the time anyways, Rosey. He probably won’t even recognise you.”

Black eyes flashed like two burning coals. “He’ll recognise me.”

Kit didn’t tell him that Mentor didn’t recognise Kit for months after his accident. Then again, he didn’t have to. Something smoothed out in Ambrose’s face as Kit remembered his first meeting with a stark raving mad Mentor, who screamed at Kit to get out and leave him be. Kit thought for a minute that Ambrose could see the memory, but quickly remembered that the ward was built of the same power dampening material as the supers-prison and power dampeners.

Ambrose swallowed. “Let’s get this over with,” he said through clenched teeth. This time Kit led the way beside Ambrose, and let Ambrose walk into the room first. Ambrose didn’t falter as he stepped through the door, black eyes settling on his father for the first time since he drove him insane.

Kit followed him in, leaning against the wall beside the door. Mentor was sitting in an armchair, gazing out the window when they arrived. He turned his head and locked eyes with Ambrose and didn’t even glance over at Kit.

The tension was palpable in the air, tied like a three-way noose over their throats as nobody dared breathe in the room.

“Oskar,” Mentor said softly. Kit’s eyes blew wide, glancing at Ambrose who stiffened at the mention of his name. Mentor recognised him? He— remembered Ambrose?

“Hello Father.”

Mentor grunted a huff of a laugh. Almost like a derisive scoff, but Kit had never heard Mentor make a sound like that. A sound so like— well, Ambrose. Kit didn’t dare move, but he had the sneaking suspicion that Mentor didn’t notice, or if he did, didn’t care, that was Kit was in the room too.

“Is that all you can say to me, boy?” Mentor demanded, his voice hard, like gravel grating against gravel.

Ambrose shrugged, but Kit noticed the tightness to his usual casual gesture. “I can say a whole lot more, but word on the street is you have trouble remembering things lately, old man.”

Mentor’s eyes were cutting. “I remember the important stuff.”

The words came like a sharp slap to Kit’s face, almost staggering him out of the room, but Kit didn’t move. He just stared, eyes burning at the man that helped shape him into who he was today. But this man he was staring at may as well have been an alien. This wasn’t Mentor. This was the cold father that Ambrose told Kit about. The man who looked like Mentor, but was a monster beneath skin.

“What are you doing here?” Mentor spat. “Have you come to take more from me, hmm? The breath from my lungs.”

“Well it would be a wasted trip if I didn’t take something from you,” Ambrose replied with the cold smile that Kit was so used to seeing.

What he wasn’t used to seeing was Ambrose flinching. Kit pressed off the wall, eyes wide as a cold, dark chuckle filled the room. An empty laugh that caused shivers to run down his spine and freeze him in place.

“You’re still good at talking, Oskar.” Black eyes met Kit’s across the room, aware that Kit had just seen him flinch at Mentor’s raised hand and it was like the world slowed down around him, his heartbeat rushing in his ears.

Then it was as if a switch flipped of indifference. Ambrose straightened, black eyes smiling as he faced his father again. He slipped one hand into his trouser pocket, shifting his weight to lean on one leg and shot Mentor a cold smile.

“You’re still good at being a piece of shit, only, now you’ve exposed yourself to a witness.”

Mentor’s eyes narrowed and he got to his feet, turning his body to face Ambrose. He had only just turned when his eyes found Kit’s frozen blue ones staring as if he were a deer in headlights.

Mentor’s expression shifted into something softer, something kind. “Kit my boy—”

Kit’s eyes burned, his nostrils flaring. “Don’t.”

“This is-” Mentor began, gesturing between himself and Ambrose. “Family issues. They go back a long while.”

“I don’t care about your explanation,” Kit told him, shaking his head.

Mentor’s hard eyes looked between Kit and Ambrose, scrutinising. “What are you even doing together? Aren’t you a strange pair.”

“Not at all,” Kit said before Ambrose could even open his mouth. Kit stood talk, feeling Ambrose’s black eyes slide over to him as he commanded the space. “He’s helping me on a case. A new Supervillain.”

Mentor scoffed, folding his arms over his toned chest. “Have you considered him?” He asked, nodding his head to Ambrose.

“I have,” Kit ground out through clenched teeth. “But it turns out this new Supervillain has telekinesis. You wouldn’t happen to have an alibi for last night, would you?”

Mentor’s mouth fell open. Even Ambrose raised a brow at the accusation in Kit’s hard voice. He had never seen him so angry. It was very entertaining to watch, especially when it was directed at his father.

“I was here,” Mentor said, spreading his hands in a helpless shrugging gesture. “Obviously.”

“Can anyone corroborate that story?” Kit demanded, spitting venom at his old Hero and Mentor. Mentor glanced between Ambrose and Kit, his expression tightening as some understanding flashed across his face.

He rubbed his temple with the palm of his hand, kneading it into the soft flesh, letting out a disbelieving huff. “I can’t believe this. You’re seriously trusting this man over me, Kit? You're like a son to me.”

“Clearly I wasn’t,” Kit practically yelled, but he didn’t shout. His voice was surprisingly level despite everything. “Or you would have told me you had an actual son.”

Mentor’s gaze was cutting. “Surely you know what he did to me,” Mentor said, his voice a quiet fury. “What he did to our family, to this city! He—”

“Is Omen,” Kit finished, his eyes flashing. Mentor took a step back as if he’d been hit. Kit didn’t stop there though. “Yeah. I know. And I know he’s not a liar. So do you have an alibi or not?”

Ambrose was quite happy to let Kit take lead on this interrogation. It was true, Ambrose wasn’t a liar. If he said he’d torture you, he would. If he told you he liked you, he did. If he said he was Omen, he was. Something Ambrose didn’t think Kit picked up on, but was happy by the turn of events all the same.

Mentor was halfway through stuttering out a reply when a Doctor walked into the room, a clipboard in hand and already speaking. “Mentor, how are we tod—” Doctor, sensing the tension looked up and smiled at his obvious intrusion. He put the clipboard under his arm and stood taller. “Ah. Sorry, Mentor. I didn’t know you had visitors. Ah, hello Kit.”

“Doctor,” Kit replied not taking his eyes off of Mentor. “Can you confirm Mentor was here last night?”

Doctor’s eyes went around the room before bouncing back to Kit. “Uh, yes. I mean, CCTV and the hospital logs can probably. I wasn’t on personally, but as Mentor’s doctor today I can tell you there was no anomalies last night.”

“Great. Thank you,” Kit said, nodding at Ambrose. “That’s all we needed to know, we’re leaving.”

“No, wait—” Mentor protested, but Ambrose was already talking to the Doctor and walking back out the door. Kit turned to do the same when a hand was on his wrist, stopping him from leaving. Kit glanced back over his shoulder to see Mentor clinging to him like a desperate, old man.

“Kit…” he said with shining eyes. “M’boy. Please, let me explain.”

“You lied to me,” Kit hissed, finally letting the hurt shine through his features. “You told me, you— you made me feel special.”

“You are special, Kit, and not just to me.”

“Was I only special to you because I was strong?” Kit asked. Mentor hesitated. Kit pulled his arm from Mentor’s grasp. “You never saw me as a son. You saw me as a tool that you could mould and use to further your great image. Superhero. Saviour. Good charitable man,” Kit spat, tears springing suddenly to his eyes. “He even rescues orphans, the übermensch. Mentor: The great man.”

“Kit—”

“You were everything to me,” Kit said, his bottom lip trembling. “My only normal in the world. My family. My father. I worshipped you, and you used me!”

“Kit, please. Let me explain.” Mentor said again, pawing at Kit’s jacket. Kit recoiled, shrugging his hands from his shoulders.

“You have two minutes before I’m walking out that door.”

“In the beginning, yes, I wanted to be close to you because I saw your potential. Nobody else in that academy ever came close to you. You were extraordinary. I wanted a sidekick when I walked through those doors on the day of your exams, and instead I found a second chance.”

Tears streamed continuously from Kit’s red rimmed eyes as he listened, occasionally wiping them on the cuff of his sleeve.

“I found a son in you, and from that day onwards I decided that I wanted to help you. To give you the start in life that you deserved, not the one you were given. I patrolled the Rookery looking for you every night because one of the other kids told me you slept rough on the streets. I wanted to offer you kindness, and you had such hard eyes. It was weeks before I ever saw you smile, and when I did, m’boy, I swear the heavens themselves opened.”

Kit sniffed, his breath catching in his throat, taking in fretful breaths once he saw the glisten in Mentor’s eyes, and the tears welling up behind them.

“I never wanted to use you as some piece of equipment to further my image. I wanted to make sure you had bread, and safe water to drink. I wanted to give you a home.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me you had a son?” Kit asked, barely above a whisper. “Why… why- why didn’t you tell me you had a family? I would’ve understood.”

Mentor shook his head. “I had already left them at that time, Kit, and I was too ashamed to tell you. To tell you that I fucked up my last family. How could I tell you that? A child yourself when I was trying to gain your trust so I could help you, and the way you looked at me…”

The pair of them stared at each other, tears streaming down their faces the longer they spoke. “You saw something in me that I hadn’t seen in years, and it made me feel special, Kit. It made me want to be the better man you thought I was. To change, for the better, for you. For us. I thought it was my second chance when I met you, and I can tell you now for certain, it was.”

Kit looked away, afraid he might collapse if had to listen to any more of this. Mentor touched a hand to his cheek, thumbing away the tears, drawing Kit’s attention back to Mentor.

“Just please,” he blubbered. “Please say you don’t hate me. I will fall to my knees and beg for your forgiveness, Kit. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please.”

Kit didn’t say anything. He just stepped in and hugged his old man, wrapping his arms tight around him and holding him up when Mentor sobbed harder into Kit’s jumper.

“I’m sorry,” Mentor cried into Kit’s jumper, muffling the sound. “I’m so sorry. I love you, I’m so sorry.”

Kit held him tighter, trying to compose himself but there was nothing to be done except wait it out. Ambrose stood outside the door, leaning against the wall to his father’s room, downcast eyes staring unseeing at the clinically clean floor in front of him.

Kit stepped out after a few minutes, his tears dried but the red rimmed eyes gave him away. Ambrose stood, face impassive as he took a deep breath. “You good to go?” He asked.

Kit nodded dumbly. They walked to the exit of the ward, but Doctor shouted from down the hall and the pair turned. “Oh good, I caught you before you left. Here. I’ll walk you out.”

Doctor quickly caught up to them, half-jogging towards them with a self-deprecating smile. “Sorry. Shall we talk outside?”

Kit glanced at Ambrose before nodding. Doctor fell into step with them, flashing his keycard on the control panel and the doors to the locked ward opened with a beep. He pushed through them and held it open for Kit and Ambrose to walk out. They stood just outside the ward, Kit tilting his head at Doctor.

Doctor smiled at the pair, a handsome smile. He was a little older than Ambrose, his eyes crinkled at the edges when his smiled. His tan skin contrasted against Ambrose’s paleness to a stark degree that Kit would’ve laughed if he didn’t feel so drained.

Kind green eyes found Kit’s. “I double-checked the log’s after you asked about Mentor’s whereabouts last night,” he said. “He was here all night, I can confirm with 100% certainty.”

“Okay, thank you Doctor.” Kit said nodding.

A copycat? Ambrose said in Kit’s mind. Kit glanced at him, but Ambrose was still looking at Doctor.

Maybe. Or maybe another telekinetic… Kit thought, pushing it towards Ambrose.

“Well,” Doctor said, clapping his hands together. “I hope that is everything you need?”

“Yes, Doctor, thank you for confirming the alibi,” Kit said. Kit reached his hand out which Doctor took and shook it. Doctor turned to Ambrose as well, offering his hand which Doctor took with a smile.

“Nice meeting you.”

“Thank you Doctor,” Ambrose said coolly before withdrawing his hand and stepping away. The pair walked down the stairs, hearing the buzzer of the ward door open and close again.

“What now?” Ambrose asked. Kit ran his hands through his hair, letting out a sigh.

“I don’t know. I need to get my phone from my apartment, just to see if anyone’s been trying to call.”

“Right. Of course.” Ambrose said as they walked to the car. Sensing the stiffness in Ambrose’s body language, Kit kept quiet, not wanting to poke the bear, but feeling too bad to just remain silent and not say anything.

They got into the Wraith in silence. It was only when Ambrose turned the key in the ignition that he broke the silence. “It’s not your fault, Kit.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Ambrose turned his head to look Kit head on. The expression on his face would’ve floored Kit had he been standing up.

Ambrose’s eyes were like two rainbows, his eyebrows drawn low over them, his lips were curled up on his face, exposing his smile lines that usually looked so annoyed.

Was Ambrose smiling?

When Kit wasn’t even covered in blood or bruises or struggling to breathe?

“Really, Kit. It’s okay. I don’t have any ill will towards you. Just think of it like, we both had one good parent and leave it there. Okay?”

Kit nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. Ambrose’s face went back to neutral and Kit felt like he could breathe.

Then his eyes narrowed as they pulled out of the parking lot. “What?”

“I just—”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I don’t think you should smile, Rosey. It doesn’t suit you.”

Ambrose almost hit the roof. “What?! My smile is charming.”

“I feared for my life. It is mortally terrifying. Do you smile at babies like that?”

“Babies love me,” Ambrose hissed.

Kit laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Actually can you drop me off at a therapist before we go back to my—”

“Oh yeah yeah,” Ambrose grumbled, turning the indicator on and taking off onto the main road. “Laugh it up.”

Kit did, and he felt good after it. The laugh smoothed everything out in his chest, unwinding the tension that weighed heavy on it and for a little, fleeting moment, he felt lighter than he had in a while. Ambrose turned the radio on.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie e @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer r @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie

[mintflavouredwhump]

An eldest child whumpee who is always forced to be the 'role model' of their younger siblings while bearing the brunt of their parents' anger and expectations.