#prompt: bedside vigil

[serickswrites]

When in Rome

Warnings: capture, public humiliation, torture, restraints, whipping, blood, unconsciousness, bedside vigil, defiant whumpee

"I can be a kind and benevolent ruler," Whumper said as they circled their captives. "I think you will find I am a much better ruler than your former monarch."

Caretaker hated listening to this. Hated that they were all in chains while Whumper and their traitorous band walked free. But worst of all, they hated watching Whumpee struggle in the chains that had been thrown on all of them.

"The only thing you are capable of is evil," Whumpee hissed.

"You could give me a chance, Whumpee. If you give me a chance, if you bow, the others will follow suit. So many subjects have already pledged their loyalty."

"I'd rather die." Whumpee thrust their chin out.

"Whumpee, you were your former ruler's most trusted warrior. If you bend knee, needless violence will be avoided. Surrender and pledge fealty or you shall suffer greatly." Whumper's kind, gentle tone began to fray. Their true nature slowly eating away at the facade that Caretaker knew they were putting up.

"Death first!"

"That can be arranged." Whumper said with a sigh. "Tie them to the pole in front of the castle," they ordered one of their minions. "And take the others with you. I want everyone to see what happens when you do not conform to my law and order. What happens if you defy me."

Whumpee struggled valiantly against the many hands that grabbed them. Caretaker tried on their part, too. But it was to no avail. Whumper had too many followers at hand to fight. The rest of their squad was hauled along with them to the castle square.

"Whumpee, Whumpee, whatever they are planning is far worse than surrendering," Caretaker tried to reason with Whumpee. They could not stand to watch Whumper butcher Whumpee.

Whumpee shook their head, drawing themself up to their full height, head held proud. "If we give in we are complacent with whatever atrocities Whumper commits. The people need to see that some one is willing to stand up in the face of evil."

"You will be killed, Whumpee. Please," Caretaker tried again.

"Then that is the price I pay. I will not bend knee to evil. I will stand strong. Perhaps my death will be what one person needs to realize they must fight. That they can fight."

Caretaker opened their mouth to reply, but Whumpee was pulled away as the group reached the central square. A tall post had been erected in the center atop a tall dais. Whumpee was hauled roughly up the steps and chained with their arms above their head, back to the crowd.

"Citizens, gather round," Whumper said as they climbed the steps of the dais, "and see what it means to refuse me." Whumper held a whip in their hand. Caretaker's mouth went dry.

"I am a benevolent ruler," Whumper said as a hush fell over the crowd, "and I will give you one more chance, Whumpee. Swear fealty and you will be spared."

"I will never bow to you. No matter how much you hurt me, I will never bow before you." Whumpee spat at Whumper, their contempt and intentions clear.

"So be it, then. We will start with ten lashes and see how you feel." Whumper raised their arm and brought the whip down across Whumpee's back. Whumpee's skin split and flowed from the wound.

But they did not cry out.

With each crack of the whip, Caretaker flinched. With each crack of the whip the fearful faces of the crowd became more apparent. And with each crack of the whip, Whumpee's blood flowed, but they did not cry out.

After the tenth crack, Whumper stopped. "Anything you wish to say, Whumpee?"

"Fuck you," Whumpee said weakly.

With a growl, Whumper raised the whip again. "Such insolence shall not be tolerated."

Caretaker lost count of how many times Whumper brought the whip down. They lost count of how long Whumper whipped Whumpee after Whumpee went limp in the chains as they slipped into unconsciousness. They lost count of how many times they begged for Whumpee's life. Because they could only see Whumpee's limp, bloody body slumped over at the whipping post.

"Throw them in the dungeon with the rest of their squad. Offer them no aid. See if that's enough to change their mind," Whumper said when they finally grew tired of whipping Whumpee.

Caretaker didn't fight as they were dragged to the castle's dungeon. They watched in horror as two men grabbed Whumpee by the arms and roughly dragged them along to the dungeon. Whumpee didn't so much as groan or raise their head as they were dragged along.

"Whumpee, please, say something," Caretaker said as they were all tossed in the dungeon.

Whumpee had landed in a heap and hadn't made a sound. "Whumpee, please," Caretaker tried again. They weren't sure where they could touch Whumpee without causing further injury. They lowered themself to the ground next to Whumpee.

Whumpee's eyes were closed, but they were alive. Caretaker could hear their short, pained breaths as they got close to Whumpee. "Someone bring me some water from that bucket." Caretaker ordered. "We need to clean their wounds."

Whumpee didn't wake the whole time the squad cleaned and dressed their wounds. They didn't wake as the squad tried to lay them in a comfortable position gently. And they didn't wake as Caretaker stroked their face and murmured soft words to them.

Caretaker sat in the dark dungeon hoping Whumpee would wake soon. They stroked Whumpee's sweat soaked hair. "Please, Whumpee. Don't do this. Please, just wake up. We can come up with a plan. Please, Whumpee. Don't make us watch you die, too."

But still, Whumpee did not wake.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

[improvidus]

(@macgyverbingo)

[hummingbird-of-light]

Round 2: Fourteenth story for @badthingshappenbingo ~

Title: A Father's Nightmare

Fandom: Star Trek (AOS)

Character(s): Robert "Robbie" Scott, Chris Scott, Leah McCoy

Relationship(s): Robert "Robbie" Scott & Chris Scott, Robert "Robbie" Scott/Leah McCoy

Rating: T

Words: 717

Prompt: Bedside Vigil

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Injury, Coma

(You can also find this story on AO3)

~ A Father's Nightmare ~

"Oh, Chris..."

Fresh tears streamed down Robert "Robbie" Scott's face as he gently squeezed his son's hand.

He had spent several hours just sitting next to the young man's hospital bed, hoping for him to finally open his eyes. But there was still no sign of it going to happen.

Chris had fallen into a coma. There had been an accident at work, leaving him with a terrible head injury. When the ambulance had arrived at the hospital, chances had been very high that he wouldn't make it, but the doctors and nurses had done everything in their power and had managed to stabilize him.

Robbie closed his eyes, wiping away the tears with his wrist, and let out a deep sigh. It was every parent's worst nightmare to lose their child and he had been so close to it becoming his reality. A reality he wouldn't be able to live in. And the danger wasn't over yet.

Silently, Robbie listened to the steady beeping of the monitors, showing him that Chris was still alive and breathing. If the pace would change only the slightest bit, he was ready to call for a doctor. He wouldn't leave his wee lad alone.

"Robbie?"

A soft voice coming from the door caught the Scotsman's attention and he opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder to see who had stepped into the room.

A weak smile pulled at the corner of his lips. Of course it could only be one person.

"Leah..."

The nurse was standing in the doorway, two cups in her hands. She gave her boyfriend a sympathetic look as she made her way over to the free chair next to him and sat down.

"Here. I thought that you could use a cup of tea."

She carefully handed Robbie one of the cups and he took it from her with a grateful nod.

"Aye. Thanks, mo chridhe."

His eyes wandered back to his unconcious son and the smile he had given Leah quickly faded.

"I still cannae believe it," he whispered, new tears filling his eyes. He looked towards the ceiling, trying to blink them away.

"I know, Robbie. I can't even imagine how hard this is for you, but... I'm here for you."

Leah grabbed his arm and gave it a squeeze, hoping to somehow be able to spend her love some comfort.

And she would never understand just how much it really meant to Robbie to have her at his side. She was the light he had searched for for so long. She was everything he could have hoped to find after his first wife had left him and Chris behind. Even though it had taken years for them to meet, he was so grateful to have her at his side these days.

And therefore he could be honest with her.

"I'm," his voice broke and he had to clear his throat to start again. "I'm so scared, Leah."

His voice was trembling and he kept his eyes fixed on Chris as he spoke out the truth.

"I'm so scared that I'll lose him. I'm scared that he'll never open his eyes again. The thought of never hearing his voice again, never getting a chance to talk him again, scares me to death."

His rambling went on and on and only when Leah's arms wrapped around him did the Scotsman finally stop talking.

"Shh, I know. I know that this is scary for you. I can see how much it hurts you. But you can't give up hope, sweetie. Chris needs you. He needs you to talk to him and tell him that everything's going to be just fine. He needs you to tell him that he has to be a fighter."

Robbie's eyes stared at his son's face as he listened to all the things Leah told him. She was right. His boy needed him. He needed a strong father who was only hoping for the best possible outcome of the situation.

"He... he will make it. Ye'll make it, Chris."

Chris Scott would open his eyes. Maybe it would take hours or days, but Robbie was sure that his son would wake up. And he'd be there when it happened. Just like Leah would. Her light would shine for both of them.

[alpaca-clouds]

Winter Whumperland Day 12: His Weakness

Alright, the last story for @amonthofwhump Winter Whumperland comes in with the prompt Bedside Vigil. This time it is actually on the almost sweet side, given that it is just Astarion being very uncertain how to deal with something as human as a flu. :P

His Weakness

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Shipping: Astarion/m!Tav Genre: Hurt/Comfort

As Tav comes down with a bad cold, Astarion does not know how to care for him.

[whumpypepsigal]

@whumpgifathon | Day 29 (alt. prompt): “Bedside Vigil”

Fox Mulder in The X Files 2x25

[chiharuuu22]

After experiencing so much tension, it seemed like Caretaker was still not allowed to breathe a sigh of relief. Seeing Whumpee thrash around in a semi-conscious state was even more painful than seeing Whumpee not moving at all.

Several times a day, Whumpee will moan in pain (or perhaps anger), cry, or try to remove the medical equipment on his body. Sometimes, Whumpee just stared blankly at the roof.

Caretaker always tries to be near Whumpee, holding Whumpee's thin hands tied to the bed, stroking his head gently and carefully, and speaking in a soothing tone.

Until one day, Whumpee looked at Caretaker and called her in a shaky and stuttering voice. At that moment, Caretaker knew that Whumpee was one step towards recovery.

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1381

Whumptober #31: Making Amends

The whumpee leaving their apology in a note before they go on The Mission they’ll likely not come back from. 

The caretaker apologizes to the whumpee as they’re bleeding out in their arms. 

Versus: the whumpee desperately trying to apologise as they bleed out in the caretakers arms. Bonus points if they’re spitting blood. 

The caretaker waits anxiously over the unconscious whumpee to wake up so they can apologise. The whumpee barely opens their eyes before the caretaker is blurting out “I’m sorry.”

The whumpee barely opens their eyes before they say “I’m sorry”

Better still: the whumpee and caretaker apologizing at the same time, as soon as they see each other.

The apology coming before a character betrays another.

The apology coming AFTER the character goes through with the betrayal in order to save the team.

And for comfort: The whumpee not buying the apologies as the caretaker cleans their wounds, but they're easily appeased by the promise of dinner.

[marvel-ous-whump]

Imagine; A whumpee who's been pretty sick for a few days, and Caretaker's barely/hasn't slept. too preoccupied watching over whumpee and nursing them.

Finally, when the fever breaks and whumpee's semi-coherent for the first time in a while. they notice the bags under an exhausted Caretaker's bloodshot eyes. "would...would you mind cuddling me?" Whumpee asks, voice hoarse and thick with fatigue, "M'cold."

of course, Caretaker obliges, yet still fights to stay awake. Whumpee needs them. "You can take a nap if you wanna," whumpee says, getting as close to caretaker as they can "I know 'm gonna." "But, whumpee, what if..." Caretaker starts but whumpee interrupts them.

"Caretaker, I'm alright now. you don't have anything to worry about. just try to sleep a bit." "Promise you'll wake me if you need something?" Caretaker asks, their words already starting to slur drowsily. "Promise."

And with that, both Caretaker and Whumpee slip into the first truly restful sleep that either of them had had in days.

[just-here-for-the-whump]

@whumpgifathon | Day 6 Alt prompt: Bedside Vigil

Magnum P.I. 7x21 Limbo

[weirdstrangeandawful]

TW: psychosis

A stands in the doorway. A bittersweet smile graces their face but their eyes show their grief. The outline of B's sleeping form rises and falls with their breaths.

They remind themself that at least B still knows them... that's a miracle under the circumstances. They just wish B could realise that they're more than fiction.

But of course that's too much to ask.

[firstelevens]

27 for the miss swift lyrics post❣️ (not sure if you were looking for ship/character prompts but sambucky if you wanted something romancey, sam + his family if not!)

(Note: Content warning for descriptions of canon-typical violence but nothing too graphic.)

27. I've read all the books beside your bed.

The thing about being Captain America, Sam has come to understand, is that you never really stop being Captain America. He doesn’t get to put down the title with the shield and wings. It follows him to the grocery store, to baseball games, through airport security and every conversation with a stranger. More often than he admits, it’s heavy on his shoulders, an almost-smothering weight that he can’t shake off.

Today, he wraps himself in the banner like a blanket. He can hear himself speaking in even, firm tones to the government officials and doctors who come by. He feels a to-do list forming in his head, prioritized and with sub-categories for the work he needs to delegate. There are important phone calls to make, to the Avengers compound and to Sarah and to the nearest Wakandan Outreach Center. He does it all exactly the way he’s supposed to, with all the gravitas and reassurance that Captain America brings to a frightening situation.

It lasts until Bucky is out of surgery: a grave-faced doctor tells Sam that all they can do now is wait, and he feels it start to unravel.

It’s Joaquín who steers him to the recovery room. There’s a faint pounding in Sam’s head, but he’s present enough to take the bag that’s being held out to him and follow the suggestion to clean himself up a little. He’s got his head halfway through a very familiar t-shirt when he finally realizes that Torres must have gone out of his way to stop at Sam and Bucky’s place before coming back here, and the rush of gratitude is overwhelming.

When he finishes changing, Joaquín is waiting to take the suit. “Shuri says she’ll run remote diagnostics on everything and get it all fixed up before you’re in the field again,” he says.

Part of Sam bristles. He wants to point out that it’s less about fixing things and more about getting rid of bloodstains, but he knows they both mean well. “I appreciate it,” he says, nodding. “But it’s late, and all that can wait until tomorrow. Go home and get some sleep, man.”

It looks for a second like he might argue, but then Torres just pulls the overnight bag towards him and takes out a stack of books, setting them down beside Sam’s phone. “I figured Bucky would want something to read when wakes up,” he says. “Might give you something to do while you wait.”

Somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind, he registers that everyone he’s spoken to today has readily accepted that he’ll be staying with Bucky. He might stop to think about what that means, if he didn’t already have a hundred other things to worry about.

Instead, Sam brushes his fingers along the spines of the books. One of them has a wrapped piece of gum sticking out from between its pages, and he feels a smile ghost across his face. 

Bucky’s frequent bookstore and library visits mean that he’s absolutely rolling in bookmarks, but he only ever seems to use improvised ones. Sam is constantly giving him a hard time about it–Bucky once used his phone and then couldn’t find it for two days, sandwiched as it was in the middle of The Way of Kings–but now the sight makes something ache in his chest, tight and sharp like he can’t breathe.

Sam thanks Torres again, promising to text if he needs anything or if Bucky’s situation changes. As the door closes, he leaves the books where they are and grabs his phone to dial Dr. Cho’s number again.

—

By two in the morning, there’s nothing left for Sam to do and no one left for him to call.

Before, people had been coming and going nonstop. There had been nurses and doctors to talk to, questions to answer about painkillers and supersoldier metabolisms and accelerated healing rates. Sam had filled out paperwork between consulting with the medical teams; he’d called Sarah to update her and assured the on-call Avengers that they didn’t need to come by the hospital and relieve him. He’d even made himself eat a protein bar, although the ones that Torres had grabbed from their kitchen were Bucky’s ridiculous peanut-butter-chocolate-brownie bars instead of the almond and quinoa ones that Sam favored.

Now it’s quiet, visiting hours long past over and the overnight crew busy with other patients. SWORD agents had originally been posted at the door, but Sam asked them to keep an eye out from the end of the hallway instead. It’s just Bucky and Sam now, but that doesn’t make things better, either.

Sam is restless, but he doesn’t want to get up and walk away. He’s exhausted, but he can’t sleep. He wants Bucky to be safe and whole and unburdened, but he also kind of wants to have a shouting match with him, because what kind of fucking moron decides to play the distraction and draw fire when the gunmen have armor piercing rounds?

“You’re a fucking moron,” he says to a still-unconscious Bucky, just to hear the words out loud. It’s probably undercut by how Sam can’t stop staring at him, searching for some sign that that supersoldier healing is already at work.

If it’s there, he doesn’t find it. Bucky looks the same as he did when he came out of surgery hours ago. His breathing is steady, at least, but he’s still all scraped up and bruised from the fight, his knuckles still split from punching the helmet off of one of the mercenaries they’d taken on.

He’s just so pale like this, and Sam can’t stop thinking about how much he bled, lying there on the asphalt as the fight raged around him.

He’d still been conscious when Sam got to him. Bucky had gotten one look at Sam’s stricken face and asked whether Sam had gotten hurt, like he wasn’t the one on the ground, glassy-eyed and bleeding out.

Sam had tried to keep pressure on the wound, but there hadn’t seemed to be any way to stop the blood. All he could do was kneel on the ground beside his partner, hands pressed to Bucky’s abdomen, and listen to backup arrive too late to be of any use.

It’s all Sam can hear or see now, under the quiet hum of the machines and the low light of the room: red on his hands and the sounds of the ongoing fight and then Bucky, weakly patting Sam’s leg and insisting that he was fine, even as the blood loss made his words slur and his breathing go shallow.

When he snatches the first book off of the stack, it’s just out of desperation for some kind of distraction, anything to stop him from replaying those moments again.

At first, he can’t bring himself to focus at all. He keeps glancing up at Bucky every few sentences, like looking away will finally be the thing that makes him wake up. It just makes him more anxious, so he makes a deal with himself: if he makes it to the end of the book and it looks like Bucky still hasn’t healed up, he can make a fuss about it and wake up Bruce and Dr. Cho and anyone else who might know what’s going on. Until then, he’ll just have to wait.

The book he picked up, Binti, turns out to not be very long at all. By the time Sam has finished reading it, he tamps down the hope in his gut and looks over at Bucky.

It takes a moment to see, but then he realizes that the cuts on Bucky’s knuckles have healed over. They’re still a little pink, but much better than they were before. He’ll take it, he decides.

Somewhere in the center of his chest, he feels a knot start to unwind. It’s been anchored there since he knelt by Bucky’s side to stop the bleeding, impossible to ignore, but once it eases a little, it’s like someone adjusted the focus of his vision. He can suddenly see all the signs that he’d missed out on before: the shrapnel cuts on Bucky’s forearm and temple are mostly gone, his pallor a little less dealthy than it had been when they wheeled him in. There had been bruising by his collarbone a few hours ago, but it’s faded now.

It had been a stupid plan, just an idea to pull him out of his head for a minute, but some part of Sam can’t help but think that it worked: he let himself look away, and Bucky got a little bit better.

That’s not why he pulls the next book off of the stack, but it’s not exactly a deterrent, either. 

—

By the end of The Deep, all of Bucky’s bruises have faded.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane is so compelling that Sam almost forgets where he is, except that he has a hand resting atop Bucky’s and it seems to keep him anchored. It’s only when his palm starts to get sweaty that Sam realizes the color has come back to Bucky’s face.

He has to stop reading This Is How You Lose the Time War because it breaks his heart in a way he’s not ready to name yet, but when Sam marks his place–with a coffee punch card, which Bucky will inevitably laugh at him for later–he glances up to find that the last of the shrapnel cuts has healed.

Just that is plenty, as far as Sam’s concerned. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a slow exhale, rolling his shoulders after being hunched over for so long and feeling them loosen for the first time in hours.

Exhausted as he is, he’s completely unprepared a half-second later, when Bucky’s hand twitches against Sam’s before curling around his fingers. His eyes go wide, his gaze flicking up to Bucky’s face to find him still asleep. There’s the smallest swoop of disappointment, but it’s immediately swept away by relief.

“I’m here,” Sam murmurs, giving Bucky’s hand the gentlest squeeze back. “You’re still a moron, but I’m here.”

He falls asleep with A Wizard of Earthsea slack in his grip, only a few chapters in.

He wakes up with a crick in his neck and a warm hand covering one of his own.

[serickswrites]

Always on my Mind

Warnings: collapse, stab wound, blood, bleeding out, unconsciousness, hospital, bedside vigil

"You're always on my mind," Team Leader said as they sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair. "I can't stop thinking about what I did and didn't do. And what you did and didn't do."

They took Smallest Teammate's hand in theirs, their fingers curling around Smallest Teammate's icy ones. "I just wish I had noticed you. I wished I had seen what had happened. I wish I had done something. Why didn't you say anything?"

Team Leader's guilt was all consuming. They hadn't noticed Whumper stab Smallest Teammate in the back. Hadn't noticed that Smallest Teammate was missing until after Whumper had been stopped. Hadn't noticed Smallest Teammate--the loudest member of their team--was unusually quiet.

"A job well done, don't you think?" Team Leader said as they sidled up next to Smallest Teammate.

"Yeah," Smallest Teammate had replied softly.

"Cheer up, Smallest Teammate. I'm sure there will be more bad guys for us to go after when we get back," Team Leader said as they clapped Smallest Teammate on the shoulder.

Smallest Teammate didn't reply as their knees buckled. "Smallest Teammate?" Team Leader grabbed Smallest Teammate by their collar, holding them up. Smallest Teammate's head lolled on their neck as they went completely limp. "What in the--HELP!" Team Leader roared as they saw Smallest Teammate's shirt was coated with blood. "HELP!" They shouted as they put pressure on the stab wound on Smallest Teammate's back.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Team Leader said as they tried to shake the memories of trying to wake Smallest Teammate. Of trying to keep Smallest Teammate's blood in their body. Of carrying Smallest Teammate out of the compound. They had been certain that Smallest Teammate was dead. That they were carrying Smallest Teammate's corpse out of there.

But Smallest Teammate was still alive. And had stayed alive. "I am so sorry I didn't notice. I...I failed you as your team leader. Please, Smallest Teammate, wake up. So you can forgive me. Please."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

[zoethehead]

I'm definitely seeing this prompt with Declan as the whumpee, and Zachariah as the caretaker.

As for the time frame, it's a short while after Declan loses his wings

When the whumpee wakes up in bed after getting badly hurt, and they almost immediately try to get up, but the caretaker puts a hand on their shoulder and holds them down, telling them to take it easy and not move so much yet. The whumpee trying to insist that they’re fine and they can get up, only to realize that while they normally were much stronger than the caretaker, the caretaker was managing to easily hold them down, and that maybe they weren’t as alright as they thought.

[queenofwands89]

The Storm Within (Part Two)  Tyler Owens x fem!reader

Part 1

Summary: Following the events of the first part, a severely injured Y/N lies in a coma while a heartbroken Tyler waits by her side, wondering if she will ever wake up.

Warnings: Hospital, Reader is in a coma, Fluff, Sad Tyler, Slightly angsty.                                              

Notes: I didn't expect so many people to read the first part, let alone want a second, so thank you—it means a lot. I rushed to write this to avoid making you wait any longer, lol. I'm currently accepting writing prompts for Jake Seresin, Tyler Owens, and Glen Powell.

Enjoy byeeee!

Two weeks have slipped by in a blur of sterile hospital corridors and the endless hum of medical machines. Each passing day is a battle against time, unrelenting in its indifference, and Tyler's world has shrunk to the confines of your hospital room.

Tyler sits by your side, his eyes heavy with exhaustion but refusing to close. He's lost count of the hours he's spent watching the rise and fall of your chest, willing you to wake up. The constant beeping of the heart monitor and the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator are his only companions.

The rest of the storm-chasing team visits regularly, each holding onto hope in their own way. Boone leaves a fresh bouquet of wildflowers on the bedside table every other day, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the clinical white of the room. Dani brings her laptop, working quietly in the corner, refusing to leave until Tyler is forced to rest. Dexter makes sure Tyler eats, even if it means feeding him himself. And Lilly, with her unwavering optimism, often slips into the chair opposite Tyler, regaling him with stories and laughs to keep the darkness at bay.

One evening, as the crimson hues of the setting sun penetrate the blinds, Tyler is gently persuaded by Lilly to step outside the room, if only for a few minutes. The fresh air at the hospital's small garden is a reprieve he didn’t know he needed. He takes deep breaths, trying to shake off the weight that's settled on his shoulders.

As he walks back towards your room, he overhears a hushed conversation between two nurses. "It's been two weeks, and she's still fighting. It's remarkable," he hears one of them say. A glimmer of hope ignites in his chest. You're a fighter; you always have been.

Pushing open the door to your room, Tyler's heart skips a beat. One of the doctors, Dr. Emerson, is standing by your bed, reviewing the latest results. Tyler rushes in, anxiety and hope warring on his face.

"Any changes, Doc?" Tyler asks, his voice barely a whisper.

Dr. Emerson turns to him, a small, comforting smile on her face. "Her vitals are steadily improving. The brain activity shows promising signs. She's still in a coma, but these are good indicators. It’s just a matter of time."

With those reassuring words, Dr. Emerson gives Tyler a gentle nod before turning to leave the room, the other doctor following closely behind. The soft click of the closing door lingers in the air, marking the transition from clinical observation to personal vigil.

Tyler takes his seat beside you, gently holding your hand. "Hey, beautiful," he begins, his voice soft but steady. "I know you can hear me. I thought I'd share some stories, like old times."

He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "Remember the first storm we chased together? God, we were terrified but so exhilarated," he chuckles. "The sky was this angry shade of gray, and the wind was howling like it was possessed. We had no idea what we were doing, but we felt invincible."

Tyler's eyes glisten with unshed tears as he continues. "You kept yelling at me to keep the camera steady while you took notes. I think I was too busy being amazed by how fearless you were. The tornado touched down so close, and we got caught in the downdraft. But you... you never lost your cool. You guided us out of there like it was just another day at the office."

He squeezes your hand gently, hoping for any sign of acknowledgment. "Then there was that time in Kansas. Do you remember? We were staying at that run-down motel, and the power went out during the middle of the night. We ended up sitting in the car, wrapped in blankets, watching the lightning storm. You said it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. I couldn't take my eyes off you."

The corners of Tyler's lips lift into a sad smile as he recounts more memories. "You were always the brave one, Y/N. Like that time we drove into the eye of the storm. Literally. Everyone told us it was too dangerous, but you convinced us, and we did it. And I'll never forget the look on your face when we made it out in one piece."

A silence hangs in the air for a moment, the only sounds coming from the steady beeps and hums of the medical equipment.

"I'm not gonna lie, Y/N. These past two weeks have been the hardest of my life. Seeing you like this... it's killing me. But I know you're fighting. You always do," Tyler says, voice cracking with emotion.

Tyler leans closer, his head resting on the side of your bed. He speaks softly, almost to himself. "You know, Dani was telling me about how you kept her sane during her first storm chase. She said she wouldn't have made it if it weren't for you. And Boone, he's a mess without you bossing him around. Dexter too. None of us are the same without you."

He looks at your serene face, a fresh wave of determination washing over him. "But we all believe in you. We know you're coming back to us. And when you do, we'll be ready with stories and laughs and everything that's been missing."

As the sun sets outside, casting a warm glow over the room, Tyler continues to talk. He recounts every little detail of your adventures together, from the funniest moments to the most heart-stopping ones, painting a vivid picture with his words.

The world is a foggy blur as consciousness slowly begins to seep back into your mind. The silence in the room is broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the medical machines. Your eyelids feel heavy as you struggle to open them, a sense of disorientation clouding your thoughts.

As your eyes finally flutter open, the dim light of the room gradually sharpens into focus. The first thing you see is Tyler, slumped in the chair beside your hospital bed. His hand grips yours tightly, as if even in sleep, he cannot let go. His face is etched with lines of stress and fatigue, evidence of the nights he has spent by your side.

For a few moments, you simply watch him. Even in his exhausted state, there’s an undeniable tenderness in the way he holds your hand. You notice the dark circles under his eyes, the stubble that has grown from days of neglecting himself. Deep down, an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love wells up within you. You realize now more than ever just how much he means to you.

Gradually, you muster the strength to give his hand a weak squeeze, something to pull him from the depths of his weariness. His eyes flutter open slowly, confusion briefly crossing his features before they lock onto yours. Instantly, his face transforms—a mix of shock, awe, and profound relief.

"Y/N..." he breathes, his voice shaky and filled with emotion. Tears pool in his eyes, and you can see him fighting to hold them back, but it’s a losing battle. As the realization washes over him, that you’re finally awake, his tears begin to fall freely. "You’re... you’re awake. Thank God, you’re awake."

A lump forms in your throat, making it hard to speak, but you manage a small smile. "Tyler," you rasp, the single word carrying all the emotions you can't yet express.

He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing fervent kisses to your knuckles. "I love you, Y/N. I love you so much," he chokes out, his voice breaking with raw emotion. "I thought... I thought I’d lost you. I’m so sorry, Y/N. For everything. For the things I said. I was scared and I handled it all wrong."

You can feel the wetness of his tears on your hand, and it breaks your heart to see him in such pain. Gathering what strength you can, you shake your head slightly. "No, Tyler. We both did things we regret. I pushed you away when I should have let you in. But we can’t change the past. We can only move forward."

He nods, his teary eyes never leaving yours. "We’ll fix this. Together," he vows, his voice filled with a newfound determination.

Your smile grows a bit stronger, as you grip his hand with a bit more strength. "Together," you echo, the word binding the two of you in a promise of unity and hope.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," Tyler repeats fervently, his tears now mingling with a relieved laugh.

You can't help but let out a light giggle, the sound so sweet to Tyler’s ears. "I love you, I love you, I love you," you reply, your heart feeling lighter for the first time in a long while.

Tyler chuckles softly, his expression softening as he looks at you. "I think the doctors are going to start charging me rent for how long I've been here."

You laugh weakly, the sound like music to his ears. "Well, as long as you don't start claiming squatter's rights. We might have to evict you."

His laughter mingles with yours, the room now filled with a warmth and happiness that seemed impossible just moments ago. "Deal. I'll leave when you do," he declares, his voice brimming with love and commitment.

The path to recovery will undoubtedly be long and arduous, but for now, the hardest part is over. The heavy cloud of uncertainty has lifted, replaced by a glimmering beacon of hope. The room, once cold and sterile, now feels warm, filled with the palpable power of your mutual love and commitment.

As the rhythmic beeping of the machines continues to fill the background, you and Tyler share a moment of silent understanding, knowing that whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them hand in hand. "I love you," he whispers once more, the promise of these words a soothing balm to your soul.

"I love you," you whisper back, sealing the bond that will carry you through the days to come.

[xiaq]

Part 1 Here

Prompts combined for Pt. 2 are : Outsider POV, Steve Harrington is an idiot (affectionate), Wayne Finds Out, and Everyone is Queer Because I Said So.

Wayne Munson knows he’s not the best parental figure. He never liked kids. Never wanted kids. And he nearly said no when the social worker called asking if he wanted to take guardianship of his thirteen-year-old nephew. Because surely there was someone better suited. Except then the social worker told him why Eddie had been removed from his father’s care. About the magazines Eddie’s father had found in Eddie’s backpack that preceded him kicking Eddie out. About the fights Eddie had been getting into at school. About the song lyrics his temporary foster had found in his journal. And suddenly Wayne wasn’t so sure there was a better option. He knew there had to be people more equipped to raise a traumatized queer teenager, but there was no guarantee Eddie would end up with one of them. The opposite was far more likely. Wayne knew firsthand that much of the world was unkind to people like them.

In the years that follow, they don’t talk about it. He figured once he’d won the kid’s trust, Eddie would bring it up in his own time. Or maybe Eddie would ask why Wayne spends a weekend in Indy once a month or maybe ask who he’s spending the weekends with. But somehow those conversations never happen and Wayne doesn’t force them. 

It’s not until he finds Steve Fucking Harrington keeping vigil at Eddie’s hospital bedside that he thinks maybe he should have pushed the issue sooner. 

Because Harrington looks like he’s been through a war. He’s covered in blood and grime; only his arms, washed to his elbows where he’s holding Eddie’s hand, are clean. He’s looking at Eddie with naked emotion. And, perhaps most damning, he’s wearing Eddie’s battle jacket.

When Wayne enters the room, Harrington startles and says, “Hi. I’m Steve Harrington,” like Wayne and everyone else in Hawkins weren’t already aware of that.

“I know who you are. I know who your father is, too.”

“I’d uh, prefer you didn’t hold that against me.”

Wayne makes no promises. “How do you know Eddie?”

“We’re…friends,” Steve says. There’s a continent of things unsaid behind the word.

“And how are you in his room past visiting hours?”

“I bribed the nurse," he admits. “I didn’t want him to be alone.”

“Well. On that, we’re agreed. But I’m here now. And no offense, kid, but you look like you should be in one of these beds yourself.”

“Yeah. I told them once you got here I’d let them stitch me up. It’s not anything life-threatening.” He says this with the resigned intonation of someone who is familiar with the difference.

What the fuck has Eddie gotten himself involved in?

Harrington stands. It’s a slow, painful, movement, and he only lets go of Eddie’s hand at the last possible second. “Can I—I’d like to come back. After. If you don’t mind.”

Wayne considers him. He considers Eddie’s blood-smeared vest on the kid’s shoulders. He realizes, belatedly, that Eddie’s guitar pick necklace is hanging around Harrington’s bruised throat, the rings usually crammed onto Eddie’s fingers lined up on either side of the pick.

“Sure,” he says. “Be nice to have some company. And you can tell me what the hell happened.”

Harington sighs. “Not sure how much I’m allowed to tell. Or how much you’ll believe. But I can try.”

Wayne takes his place holding Eddie’s hand.

He tries to ignore the fact that Harrington stands in the doorway for more than a minute, just looking, before finally slipping into the hall.

He’s back a few hours later, clearly showered, wrapped in gauze, and wearing the preppiest goddamn outfit. Honestly, Wayne can’t fathom how Eddie and Harrington have anything in common. He’s also still wearing the necklace, though. And when he pulls up a chair to sit on the opposite side of Eddie’s bed, he removes the necklace and carefully, downright tenderly, returns the rings to Eddie’s fingers. Wayne notices, almost despite himself, that Harrington isn’t just guessing at the placement, either. He knows. So either he’s intimately familiar with Eddie’s fingers––something that, as impossible as it sounds, is starting to seem more and more likely––or he’s particularly observant. And that kind of observance speaks to its own sort of devotion. 

Wayne isn’t excited about either of these options.

He’s trying to figure out how to ask if Steve Fucking Harrington is Eddie’s boyfriend without scaring him away when Eddie shifts, which has Wayne and Steve both jumping to their feet.

“Wayne?” he murmurs. And Wayne isn’t one for emotional displays but he finds himself participating in one for the next few minutes nonetheless.

Once he gets ahold of himself, Eddie’s head turns, slow with painkillers, to see Harrington.

“Stevie,” he says, grinning. “Hey. I’m not dead.”

“Despite your best efforts,” Steve chokes out. His hands are fisted under his armpits and he looks about five seconds away from crying. Not that Wayne can judge since he’s more than five seconds into crying.

“What did I tell you, what did you promise?” Harrington snarls.

Eddie’s grin dims. “Not to be a hero. But Dustin––shit. Dustin. Is he...”

“Fine. Sprained ankle. Pissed as hell at you. Everyone else is fine too. Max is down the hall. She has some broken bones but she’ll be alright.”

“Sorry,” Eddie murmurs. “How did I—“

“We went back for you.”

“We?”

“I,” Harrington grits out. “I went back for you. Thought you were dead. Carried you back anyway. Didn’t realize you were still breathing until we got you in the car. Drove like hell to the hospital.”

And that’s. Well, shit. Apparently, Wayne is going to need to temper his distrust of this particular Harrington. Because it sounds like he saved Eddie’s goddamn life.

“He also refused treatment and waited with you until I got here,” Wayne feels he has to add. “Despite the fact he was bleeding everywhere.”

Eddie glances between them, eyes huge. “Shit. I’m sorry. Hey, no, don’t––”

Steve is crying now, not even trying to hide it, and Eddie holds out a hand, wincing. “Come here, man, I’m fine. Or I’ll probably be fine, right?”

“So says the doctor,” Wayne agrees. 

Steve doesn’t need a second invitation.

He all but collapses, carefully, into Eddie’s outstretched arms, and Eddie’s hands bunch into the fabric of Steve’s sweatshirt and he crams his face into Steve’s neck and they’re so––their obvious, desperate, affection for each other is so unapologetic that Wayne has to look away.

 It’s not until later, when they’ve hashed out the basics of the insane upside-down phenomenon, that they finally convince Steve to go home and sleep.

He waits ten seconds after the door has closed to exhale, pressing his palms into his eyes.

“Jesus, kid. I knew you had expensive taste with cigarettes and guitars but this? He’s the closest thing to royalty this town has.”

Eddie lets out a hysterical little warble of a laugh. “No. No, no. That’s not—we’re not.”

“What the hell are you then?”

“Friends. Bonded through extreme trauma.”

“But you’d like to be more than friends.”

Eddie looks at him askance “I’ll take what I can get and I won’t ask for more,” he says quietly.

Unfortunately, Wayne is well familiar with that kind of love. He just can’t get Steve’s expression out of his head. The gentle way he’d replaced Eddie’s rings. He doesn’t think Eddie’s interest is as one-sided as Eddie does. But he doesn’t want to meddle. He’s certain they’ll figure themselves out.

Two months later, Wayne is starting to think they’re both idiots. Because half the time when he gets home from his evening bar shift––a new job after the plant disappeared into the fiery abyss––Steve’s BMW is parked down the street and when he cracks Eddie’s bedroom door he finds them cuddled up, asleep. Sometimes he’ll go to rent a movie and Steve will be wearing a shirt that Wayne knows is Eddie’s and half the time when he wakes Eddie up in the mornings he’s wearing a pastel sweater monogrammed with initials that don’t belong to Eddie. He’d think they’re together and keeping it quiet if not for the fact that Eddie is driving him absolutely insane with pining. He’s written three songs about longing and heartbreak in the last two weeks and if Wayne has to listen to one more wailing ballad he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

He’s walking back from the bar after closing, only a mile from the new fancy trailer the government had installed for them when he passes Harrington’s conspicuous vehicle a few houses down. He sighs. The boy really has no sense of subtly. 

He’s expecting to find them, as usual, asleep in a tangle of limbs, except when he reaches the porch stairs, he can hear the boys talking.

He pauses with his hand on the railing.

“What are you doing,” Eddie murmurs, voice just carrying from the open living room window.

“Well. I’d like to kiss you, if you’d let me.”

About damn time, Wayne thinks.

“Steve, wait,” Eddie says. And it’s so quiet, so uncertain, that Wayne is tempted to open the door right then if only to prevent Ed from sounding so broken.

“I can’t be a practice run for you,” Eddie says, “Please. I can’t. I wouldn’t survive that.”

“A––what the fuck, Eddie.”

“It’s just, I know this is new to you and I’m, obviously, all about exploration and, um, finding yourself. Congratulations. Yay. But I can’t be an experiment. Not with you. I can’t.”

“You’re not an experiment,” Harrington says, voice a little louder than Wayne would prefer, given the circumstances. The trailer park isn’t exactly spacious. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. I want to kiss you because I’m in love with you, how could you think—besides. This isn’t that new. I’ve kissed other guys.”

“You’ve what? Who? When?”

“Just. You know. Friends messing around. I didn’t know that made me bisexual until I talked about it with Robin but apparently, I’ve been kinda gay this whole time.”

“I’m sorry. You thought making out with your basketball buddies was…a standard heterosexual pastime?”

“Well, when you say it like that.”

“What other way is there to say it?”

“Okay,” Steve says, “I already had this conversation with Robin this morning. I don’t need to rehash it again. So I’m a little bit of an idiot. Memo received.”

“Jesus, Harrington. You just found out bisexuality was a thing this morning and now you’re here, what, asking me to be your boyfriend?”

“I mean, yeah. Ideally.”

“You don’t do anything by halves, do you.” Eddie sounds disgustingly fond.

“Eddie. I just said I love you.”

“You did,” Eddie says, high and cracked. “You did say that.”

“So if we could refocus.”

“Right.”

“I don’t expect you to say it back, but––”

“God, you really are an idiot. Of course I fucking love you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then that’s––well, that’s probably his nephew getting his first kiss from Steve Fucking Harrington.

Wayne decides to give them to a count of thirty before interrupting, but just as he’s about to stomp his way up the stairs, Eddie says, “Sorry, sorry, I’ve never done this before.”

“Hey, no. It’s ok. Neither have I, really. But you’re crazy if you think I’m going to fuck you right now,” Steve says.

“I meant kissing. Hold on, does that mean you would be willing to fuck me later?”

Wayne winces. There are things he does not need to hear come out of his nephew’s mouth.

“Wait,” Steve interrupts, “You’ve never been kissed before? How is that possible?”

“Who would have kissed me?” Eddie hisses, “ I’m the town pariah. And until I met Robin I didn’t know any other queer people existed in Hawkins. Though apparently, I should have just joined the basketball team since you’re having orgies or whatever.”

“The first two were on the swim team,” Steve says. 

“First two. How many were there?”

Steve ignores him. “And that wasn’t––you’re so hot, though. And your band has played in bigger cities. Haven’t you ever gone up to Indy to any of the bars there?”

“I need you to understand,” Eddie says, “that I am 90% bravado and 100% anxiety.”

“That’s not how percentages work.”

“Steve.”

“Sorry. Okay. Well, if this is your first kiss then I better make it good, huh?”

“Yes. That is absolutely the burden placed upon your capable shoulders should you choose to––oh.”

Eddie stops talking and doesn’t start again, though he does make a breathy little noise that Wayne takes as his cue.

He stomps up the stairs as loudly as possible, fumbling longer than necessary with the door handle, and pushes his way inside.

The boys are both shirtless, clearly in the process of shoving themselves away from each other. Eddie’s face is pink and his lips are kiss-swollen and Harrington’s back has a set of welted scratches on it that Wayne imagines are a perfect match for Eddie’s fingers.

“Well, shit,” Wayne says. He definitely should have opened the door sooner.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Eddie says.

“What the fuck else what it be?” Steve says, only sounding a little hysterical.

Except then the kid is pushing Eddie behind him and squaring up to Wayne with his jaw clenched and his head high, the discolored ring around his neck, still not yet healed, the scars down his belly, on display. Wayne is well-acquainted with the nuance of a man posturing versus a man who would gladly throw himself into a fight, even one he’s not certain he’d win. Steve Harrington is indisputably the latter.

Wayne can’t decide if he’s offended or endeared.

“Stand down, kid, I’m not going to hurt him.”

“I wouldn’t let you.” 

“That is…extremely apparent.”

“Steve,” Eddie says. “It’s ok. He knows. Or. We’ve never really talked about it but.” He meets Wayne’s eyes. “He knows. It’s ok.”

Eddie pushes around him, stepping into Wayne’s open arms.

Steve watches distrustfully as Wayne wraps Eddie in a hug.

“You’re both safe here,” he says. Mostly to Steve, since he’s the one who needs to hear it. “And I’ll call up my boyfriend in Indy and have him vouch for me if you don’t believe me.”

Harrington’s expression is just as magnificent as Wayne hoped it would be.

“Your what?” Eddie shrieks.

Part 3 Here.

On AO3 Here.

Tempted to do one more from one of the kid's POVs when the kids find out. Thoughts?

[catws-anniversary]

Today is exactly 10 years since the LA premiere of CA:TWS! As good a day as any to release all of our prompts so you can plan for the anniversary event.

Kicking off on March 26th, we'll be celebrating a decade of CA:TWS with 8 daily prompts to choose from, ranging from thematic prompts and quotes, to more general prompts and character-specific ones. These can be interpreted in any manner you choose and do not need to be linked to the daily theme.

As a reminder: this is an open event (see rules and FAQs - content does need to relate to CA:TWS), and the use of our daily prompts is entirely optional. They’re there to inspire, not to put up restrictions.

You can always contact us if you have any questions. We're so excited to see your creations!

MARCH 26 THEME: ON YOUR LEFT

The Smithsonian

First Meetings

Endurance

Mission

PTSD

"I'll put it on the list"

Favorite quote

MARCH 27 THEME: STEVE ROGERS

Camp Lehigh

Elevator

Motorcycle

Steve's list

Guilt

"It kind of feels personal"

Favorite Steve quote

MARCH 28 THEME: SHIELD

The Triskelion

Compromised

Surprise Visit

Neighbor

Weapons

"It's called compartmentalization"

Favorite scene

MARCH 29 THEME: NATASHA ROMANOFF

Mall

Disguise

Redemption

Matchmaking

Trust Issues

"Did I step on your moment?"

Favorite Natasha quote

MARCH 30 THEME: TWS CAST

Press Conference

Character Bleed

Photoshoot

Social Media

Stunts

"I'll take this one"

Favorite cast member

MARCH 31 THEME: SAM WILSON

Department of Veteran's Affairs

Partners

Soundtrack/Music

Wings

Missing Scenes

"I never said 'pilot'."

Favorite Sam quote

APRIL 1 THEME: HYDRA

Lemurian Star

Project Insight

Politics

STRIKE

Post-Credit Scenes

"Order comes through pain"

Favorite fight

APRIL 2 THEME: BUCKY BARNES

Bank

Metal Arm

Memories

Ghost Story

Revenge

"But I knew him"

Favorite Bucky quote

APRIL 3 THEME: CAP QUARTET

Washington DC

Breakfast

Bedside Vigil

Uniform

Found Family

"When do we start?"

Favorite duo

APRIL 4 THEME: TO THE END OF THE LINE

Helicarrier

1940s

Devotion

Identity Porn

Reunion

"Schoolyard and battlefield"

Favorite Stucky scene

Happy creating!