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schrijverr · 2 months ago

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Wait, It’s Buck You’re Divorcing?

Divergence from chapter 19 to chapter 27, where Chris doesn’t give it away. However, when Hen babysits, he is confused about why her and Karen share a room, since his daddy and papi don’t. Hen assumes Eddie is getting gay divorced and not out at work. So, she stays quiet, but tries to be supportive, which is a little difficult, since she isn’t sure if she is watching Eddie unknowingly lead Buck on, or Buck further destroy a marriage. The truth is somehow more unexpected than that and having to find out while Maddie is still missing is less than ideal.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (pre-slash), Henren, Madney

Warnings: referenced kidnapping, referenced domestic violence, kidnapping, injury, internalized homophobia

~~~

Chris kept his promise, so they made it through the first introductions of their family with the 118 without it exploding in their faces.

Their kind reception also means that they have an emergency babysitting pool, which is great, since Buck picked up a B shift because Martinez was going to become a father and now Pepa’s house is flooding, because something burst and Eddie has to fix it and save what there is to save.

When he calls Hen in a frazzled state, apologizing profusely as he asks if Chris can please spend the night with her, she waves his apologies away, telling him Chris is always welcome in her home. He is incredibly grateful for that.

Hen waves him down the porch with smile, saying: “Go help your aunt, Eddie. I got Chris. You can give me and Karen a date night sometime if you really feel so bad. Now go.”

“I will,” Eddie promises. “Thank you so much. Call if you can’t, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hen shakes her head fondly. Eddie needs to learn he’s not imposing. They’re a family at the 118, if he needs a babysitter, they can help.

With Eddie in his truck again, she turns to Chris and says: “How do you feel like meeting Denny. He is about your age.”

“Yes, please,” Chris says excitedly. A happy kid just like at the firehouse, Hen notes.

The introduction goes smoothly and he and Denny hit it off right away, begging to watch a movie together that they both like and easily getting their way. Hen loves how warm and welcoming Denny is, like they raised him to be. And Chris is clearly also raised right.

After the movie, she gets the two ready for bed. But she lets Denny do the tour, so Chris can find everything later. It’s a little more of grown up kid task she lets him do and Denny does it with pride.

It’s when they get to her and Karen’s bedroom that it happens. Denny has just explained that he can find his moms there if he needs anything, when Chris asks: “So where does your other mom sleep?”

“Uhm, also in this room,” Denny says with a small frown, unsure why Chris would ask that.

“They don’t have their own room?” Chris asks equally confused. “You have enough.”

“Why would they have their own room?”

“Well, my daddy and papi shared a room in El Paso, but that’s because we didn’t have enough rooms, they have their own room now,” Chris explains and Hen pauses. This is not information she thought she would learn today. Or ever, really.

Denny, on the other hand, takes the information in stride, shrugging: “Well, my moms like sharing the room.”

“Okay.” Chris accepts that answer just as easily.

The two move on, leaving Hen to catch up. A part of her is dying to ask more, but she keeps quiet. She is helping a friend out, not prying into his private life through his son. Even if she really, really, really wants to.

Hen puts the two to bed, telling them to call if they need anything and to not stay up too late, while already having decided that she will turn a blind eye if they do anyway. It’s weekend and it’s a part of the childhood experience.

She bids them goodbye then goes to the living room, coming up behind Karen, who is grading papers at their kitchen table. Hen kisses the top of her head and massages her shoulders for a moment, until she leans back, then she kisses her properly. “Hey, baby, how’s the grading?”

“Making me worried for the future of my field,” Karen admits honestly with a smile. “How were the boys?”

“They were good,” Hen says, sitting down.

However, her face must have done something, because Karen frowns as she studies her. “Are you sure there was nothing?” she checks.

Hen hesitates for a moment, then says: “I think Eddie is getting gay divorced.”

“What?”

“Well, Eddie never mentioned anything about co-parenting or being with someone, let alone a man. I mean, I fully thought he was a single parent,” Hen says. “But Chris just asked why we slept in the same room, then said his daddy and papi had their own rooms.”

“Oh,” Karen grimaces in sympathy. “The poor kid.”

“I know, he seems oblivious. And it’s all I have, so I don’t know, I could be wrong, but…”

“What else could it be?” Karen fills in.

“Yeah,” Hen nods. “And he didn’t mention it at work, so either he doesn’t want to be out, doesn’t want to talk about his divorce, and he forgot Chris would. Or he doesn’t care and it just didn’t come up before and I’m overthinking it. Like, do I mention I know? Do I pretend I don’t?”

Karen thinks about it for a second, glad she isn’t in Hen’s position. After a moment, she says: “I think it’s best to just pretend not to know.”

“You think?” Hen asks genuinely.

“I do,” Karen says. “If he doesn’t care, he’ll mention it someday, but if he does care, you’re going to put him on the spot and make him uncomfortable.”

“Fair enough,” Hen agrees. Then sighs: “I hope he does talk at some point, it would be nice to not be the only queer person at the firehouse.”

“Understandable,” Karen smiles gently. “What about Buck, though? You said you got vibes from him, right?”

“I mean, yeah, definitely. And he has total heart eyes for Eddie, but he also isn’t saying anything and if this situation is what we think it is, then it’ll only get more complicated,” Hen groans.

“Of course, of course,” Karen nods along sympathetically. Then after a beat, she giggles: “Is it bad I am thoroughly enjoying your workplace drama?”

“Nah, I love you for it, actually,” Hen replies.

“Love you too,” Karen says and Hen gets a warm flush through her body. God, she absolutely adores this woman so much.

With Karen’s input, Hen puts it out of her mind, instead spending the rest of the evening with her beautiful wife, before getting a good night’s rest. The boys down the hall stay up too late, but sound to be having fun, so she lets them.

The next morning, Eddie comes to pick Chris up, looking exhausted and still a little soaked. When he spots Chris, chattering excitedly with Denny, too bright eyed for how late they stayed up, he sags in relief and his face crinkles into a smile. “Did Chris behave?” he asks.

“He was a delight,” Hen promises. “They stayed up too late, but that’s part of the sleep over experience. Don’t freak out if he crashes early today.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, thank you,” Eddie laughs, before calling out: “Mijo, let’s go. Say thank you to Karen and Hen for letting you stay.”

“I’m coming, daddy,” Chris calls back, getting up and thanking Karen and Hen.

As he does, Hen vaguely thinks, oh, so Eddie is daddy then, suddenly remembering the revelation from the night before. She smiles at Chris, tells him it was nice to have him over, before stopping Eddie as he is about to follow Chris down the porch.

He makes a small confused noise as he turns back to her. She puts a hand on his shoulder as she intently says: “Hey, we’re always here for you. If you need time to figure things out, you can always drop him off, or stop by. We’d be happy to host both of you. Yeah?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Eddie says and Hen can’t tell if he’s confused or emotional and trying to hide it.

“Good,” she nods anyway, because she told herself not to put him on the spot. “See you at work.”

“See you at work,” Eddie responds in turn, before catching up with Chris and opening the car. He gives a final wave then drives off.

She’s said her bit, made sure Eddie knows he can count on her and that has to be enough for now. She doesn’t need to push him or put him on the spot, so next shift at work, life continues as normal. Eddie thanks her again, she repeats it was no problem and that is all that is said about it.

Now that she knows, she does pay a little more attention to Eddie. She’s trying to see what she missed, since she did miss something. She thought he was single, so she never really thought about what kind of partner he would want, man or woman, seeing as he doesn’t speak about it, but now she can’t help but notice how he carries himself.

Eddie moves through life as if he’s hiding something.

It’s not super obvious, but now that she knows, she can’t help but hone in on it. The way he stops himself from time to time when talking about what he did over the weekend, as if he’s editing something out, editing someone out. How he always seems conscious about the way he moves, especially around Buck.

Buck. That is another thing. When Buck first started working at the 118, Hen braced herself, fearing this frat boy that walked into their house, looking like Gerrard’s prime definition of what a fire fighter should be.

She was cautious at first, but he grew on her. However, it wasn’t until Eddie walked into their firehouse that she started getting vibes from him that weren’t straight. It’s almost undeniable the looks he gives Eddie sometimes, but Hen is the only person that picked up on them thus far.

Hen thought it was a little cute, the crush their golden retriever had on the new guy. However, now it feels like an explosion in the making.

Eddie is oblivious to Buck’s feelings towards him, that much she can see. But there is a sort of closeness between them that shouldn’t be there with how long they’ve known each other. The way Eddie unconsciously leans in time and time again, only to stop short and pull back, says a lot.

She is now starting to suspect Eddie might have a crush on Buck too, but he’s pushing it all down, because he technically still has someone at home, even if that relationship is on the rocks.

Chris mentioned that they moved here from Texas and only then got separate bedrooms. Maybe the two are still trying to make it work? I mean, they moved all the way out here together, that’s no small decision to make. And Chris doesn’t seem to find anything odd or upsetting about the change. If Eddie still wants to try with his husband now, it won’t be good to have this crush on Buck. Or to have Buck return the feelings. Fuck, she wishes she was still oblivious sometimes.

Especially when she has to bite her tongue as Chimney has to invite himself to help Maddie move, while it was apparently a given that Eddie would help. Just like Eddie didn’t think twice about offering his Abuela’s house, an offer that seems stranger in hindsight.

Whether he realizes or not, Eddie is letting Buck get closer and closer, and of course Buck goes and one day, Buck is going to learn that Eddie can never commit to him and it will never grow into anything else, because Eddie is still caught up in a complicated relationship with someone else.

It makes Hen unsure if staying quiet about what she knows is the best move. She likes Buck and doesn’t want to see his heart get broken like that. And she also doesn’t think Eddie is a bad guy, who is purposefully leading him on or something.

However, she doesn’t know how to bring it up. Like, what would she say? ‘Hey, your kid told me about your impending or already running divorce, that sucks. Can you not give Buck hope if that’s never going to be a thing, because that’s kind of rude? But I support you, naturally.’

Then Eva comes crashing back into her life and her own near miss with divorce is brought back up once more, which isn’t a great feeling and a bit of a distraction from the whole Buck and Eddie thing.

Venting at work helps a little and it’s nice to get the support of Chimney saying: “That’s awful, Hen.” And Buck agreeing: “Yeah, custody shit is the worst.”

Hen remembers the first time this came up, how Buck apparently went on a research spiral about it, but when Eddie doesn’t seem surprised at it, she does a double take.

Buck can just have opinions because he looked into it, but what if Eddie mentioned it to him? What if they acknowledged the thing between them, but they have to wait until the divorce is finalized, so it won’t impact Eddie’s standing in custody court? She doesn’t think that Buck could keep it a secret, but the what if plagues her mind regardless.

Since Eddie is nodding along to what Buck is saying, she takes the opportunity to prod. “Are you ever worried about anything like that with Chris?”

“Oh, uh,” Eddie’s eyes grow wide, looking almost caught, before he quickly looks away. His voice is slightly strained as he says: “Shannon – my ex-wife – divorced me when I was in Afghanistan. We had shared custody until a little after I got back, then she signed it over to me. So it’s uh- it’s different.”

Okay, that is different, new information indeed. This is going to be Eddie’s second divorce? He’s only twenty-seven. Though, given the switch from wife to husband, it makes sense why that first one didn’t work out entirely.

Maybe Eddie was alone after suddenly gaining full custody of his child, only just figuring himself out and moved too fast with the first person he explored himself with. That happens. Still, it only makes her wonder more about Eddie’s whole situation.

“There’s no shame in a divorce, you know that, right, Eddie?” she replies, maybe a little too pointed, but hoping Eddie will open up.

“Uh, yeah, I- I know,” Eddie blushes, but doesn’t offer more than that.

Before Hen can prod more, Buck is stepping in for him. “Have you talked to the guy yet? I mean, Athena said he was a good dude, right? And just because Eva’s an awful person, doesn’t mean he is.”

That only makes her more suspicious, but she lets it go for now. Eddie is clearly uncomfortable and she has enough problems on her plate. She doesn’t have time or energy to get into whatever their deal is right now.

In the end, she works it out with Nathaniel, which is a huge weight off her shoulders. And she is happy to find an equilibrium with Karen again. She never wants to lose this amazing woman. Ever.

Hen thinks getting drugged definitely helped in that regard. It was funny in the moment, terrifying in hindsight, but Karen being there made it less scary. Hen also rambled on the entire time about how much she loved Karen (and how badly she wanted her to fuck her, but that’s neither here nor there). That definitely upped her brownie points after the whole debacle.

Hearing about how Eddie and Buck acted from Chim, definitely makes her eyebrows rise. And it’s clear both are embarrassed about it when they come in.

What also confuses Hen about it all, is how Eddie implies that Carla had to take care of Chris, because he was out of commission due to the drugs. Chim said Eddie’s aunt picked him up and he stayed with her and Eddie isn’t contradicting that. So, why wasn’t his husband (or ex-husband) free?

Maybe he also has a job with irregular hours and he just couldn’t be there, but it’s not the first time. It seems that whenever Eddie is working or busy, there is no one for Chris. There was no one when Abuela broke her hip, no one when Pepa’s pipes burst and now no one during the drugging. It’s becoming a pattern and Hen wonders if the husband just doesn’t help with childcare anymore.

If that’s the case, then why are they still in the same house? Is the husband a higher earner and is he still staying for the income, but checked out otherwise? But then why would Chris not be upset or mention how papi doesn’t play with him as often anymore?

However, it could explain why Eddie is leaning into this thing with Buck, unconscious or not. When your relationship falls away, so does a lot of intimacy. Buck is a naturally touchy person, he could just not notice how he replaced his husband with Buck in that sense.

She’d half been planning to say something when Chimney told her about what went down, however, now she’s hesitating again. It can’t be easy to raise a child with someone who isn’t fully there. Eddie has been happier since starting her. Should she really mess with that?

Her conundrum leads her right back where it always does; her wife.

“Hm, I don’t know,” Karen says after a while. “You say he doesn’t appear to notice what he’s doing? That is tough. Like, if it was purposeful, then that is kind of rude to do, to either Buck or the husband, but if he doesn’t realize, then it’s a little sad, right? Then he comes across as very lonely.”

“Exactly,” Hen says. “I’d hate to call out that he comes over as lonely and pretty gay. Like, lonely is kind of embarrassing and painful, but gay can be terrifying. What if the reason he never mentioned it, is because he’s had bad experiences, or there are people, who don’t or can’t know, and then I tell him that it’s noticeable? That he can’t hide the way he’s trying. That’s really scary to hear.”

“Yeah, that is scary,” Karen agrees. “Maybe you should pull him aside and just ask what the situation is, because I have no clue anymore. If we know, we can decide if telling Buck is the right move.”

“But do I want to get involved like that?” Hen counters. “I mean, no matter what happens, it’s going to be messy, right? I have enough responsibilities and things going on. Of course, I’ll support them if they come to me, or get their heads on straight, but- oh, I don’t know.”

“There has been enough drama these past few weeks?” Karen fills in with amusement.

Hen nods, before Karen is even done speaking. Then when she’s done, she says: “Yeah, a little.” She pauses. “Does that make me an awful person?”

“Nah,” Karen assures her. “It’s human and, despite what you might want, you are still human, Hen. If it’s too much too soon, then just give it a little more time. You can always speak up later.”

Awed, Hen looks at her, then says: “What did I do to deserve someone so beautiful and smart?”

A pleased smile crosses Karen’s face and she leans in with crinkles around her eyes as she answers: “It is probably stupid and heroic, that let the universe know you wouldn’t survive without me.”

“Probably,” Hen agrees, a loving, fond smile coming onto her own face.

Karen’s advice settles something in Hen’s stomach and she feels better about just observing Buck and Eddie as the dust settles around them. In doing so, she observes quite a number of things.

Such as Eddie texting Buck his outfit to tour a potential new school for Chris. First off, why is he texting anyone other than his husband, in fact, why is he texting anyone at all? Is the husband not touring with him and talking to him about they’re presenting themselves?

Then second of all, why is he texting Buck out of everyone? Why not her, or any of the other parents that are working at the 118? She knows they’re close, but she also knows how important Eddie finds this, so why go to one of the people who has no experience giving advise in this field?

She says as much to Buck, but he doesn’t really reply and Chimney – oblivious as he is from time to time – deflects for them, simply saying: “They’re Buck and Eddie.” And the fact that that makes sense makes her need a moment of self reflection.

However, then Buck is asking for her opinion, since he seems to realize that he isn’t the person to ask about this, so she pushes it away to help Eddie. She isn’t going to leave a fellow parent out in the cold, and especially not a fellow parent that is also her friend.

Halloween is weird too, with Buck looking very sad about having to work and the two of them trying to swap shifts. Hen doesn’t know what’s going on there, they couldn’t have wanted to spend it together, but they were definitely trying to get Buck off shift.

… Or get Eddie on shift. With a holiday like this, where the kids are most central, she supposes it might chafe to spend it alone with Chris, and not have his co-parent with him. Maybe Eddie didn’t want to be reminded of how it’s all going down the drain. If he had to work, he’d have the excuse of not being able to go, since he had to work, but he doesn’t have that now.

When he comes back to work after, she waits him out in the lockers, nudging him with her shoulder as she gently asks: “How was Halloween?”

He blinks once, then gives her a tired smile as he answers: “A lot of small talk.” Before she can ask a follow up, he’s already walking off, calling out: “Buck, you left your water bottle here,” which doesn’t clear up anything.

On Christmas, Hen would have sworn Buck would take Athena and Bobby up on their offer to spend it with them, since all of them heard what a disaster it had been to bring some Christmas cheer to Maddie earlier.

However, instead both him and Eddie say they’re spending it with other people. Eddie says family, Buck says his house.

Hen doesn’t know why Buck would prefer to spend it with his house, since she has never heard him about his roommates. Buck is an over-sharer, the fact that he never did, left her under the impression that he wasn’t too close with them, but maybe not.

She thinks he might be spending it with Eddie, but that doesn’t made sense either, since she doesn’t think Eddie would leave Chris to spend it with Buck and he also wouldn’t break up Chris’s image of his family and spend it with Chris and Buck.

So, he must be spending it with his aunt and husband, as well as his son. He looks to be quite happy about it when he tells them – though he is still leaving out the husband part.

Maybe, the holiday spirit got to them and they’re trying to make it work again. However, that doesn’t make much sense with how Eddie is still circling around Buck as Buck does to him. She heard them theorize about Chris’s Christmas wish at some point. If Eddie is going to try with his husband, it doesn’t make sense for him to keep on being close with Buck.

Unless, maybe he still doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Hen almost can’t believe that someone is that oblivious to their own feelings, but she isn’t entirely willing to rule it out either. Still it seems unrealistic to her.

The fact that Eddie begs off on New Years, while Buck shows up, makes her a little questioning again, but come January, she is definitely leaning towards; I’m watching a budding relationship that is actively ushering in the end of a marriage. Though the exact details are still muddy.

When Buck is acting weird all day and Eddie is pretending like he isn’t, she thinks it finally happened. They got their heads out of their asses and acted on their feelings and Buck is struggling to keep the secret from everyone.

In a way, it’s a relief. Buck will not be able to hold it in, so he will tell everyone and then Hen doesn’t have to be the one to bring it up and can give her two cents when she knows what exactly happened.

However, now that the moment is here, she is getting impatient. So when she sees Buck ducking out of sight of whatever is happening down below, she breaks and pushes anyway. Who can blame her, she’s nosy. “Okay, what is your problem today?”

“Maddie is going to ask Chim out,” Buck grins, which is sadly another explanation for his behavior, which means Hen will have to wait still. Though maybe not too long, she amends as she watches Buck immediately find Eddie and whisper yell: “It’s happening,” as he motions him over.

Eddie comes running in an instant and while Hen is sad that she still has to suffer, she also comes over, because dammit, she’s invested in her other friend’s love life too. So, she joins him, Buck and Bobby too, and checks: “You sure?”

“Uh-huh, she told me herself,” Buck says, creeping closer to the edge so that they can collectively eavesdrop.

They look down to see them talking to each other, Chimney holding a stack over papers. After he’s looked them over he says: “Divorce papers? This feels so sudden.”

“She’s divorcing Doug?” she whispers, now distracted and elated, both for Chimney, but of course for Maddie too. She deserves this.

“Yeah, that’s why she’s asking out Chimney,” Eddie is the one who answers, leaning over so he won’t miss anything and too invested to notice anything else.

It’s a little amusing how invested he is and she can see the judgmental gay popping out, though she won’t mention that. However, Hen does find it suspicious that he already knows all of this, since Buck never mentioned anything to anyone else about it until it was happening, but apparently he had all the time to fill in Eddie. So, she gives Buck a look.

Buck schools his features to pretend this is normal and not suspicious at all, as he smiles and nods. Hen considers it for a second, before deciding this isn’t the time, so she just says: “Good for her,” as they all continue to watch Maddie ask Chimney out.

Beyond Eddie excitedly slapping Buck’s side, while Buck squeals: “It’s happening!” nothing interesting happens on the Buck and Eddie front.

However, it is Chimney asking Maddie out that cements for Hen that the two of them know what they’re doing. What has been happening. Both of them realized that them already knowing this was weird and were actively pretending it wasn’t in the hopes no one would comment. They’re in on something together and Hen comes to the dreadful conclusion that they must be seeing each other and keeping it secret for the sake of Eddie’s marriage (or divorce).

She resolves to say something about it, but not this shift, since it’s Chimney’s moment and she doesn’t want to ruin that for him. He’s been looking for someone for so long and Maddie is an amazing match for him. She’ll wait until after their first date, let them settle in; then she can confront Eddie and Buck.

Naturally, that doesn’t happen.

No, Hen wishes she would have come in for her shift on Monday – having enjoyed a rare weekend off with her family – to hear Chimney recount his successful date again (since he probably would have called her the second he came home after, then come by over the weekend as well to tell her again). Then let him have that for the shift, before confronting Buck and Eddie the next one.

Instead, she gets a shaky call from Eddie, telling her that Buck found Chimney, stabbed, and that Maddie is missing. He’s waiting for Carla, but can tell her what hospital Chim is going to be at.

When she gets there, Bobby and Athena are already there, though she doesn’t see Eddie or Buck anywhere just yet. However, she’s barely even thinking about them, instead asking: “Chimney? Is he okay? Is he alive?”

“He’s alive,” Athena says, catching her and hugging her. “He’s still alive, Hen. Getting more stable, before surgery as we speak.”

“Oh god,” Hen exclaims, knees getting weak. It feels like fucking yesterday that they found Chim with that rebar stuck through his head and the same fear grips her again. Chimney is her person, always has been. She doesn’t know what she would do if he dies on her.

Her and Athena hold each other for a good few seconds, before she lets go. She feels a lot more grounded and is finally capable of asking questions: “Eddie called me, said Buck found him. What happened?”

Athena takes a deep breath, then says: “Buck went to check up on Maddie, since she hadn’t texted before her date. Got there, found the door open and the lights off. Chimney was bleeding out on the steps and Maddie is gone. No trace of her, but there had been violence. We think Doug might have her.”

Hen gasps again, she can’t imagine what Buck might be going through. Finding Maddie gone, knowing she is likely in grave danger… she can’t even begin to understand what he might feel. “Is he at the station now?”

“No,” Athena’s lip purse. “Buck’s down the hall. Cuffed.”

“Cuffed?” Hen repeats, shocked.

“Yes, the idiot thought it a smart idea to steal Chimney’s phone and unlock it to use it to find Maddie himself,” Athena says.

“We’re hoping Eddie will come soon, get his head on straight,” Bobby interjects.

“Then I’ll see what I can do with this phone,” Athena adds. “We’re not letting that son of a bitch get away with this. That phone can still be used by us, even if he broke chain of custody.”

Hen nods, that sounds like Athena, even off the clock, she won’t let this slide. It also makes her a little annoyed that even in these circumstances, it’s Buck and Eddie. Because she totally understands where Bobby is coming from. Out of everyone, Eddie has the highest chance of talking Buck down from wherever he’s spiraling. It’s just always going to be Buck and Eddie.

And Hen wishes she could be happy for them, because they obviously make each other better. However, knowing that Eddie is letting his marriage slip through his fingers because of Buck, even when it’s going to impact Chris too, and that Buck is letting it happen? It always sours it a little.

However, right now, she’s more worried about Chimney and Maddie. She won’t judge Buck for getting comfort from Eddie when his sister has been kidnapped by her abusive ex-husband. There is a time and a place.

So, when Eddie comes rushing in, looking a little frantic and asking after Chimney and Buck, she says nothing as Bobby and Athena lead him towards where Buck is.

She’s the one keeping an eye out for news on Chimney, while Athena, Bobby and Eddie sort out the whole ‘Buck is in hospital jail’-situation. God, she needs some good news right now. This whole situation is fucked and she will be devastated if they get something other than good news.

After a while, there is no news on Chimney, but she is rejoined by Bobby and Eddie, who explain Athena has gone with Buck to try and find Maddie with the phone.

There is nothing really to say. All of them are still reeling from the shock. From the news that one of their own just got attacked like this. That none of them even knew the danger was close until it was already too late. That Chimney is hurt again. That he might die and so might Maddie.

When half an hour of silence has passed, Eddie breaks the silence after checking his phone, saying: “Buck and Athena are following Doug’s, or Jason’s phone, so they at least have a chance of catching up with them.”

Hen frowns for a moment at how the fuck that Eddie knows that, before the realization hits her as she asks: “Is he texting you updates?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, not even pretending that this is abnormal behavior.

“Oh that’s good. I asked Athena to do so, but she said she’d likely be too busy,” Bobby says, which makes Hen give Eddie a look.

Eddie blushes, probably now also realizing that he’s being obvious by asking Buck to do the same thing as Bobby asked his fiancee. He clearly tries to cover it, saying: “I wanted to come with him, but Buck didn’t want me to. We compromised,” which honestly just makes it worse. So, to deflect, he adds: “Want me to send him anything from you guys?”

Bobby is still oblivious to this whole thing, but Hen doesn’t know what to think. She likes Eddie, he’s a good guy and Buck deserves someone who makes him happy after the disaster that was his hook up phase, followed by his lonely phase. However, she wishes the circumstances would be different.

Still, as she decided earlier, this isn’t the moment. So, her and Bobby pass on wishes of success to Buck for Eddie to send him.

In the hours that pass after, not much changes. They sit and they wait for news, all itching to do something, all knowing that they can’t.

At some point, Chimney is stable enough to be taken into surgery. They’re all relieved, of course they are, but Hen can say for herself that she’s incredibly worried too. They all are.

Chimney has a great track record when it comes to recovering from surgery, but they’ve all been doing this long enough to know that such things don’t mean anything when it comes down to it. In situations like this, luck can change quickly.

So, they’re all sitting worriedly in the waiting room, trying to sleep in the uncomfortable chairs, then giving up on that and turning to sharing stories of Chimney instead.

Some of the people from B-shift come by and join in too. Hen is glad for it. It feels good to talk about Chimney, to think of the good parts and laugh about some of the things that happened. To cling to how her friend is supposed to be and will him to become that again, as if communally manifesting their version of Chimney through talking about him.

By the time morning rolls around, they’re all exhausted and the coffee Micheal and Harry come to bring them is very welcomed. Bobby is quickly caught in a conversation with Micheal, but Hen pulls Harry into the rest of the conversation, asking him how he’s feeling and if he had a good night.

During all this, Carla comes by with Chris, apologetically telling him she would have loved to watch him, but she already has a prior commitment. Eddie assures her it’s no issue, then quickly scoops Chris up in a hug that is clearly more for Eddie than for Chris. Then he disappears somewhere.

Hen frowns at Eddie’s retreating back, wondering what the hell that was about. She had assumed that since Eddie left in the middle of the night, his husband could watch Chris today, like Karen is staying with Denny. However, she now vaguely recalls Eddie saying he was waiting on Carla.

She still doesn’t think it’s a smart idea to carry on the way they are when nothing seems to be finalized or even discussed with Christopher. However, every time she learns more about the husband, she understands Eddie.

It’s not the first time she’s realized this, but it appears to keep happening. Maybe it hadn’t been the case when Hen watched Chris – or maybe it had, or just started – but the other father never seems to be home when Eddie needs him to take of Chris. When Eddie has something and needs someone.

Hen can understand that if his husband (for however long that will last) never shows up, not even when it’s in regard to their son, that Eddie would seek solace in Buck. Turn to the person, who does seem to show up in those moments instead.

There in the hospital waiting room, Hen once again starts doubting if she should even bring it up.

Eddie deserves to be happy and he is clearly happy with Buck, and from what she heard Buck likes Chris well enough. Once they finally sit him down, it might not even be that big a hurt. Probably not a bigger hurt than whoever his papi is, abandoning him the way he is now. They’re not hurting anyone, just in love, Hen knows that can make you do some stupid things.

So, she doubts again, as she watches Eddie leave with Christopher to break the news of what they’re doing in the hospital.

When he gets back, he looks a little nervous, just like he’d been when introducing Chris to everyone and when he dropped him off at her house. She wonders if he still doesn’t trust them with her son, a little offended at the idea, though she understands too.

Chris is a polite kid, greeting them with a sunny smile, before quietly settling down with his drawing supplies, since Chimney needs a card for his bedside. Which melts Hen’s heart a little and she can see it does the same for Bobby, while Eddie looks on with pride.

Micheal has left at this point and so has B shift, so it’s just the four of them waiting on updates from Buck and of Chimney now. For the most part, they just sit in silence. Enough has been said and filling the air just for the sake of filling the air feels nonsensical in the wake of what is happening.

However, when Bobby has gone to ask for an update on Chimney, she can’t help but allude to showing Eddie that she knows what’s been happening and trying to get more information about what Chris’s thoughts about it all are. She is still on the fence about sharing her own opinion about the whole thing, so knowing where Chris is at will help her decide.

So, she gently starts a conversation with Chris, trying to find an opening to bring it up. After nudging him a little, she gives him a big smile as she says: “Your drawing is coming along nicely.”

“Thank you,” Chris smiles brightly at her. “I know we’re waiting on him to wake up, because it’s good luck to have people waiting on you, but we can’t be here the whole time, and you need something to cheer you up when you’re not with people you know. Papi says so.”

From the corner of her eye, she can see Eddie stiffen up when Chris says that. However, he doesn’t say a word, maybe he hopes she thinks it’s him Chris is referring to, but she knows better.

Taking the opening Chris so kindly provided for her, she says: “Those are wise words. Is your papi away often that he told you that?”

Oh god, what if it’s an affair behind a traveling for work spouse and that’s why he isn’t home. Or what if he’s a soldier, stationed away from home still. Eddie is a veteran, he could have met him back in the service. Then it’s back to Buck and Eddie ruining Eddie’s marriage while some poor sod is oblivious.

Before she can spiral further, Chris says: “No, he said it when we sent cards to daddy when he was giving soldiers band aids and being a hero. And when I had to have surgery.”

“Oh, so where is your papi now?” she asks.

Eddie moves as to interrupt, but he’s too late, Chris is already answering: “He was supposed to hang out with us today, but he went to check in on tía Maddie’s and Chimneys date and then he had to work when Chimney got hurt. He’s a hero too, like daddy is.”

Tía Maddie.

Check in on her and Chimney’s date.

Suddenly get called into work.

A hero like Eddie is. As in currently.

She blue screens as the information processes, then whips her head towards Eddie as she blurts out: “Wait, it’s Buck you’re divorcing? Why? You two clearly still love each other! Hell, I thought you were leaving your husband for him.”

Eddie was already cringing when Chris was talking, but now that morphs into a confused frown. “Huh, what do you mean I’m leaving my husband for Buck? Wait, still love him? I’m confused.”

“You’re confused? You mean I’m confused!” Hen hisses.

“I’m sorry?” Eddie apologizes, though he seems to be unsure why or what for.

Before she can figure out how to proceed from here, they’re interrupted by Chris’s worried little voice asking: “You and papi are going to divorce?”

Hen winces and cringes at the question. In her own confusion, she had just blurted it out, forgetting that Chris might not know. Because going off the panic in Eddie’s eyes, this is not a conversation he’s prepared to have.

“Uh, we’re not- it’s not- Uhm,” Eddie panics, before sliding down to the floor so he is next to Chris, cupping his cheek so Chris can look at him. “Hey, buddy, look at me.” Chris does with big wet eyes. “Me and papi are best friends, remember? Hey. Remember?”

“I remember.”

“Good,” Eddie smiles. “Because we are. And even if we do get divorced, we’re always going to put you first and we’re always going to talk with you about it. Nothing big is going to change, unless you’re okay with it and that’s only going to happen if me or papi meet someone we really like-like. You’ll know it long before it happens.”

“And you’re not going to leave?” Chris asks in a tiny voice.

“I’m not going to leave and neither is papi,” Eddie presses to his heart. “No one is going to leave you.”

“Okay,” Chris says, a smile breaking through on his face again. When it does, Eddie pulls him into a hug holding him close and rocking him a little, pressing a kiss to the top of Chris’s curls.

With that heavy conversation out of the way, Hen releases a breath and finally gets to process all she just learned. She is pretty sure that Buck is the husband now, which would explain why he was never there to help with Chris, since he was working the same shift as Eddie, or is now finding his kidnapped sister somewhere.

However, the revelation that that’s what’s been happening has also brought more questions. So many more questions.

Because them divorcing makes absolutely no sense when Hen was so sure they love each other. She knows how they look at each other, seen the way they orbit each other, rely on each other, have each other’s back without question.

Yet at the same time, it makes a lot of sense that they would divorce, since Hen clearly remembers Buck sleeping around at the start of his probie year to the point of almost getting fired about it. Oh my god, did they witness what broke the marriage? Or was that the fall out spiral of Eddie breaking the news that he wanted to divorce? Is that why he never mentioned Eddie or Chris?

And what about the two of them lying to everyone? Hen thought they’d only just met, but obviously that’s not the case if they’re already at the point of divorce.

Though, are they at the point of divorce? Hen was pretty sure they were with their own bedrooms, but she supposes that can be personal preference. However, the way Eddie is speaking about it to Chris makes it seem like they aren’t, but it will happen. But Eddie was also confused about the idea of leaving Buck, but also about still loving him.

Honestly, at this point, Hen doesn’t know what to think. She wants to ask so many more questions, but she learned her lesson about asking any with Chris nearby.

Fortunately, it seems like Eddie also wants to clear the air, or at least make sure she’s on the right path, because he says: “Hey, mijo, why don’t you go over to Bobby over there and ask him to help you pick out some snacks from the vending machine for everyone?”

“But what about my drawing?” Chris asks with wide innocent eyes.

“You need energy to finish your drawing,” Eddie says gently, then to further entice Chris, he adds: “You can also pick out something for Chimney, so he’ll have something to snack on when he wakes up from surgery.”

Chris pulls a thinking face for a second, then smiles widely. “Alright,” he says, and Eddie goes to dig out his wallet, handing Chris some cash, before ushering him towards Bobby.

As they watch him walk up to Bobby, then explain, before the two disappear down the hall to the vending machines, Eddie sits on a chair and says: “I don’t know if I’m supposed to ask you how you know, or what you think you know.”

“At this point, I’m not even sure what I know. But I am right that I do know something, right?” Hen replies, almost as uncertain as Eddie is.

“Yeah, okay, you do so… uh, what do you think you know?” Eddie asks.

“I think that you and Buck are married, but divorcing. That close?” Hen asks.

Eddie’s face becomes tight when she mentions divorcing, but it doesn’t contort as if she’s wrong. After a beat, he quietly says: “Yeah, that’s pretty close. How did you know?”

“When Chris slept over when you had to help your aunt with her pluming, we showed him where to find us if he needed us during the night. He asked why we shared a room, because his daddy and papi both had their own,” Hen explains.

Eddie nods, that makes sense to him.

To elaborate further on her thought process, Hen says: “I didn’t push at the time, figured you didn’t want to talk about your divorce at work, or weren’t comfortable being out. I didn’t realize it was Buck until just now.”

“Not comfortable being out? I don’t need to be out. I’m straight,” Eddie frowns, but also as if he is realizing something. “Wait, you think me and Buck are married-married?”

“You’re not?” Hen counters, raising a brow. Out of every revelation today, this one is somehow the least believable.

“No!” Eddie says, a tad too defensively. “Why the hell would you think that?”

“Uhh…” Hen starts, pretty sure she shouldn’t explain to Eddie that he’s been behaving kind of gay in her presence, since it’s either not true or he isn’t ready to hear that yet – a wild thing, since he is apparently married to a man, but she digresses – so she settles on: “Maybe it was just the you two being secretly married I was seeing?”

Eddie isn’t saying anything to that, so to fill up space, she says: “I mean, you two are always just giving each other eyes, though I guess those could be communicative looks? And the way you’re in one another’s space is pretty close for coworkers, but I’m assuming you did not just randomly marry Buck while working at the 118.”

“Uh, no, no, I haven’t. We, uh- we already knew each other,” Eddie clears his throat, a light pink dusting his cheeks. He pauses for a beat, then goes: “Do we really make eyes at each other?”

“A little,” Hen grimaces sympathetically, but only because he asked.

“Oh…” Eddie says, sitting quietly for a few moments. Then he takes a deep breath and Hen watches with a sick sort of fascination as walls are pulled up manifesting physically in the squaring of his shoulders and jaw and the straightening of his spine. Any insecurity or perceived weakness is washed away as Eddie locks up his emotions. “It’s not like that.”

Hen feels as if she just seen Eddie repress his feelings for Buck – which she has likely correctly spotted – in real time. It makes her heart break for him.

However, they’re still in the hospital waiting room, unsure if Chimney will make it, if Maddie is still alive, with Bobby and Chris able to return at any moment, and Hen still hasn’t gotten any real clarity about what is actually going on. So, she asks: “But you did marry him?”

“Yeah, I- I did,” Eddie says awkwardly. “But as friends.”

“Alright…” Hen nods, also a little awkward now. “Why?”

“To help with Chris after Shannon walked out. There wasn’t much to it. We needed him to be able to watch Chris, because we needed money that we would get by me re-enlisting,” Eddie shrugs. Then apologetically says: “Buck tells the whole thing better.”

It sounds like there is more to that, but she definitely believes Eddie when he says Buck tells it better, though that might be because Buck isn’t so incredibly caught up in societal standards. However, she keeps that to herself, instead asking: “So why did you lie about that?”

“Long story,” Eddie shrugs.

Okay, Hen is letting Eddie get away with not explaining a lot seeing the circumstances, however, that is an unacceptable answer in this context. The look she sends him, conveys that perfectly well.

Eddie sheepishly ducks his head, then says: “We wanted to work together. Married people working together is not something they allow often. Maybe they would have let us if I hadn’t been a probie, but I am. But we’re not married like that, so we figured it wouldn’t count. Then we didn’t want to answer the questions, so we decided not to tell.”

“That is absolutely insane and stupid,” Hen tells him unapologetically, because it is.

“We know.” See even Eddie knows. “It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. It was even a little funny at the start, but then it just got out of control and then we couldn’t tell anyone.”

The implications beyond the personal of what this all mean sink in for Hen. She looks around to see if anyone is nearby to overhear, then hisses: “You have to tell someone.”

“What? No.” Eddie is already shaking his head.

“Why not? I get not going to HR with this after so long, but you need to tell Bobby,” Hen insists. “He’ll help.”

“What, right now?” Eddie scoffs, as if Hen is the one being ridiculous. “How the hell do we even bring that up?”

“Okay, maybe not now, but you have to tell him soon,” Hen replies.

Eddie bristles at that and cynically says: “We don’t know how today is going to end. If Chimney will make it, if Maddie is still alive. If Maddie gets seriously injured or, worse, dies, it’ll destroy Buck. And I mean destroy him. Or if Chimney doesn’t make it and it crushes Maddie, it will also destroy Buck. Want me to think about the aftermath of any of that right now? Of how to deal with Buck having to grieve someone while Chris is confused why his dad is acting weird? Do you have any idea how low on the list of priorities that is right now?”

Hen can’t help but note how Eddie’s reasons center Buck’s feelings, but it’s a background thought to the more pressing reasons Eddie presents. Of course, she’s aware of the situation they’re in now, she’s scared and worried for both Chimney and Maddie too. It’s not ideal and the hospital is not the place.

She also can’t conceptualize what any of their lives will look like after all of this, should the outcome be anything other than both Chimney and Maddie alive and well. However, now that she has more information about the whole situation, it feels like she has to impress on Eddie that it’s important he tells someone, preferably Bobby.

So, she says: “It’s also not high on my priority list right now, Eddie. Of course you’re not thinking about that right now, but promise me that you’ll tell Bobby when we know how this ends and we’re all somewhere a little more stable?”

Eddie’s mouth gets compressed into a line as he considers it. Hen wants to smack him for not just immediately taking her advice. And she wants to smack him more when he shakes his head. “I can’t promise that.”

“If you don’t, I will,” she threatens and she means it.

“Still can’t promise it,” Eddie shrugs stubbornly.

Before Hen can say anything in return, Bobby and Chris arrive. Eddie whips his head over to her, eyebrows pulled in a suspicious frown as he waits to see if she’ll say anything now.

However, as she said before, Hen is also aware of the circumstances and she doesn’t want to deal with any of this right now or kick up shit when their lives might already be about to change so much. It’s not the time or place, but she does vow to herself to keep that promise of telling Bobby if it all ends well and these two idiots continue to keep their mouth shut.

Bobby must pick up on some tension between them, because he asks: “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Eddie assures him with a tight and short smile, before deflecting by focusing on Chris, his smile becoming more real as he asks: “So what did you get, mijo?” listening intently and engaging as Chris explains in detail his vending machine snack choices.

Eddie keeps him occupied with all sort of conversation, probably trying to avoid having to talk to Hen, or either one of them saying something that will make Chris talk about Buck again. Hen partly expected him to straight up leave, so she respects the fact that he sticks it out.

He waits with them in the waiting room all the way until Chimney has woken up. Then he goes to check up on him for a moment, after Chris had made his escape to do so himself after a bathroom break, before coming back and announcing: “Me and Chris are going to get the waiting jitters out in at the playground. I updated Buck that Chim is awake, but he hasn’t read it yet.”

Hen just nods and lets him go. She’ll go check up on Chimney herself in a moment, she knows Bobby is breaking the news to him about Maddie and she knows he’ll need someone in his corner after that. She remembers what Eddie said about it crushing Maddie if Chimney didn’t make it, but she knows the reverse is true too. If Maddie doesn’t come back from this, both Buck and Chimney will be destroyed by it. And Chimney is her best friend.

She goes to sit at Chimney’s bedside, trying to comfort him and tell him it’s not his fault. That he isn’t the one that put her in danger. But when he says: “He’s going to kill her, isn’t he?” There isn’t anything for her to say that will make it better, make it right. The only thing she can do beside confirm, is say: “I don’t know,” and hope with all she has that Doug won’t succeed.

If he does succeed, then Buck will have to lean on Eddie and Chimney will lean on her, but she wonders if that will be enough to get them through this. If Buck will ever get back to work after, if Chimney will ever crack jokes again, or if the 118 as it is now, will irreparably be broken.

Fuck, she doesn’t know what she’s doing here.

Hen sits with Chimney until he nods off again, then roughly wipes her eyes and leaves the room. She needs to take a breath. Bobby will sit with Chimney so he’s not alone.

Outside, she spots the playground and she remembers Eddie will be there. She also doesn’t want to be alone for a bit, so she makes her way over there, spotting Chris in the sand pit and Eddie sitting on the side watching him.

Eddie looks like a man drafted to war, trying to spend his final day with his family. She supposes that is close. She remembers what he said about what would happen if Maddie didn’t make it. Sure, Chimney woke up, but Maddie’s life is still hanging in the balance. He doesn’t know if tomorrow his life and that of Chris will be radically altered.

Silently, she sits down next to him, also watching Chris for a moment. Eddie sends her a brief glance, before looking back to Chris, not saying a word either.

After a few seconds, she says: “Did Buck text you anything?”

“No, not yet,” Eddie sighs, eyes never leaving Chris. “He said they might have something, but it might be nothing a while ago, but since then… Nothing.”

Hen nods a few times thoughtfully, then remembers Eddie saying Chris is going to be confused by Buck’s behavior if Maddie doesn’t make it and how carefree he seems right now. She jerks her head towards Chris and asks: “Did you tell him anything about it yet?”

“Oh, no, I- I don’t know how,” Eddie says, running a hand through his hair. “Buck usually does the talking. He’s better at it than me. I don’t know how to explain this to him. Any of it. He doesn’t even know Maddie is actually his tía.”

“What?” Hen chokes. “You didn’t tell him? Why? And what did Maddie think about that?”

“Uh, we also didn’t tell Maddie. She doesn’t know we’re married,” Eddie confesses. He chuckles humorlessly: “Buck actually never wrote about it in his cards to her, because he was nervous about Doug knowing Chris existing and knowing where he was. Guess, he was right to worry about that.”

Hen’s eyes nearly fall out of her sockets. That adds a whole layer to this whole thing. She can’t imagine the guilt Buck must be feeling right now, of not having shared it out of fear for Doug, while not able to protect Maddie from him. That she might get hurt by something that Buck did manage to protect Chris and Eddie from. How he was capable of it, just failed her.

She also can’t imagine what their family will look like if Maddie doesn’t make it. Buck having to grieve Maddie, live with the loss of her, while having never fully managed to get her back into the entirety of his life. Having to explain to Chris that he lost a family member, he didn’t get to know. Having to introduce Chris to Maddie as an aunt by sharing her memory, because there is nothing else to be shared.

It nearly chokes her up and she can’t deal with all these emotions after the day she’s had. So, she falls back on that first responder dark humor and instead comments: “So, you two not telling anyone is just a thing you do?”

The laugh Eddie lets out of that sounds close to pained, but the crinkle around his eyes are real. He shakes his head to himself, then says: “I suppose it is. My side of the family knows, if that’s something.”

“Oh, wow, that is something,” Hen agrees, playing up how impressed she is with them, as if it’s an accomplishment.

“Thank you, thank you,” Eddie jokes with her.

They’re quiet again for a beat, then curiosity wins out and Hen asks: “So, why did you end up telling your family about it?”

“I kind of had to,” Eddie shrugs, trying to be more nonchalant than he is. “We got married so Buck could adopt Chris, stepparent adoption is the quickest. I went to re-enlist and Buck stayed to take care of Chris, but he couldn’t do it alone. My mom and papi helped. So, we explained it to them.”

Hen nods along as he explains, then can’t help but ask more when he is done, fascinated in an odd way by their relationship. “And your parents understood?”

“God no,” Eddie snorts harshly. “No, they hated it. Pretty sure everyone heard them yelling when I told them. The only thing that prevented them from going absolutely nuclear was the fact that it’s just a convenience thing and we’d get divorced when I’d get back. My mom wanted to take Christopher when I re-enlisted. Not sure she would have given him back if it weren’t for Buck.”

“Jikes.” Hen had already gathered where some of that repression came from, but that is absolutely insane and the fact that Eddie seems only mildly upset at it, instead of completely devastated, speaks to how deep his parents are in his head.

However, that is something for him to unpack with a therapist at a better time, not with Hen at a playground. So, she pivots in conversation topic. “And was it always the plan to lie to us, so you could work together? Is that why Buck never said in his probie year?”

“Oh no, that was just him being an idiot,” Eddie says.

“An idiot how?” Hen asks, curious to see what Eddie would class as idiot behavior when he has already shown himself capable of being quite a magnificent idiot himself.

“He thought I would divorce him the second I got my certifications, the second I ‘didn’t need him anymore’ and kick him out,” Eddie rolls his eyes, as he recounts it. “As if I’d make him leave Chris when he didn’t want to.” He says it as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. Then adds: “He said he felt awkward bringing it up when he was going to lose it, then felt awkward correcting everyone’s assumptions about him.”

“Ah, guess that makes sense,” Hen says, trying to figure out what a normal response is to all this – if there even is one – because she doesn’t know what to say.

Of course, she doesn’t have the full context, but if it was truly a marriage of convenience made so Buck could watch Chris while Eddie was away, then it makes sense why Buck would think that. She wonders if Eddie realizes he doesn’t want to divorce Buck for more reasons.

At least, that’s what it looks like from her perspective. If Eddie isn’t leaving his husband for Buck, because his husband is Buck – and that is very clear to her – then of course he isn’t going to divorce Buck just because that’s what they said.

Eddie is creating reasons to stay married and he doesn’t even seem aware that he’s doing it. He has everything behind this wall and the second someone pokes at it, he shuts it down.

Before she can figure out how continue this conversation, however, Eddie’s phone rings. He takes it out and nearly fumbles it, as he says: “It’s Buck, be quiet for a moment.” Then he picks up, immediately going: “Buck, are you okay? Is Maddie?”

Hen holds her breath right alongside Eddie, until they can hear Buck choke out: “We got her, she’s alive.”

The relief is almost painful and she claps a hand over her hand as tears spring into her eyes, while beside her Eddie makes a punched out relieved sound, muttering: “Gracias a dios.” Then he directs his voice at Buck. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“Uhm, in the hospital. Maddie- she stabbed Doug. He’s- he’s dead, I think. Uh, she- she got hurt and has to have surgery. We- we just got here,” he answers. He sounds like he’s crying and Hen wishes he was here, so she could hug him.

“But you’re okay?” Eddie presses, there is a worried frown between his brow and Hen finds his concern a little adorable.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. I showed up when it was already over. If she- if she hadn’t- if she hadn’t fought so hard, I would have- I would have-” Buck sounds absolutely devastated and horrified. Hen can’t imagine how scared he must have been.

“Buck, you can’t think like that. She’s okay. Chim’s okay. You’re okay,” Eddie says firmly, grounding Buck back in reality.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Buck says more to himself. Then he clears his throat and asks: “How are you? Is Chimney okay? Like truly?”

If Hen didn’t already know they were absolutely gone for each other, the way they keep also checking if the other is actually fine confirms it for her.

“Chimney is okay as he can be,” Eddie assures him. “Cap broke the news about Maddie to him, he was heartbroken, but Hen talked with him too.” He sends her a glance and she gives him a thumbs up, even though her conversation with Chim wasn’t the most helpful. “He seemed to be doing better after.” Eddie tries to inject some cheer in his voice as he adds: “But I bet I’m about to cheer him up with the news that she’s okay.”

“That’s good,” Buck replies, managing to sound marginally more okay than before. “So you’re still at the hospital?”

“At a playground nearby. Chris is building sandcastles, though he is slightly miffed we don’t have proper construction tools,” Eddie says. “You wanna talk to him?”

“Yes, please,” Buck says, his voice tight as if something is squeezing his throat.

Hen gets wanting to just hear that your kid is okay after something harrowing and she wonders how many times Buck wanted to hear Chris’s voice, but didn’t think it was his place or wasn’t able to, because they were lying. Wonders just how much of the queer experience that is homophobia and staying closeted they had while not even admitting to themselves or each other the good thing they had. Wonders how much it ruined them, before the love behind it ever even took off.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Eddie angles the phone away from himself to yell: “Chris, come here. Papi’s on the phone.” Then to Buck again, he says: “I told him you had to work and I didn’t mention that Maddie was missing, so you can decide what you want him to know right now, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Buck answers, but Hen is focused on Chris, who is excitedly coming over.

It hits her all over again that Buck is a father, has been the whole time, especially when Chris chipperly says: “Papi! Daddy said you had to work, so you couldn’t hang out like you promised. Are you coming to hang out with us soon? I am building the best sandcastle, but I don’t have my bucket and shovel. You can bring them and we can build a sandcastle together.”

The flashes of maturity, the way he always knows how to calm kids down, make so much more sense to her, when she listens to Buck gently say: “I’m sorry, buddy, but daddy’s right. I had to work with Athena, Bobby’s fiancee, you remember Bobby right, our Captain?” No sign that he’s been crying earlier anywhere to be found in his voice.

“Uh-huh, he makes delicious grilled cheese,” Chris cheers.

“Yeah, he does,” Buck laughs. “I was with Athena, because tía Maddie got lost, so we had to go find her. And we did! But she got a little hurt.”

“Like Chimney?” Chris asks, voice getting softer.

“Like Chimney, yes, but not as bad. But she is in a hospital a bit further away, so I’m going to have to stay with her until she feels well enough to come home again.”

“I hope she gets better soon, hospitals can suck.”

“Yeah, they can. And I don’t want her to be lonely.”

At that, Chris gasps and repeats part of what he told Hen earlier: “I’ll make her a card. Cards cheer people up and you need some cheer when you’re far away from people you know.”

It now further clicks for Hen that Buck must have passed his tradition of sending Maddie cards to Chris when Eddie was away on tour. That he connected with Chris about having family members far away, sending them cards to make them feel better as well as make yourself feel better even when they’re so far out of reach.

She remembers Buck saying Maddie didn’t answer his cards when she first showed up and her gut clenches for how much that must have sucked. That he too, was far away from people he knew and he never had anything tangible. How much that would have meant to him to have from Maddie, especially if she hadn’t made it through today.

Hen doesn’t know if that’s the reason, but Buck sounds choked up when he says: “I’m sure she’ll appreciate that, Superman.”

Eddie smiles fondly at the Chris and the phone, while he’s talking to Buck. The heart eyes she had seen so many times are now in their full context and she doesn’t know how either of them have never made a move.

Of course, Eddie is repressed, but Buck seems to be more comfortable on that front. Is he waiting for Eddie to catch up? Or is he as oblivious to the fact that Eddie likes him as Eddie is?

She both dreads and looks forward to unpacking that mess from a distance – something she can entertain now that Maddie and Chimney are confirmed to make through – before deciding how to meddle. Because she cannot let this continue.

Though that is later. Now, Eddie blinks himself out of his pining stupor and pipes up: “That sounds like a great plan, mijo. Why don’t you say bye to papi and then we can go tell the people at the hospital that tía Maddie is okay, before going home so we can make your card.”

“Okay, daddy,” Chris agrees easily. “Bye, papi,” he says into the receiver. “I hope tía Maddie gets better soon and that you both can come home. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Buck says, before saying his goodbye to Chris.

The phone gets handed back to Eddie now, who immediately takes up his role as doting husband, checking: “Are you going to be okay? Is there anything I can do here?”

Buck sounds painfully fond, as he assures Eddie: “I’m gonna be okay. Just try and see if you can free a bag of clothes or something from Maddie’s apartment, so she has stuff when she gets here. I don’t think she’d want to go home after everything that went down. Plus, it might still be a crime scene.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Eddie promises, before he hesitates for a second, then he says: “She is always welcome to stay with us, you know that right?”

“I know. Thank you. Uhm, good luck filling everyone in. I’ll check in about what the plan is when there is one,” Buck’s voice is strangely flat when he says that, especially compared to the previous time he said something.

Eddie sends a look over to Hen, as if to check if she is hearing it too. Hen hopes her face conveys that she does.

However, Eddie doesn’t know what to do with it, that much is clear, because he sounds horridly awkward when he says: “Oh, uh, yeah, okay. Goodbye.”

“Bye,” is all Buck says, before he hangs up.

“Maybe there was news about Maddie?” Hen offers when Eddie just stares at the black screen for a few seconds without moving.

“Oh, yeah, probably,” Eddie says, trying to act as if it doesn’t bother him. Hen suspects, he wouldn’t have done that if they hadn’t had their previous conversation. Still trying to overcompensate, she thinks with a sigh.

Still, she doesn’t say anything, instead getting up so they can go inside and tell Chimney and Bobby the good news. She is way more focused on that right now, she can’t stand to see Chimney looking as defeated as he did earlier for a moment longer than he has to.

Chimney lights up in relief when they tell him, before he starts crying, inhibitions lowered by the meds and having had a very difficult time. Hen just holds him while he cries in his shoulder while Eddie slowly backs out of the room with Chris.

Over Chimney’s head she sends him a judgmental look. Eddie just makes an awkward facial expression back then points to Chris, before vaguely gesturing something she can’t decipher.

The two call out a goodbye that Chimney probably doesn’t hear, them leave. When Hen later checks her phone, Eddie texted her to pass on a more proper goodbye, but that he didn’t want to make Chimney uncomfortable by forcing him to have a break down in front of Chris. Hen suspects Chimney’s comfort wasn’t his only motivation, but lets him get away with it.

She herself stays with Chimney until he calmed himself down and heard from Buck that he’s working to get Maddie transferred to his hospital. Karen and Denny come by sometime as well. Hen is dying to tell Karen about everything that happened today, but waits. Chimney has been through a lot, asking him to keep this secret on top of it, would be too much.

So, she sits with him and her family until he tells them to go home, that he’s fine. She still promises to come back tomorrow, but she’s tired. She never went to sleep last night and the brief naps by Chim’s bedside aren’t the same.

After sleeping long and deep, she gets woken up by Karen, who says: “I dropped Denny up at a play date with Harry. Got some coffee for you,” while pressing a kiss to Hen’s forehead.

“Hm, special treatment,” Hen hums groggily, waking up enough to kiss her wife properly, before taking the mug and sipping from it with a content hug. “What’s this all about?”

“You just seemed a little quiet yesterday,” Karen shrugs, before looking at Hen with worried eyes. “Are you okay?”

“As okay as I can be,” Hen assures her. “What about you? Chim’s your friend too.”

“He is, but he’s not my best friend and work partner,” Karen points out. “I was worried out of my mind all day yesterday, but I had Denny to distract me and not at the hospital that was serving as a continuous reminder. It’s okay if you need a little longer to process, even when you already know he’s okay.”

“Thank you, baby,” Hen says, kissing Karen again, before pulling back and smiling. “But I’m okay, I promise.”

Karen appraises her critically for a second, then nods to herself: “Okay. I’m glad.” She smiles too. Then curiously asks: “So what were the pensive silences about yesterday? They didn’t look like you just being tired. It was your thinking face.”

“I don’t have a thinking face.”

“Yes, you do. Now, spill.”

Hen rolls her eyes for a moment, then says: “I found out that Eddie isn’t leaving his husband for Buck, but his husband is Buck.”

“What?”

“Yeah, that was my reaction too,” Hen snorts. “Apparently they’re married as friends, planning to divorce at some point, but haven’t gotten around to it. They lied to be able to work together. No one knows except for me, and you now. Not even Maddie. And Eddie is repressed to all hell, doesn't even know he’s in love with Buck.”

Karen just blinks at her while she unloads all this information on her. She processes for a moment, then quietly yet forcefully she whispers: “What the fuck.”

“I know,” Hen agrees.

“Are they allowed to lie about that?” Karen asks.

“Nope.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I told Eddie to tell Bobby and talk to him about options on how to get around it, but I don’t know if he’ll go for it. They feel like they’re in too deep, it wasn’t supposed to get this far out of hand,” Hen says. “I think I’ll give them two weeks, if they haven’t said anything then, I’m telling Bobby for them.”

“God, what a mess.” Karen still sounds kind of shellshocked.

“Tell me about it,” Hen laughs.

“And you’re sure Eddie doesn’t know he’s in love with Buck? I mean, with the way you described them to me…” Karen feels the need to check.

“No, he has no clue. It was kind of creepy how he just shut it down when I got close to poking at it,” Hen says. “Buck might know though.”

“Damn. At least that’s something.”

“Yeah, at least that’s something,” Hen agrees fondly.

“Are we going to match-make?” Karen asks.

“Maybe, let’s first see how the whole telling everyone thing goes,” Hen says. “I’m not sure if we want to poke in all this. I say we wait until everyone knows, then start a betting pool about it. With the way they cling to each other, one of them has to snap at some point. They’ll figure it out.”

“Alright. I’m putting my money on them figuring it out over something stupid.”

“Anything they do is stupid, but sure,” Hen says, unable to help the way she falls more in love with the woman next to her. God, she is a huge lesbian and happy to be aware of that fact.

“Well, what do you think? What are you betting on?”

Hen takes a moment to consider the question, then decides: “I say it’s probably Chris that makes them realize they’re in love.”

“Oehh, that is a good guess,” Karen agrees a little gleeful.

The two of them spend the rest of the morning in bed with coffee, talking about all the ways Buck and Eddie could figure their shit out, as well as other things when that topic is exhausted.

Buck takes the week off, but Eddie is with Hen on shift the following days. He pretends as if there is nothing different and doesn’t appear to be preparing himself to tell Bobby anytime soon. Hen gives him a few judgmental looks, but keeps her promise to herself to give them two weeks.

Out of the blue, she gets a text from Eddie a few days later, asking if it’s okay if Chris sleeps over at their house tonight. She knows that Eddie has picked up a 24 hour today and wonders if Buck can’t watch Chris tonight or something as she texts back that that’s fine.

A part of her hadn’t expected a sheepish Buck to show up on her doorstep with Chris a few hours later, greeting her with an: “Uh, hi. Eddie asked if this was okay, right? Chris is looking forward to seeing Denny again.”

“Hi, Hen,” Chris greets cheerfully.

“Hello, Chris,” Hen smiles. “Denny is in his room, you can go knock if you want. He was excited to see you too.”

“Thank you,” Chris says, “Goodbye, papi!” before disappearing into the house.

As he does, Hen says: “It’s more than okay for him to stay. Are you going to the hospital tonight?”

“Uh, no, no, uhm, Maddie is staying with us for a bit,” Buck explains. “We figured it’ll be best that the first night it’s just us, while she gets used to the whole thing. Besides, I don’t want to overwhelm her or make her uncomfortable. She’s been through enough. I’m about to go pick her up.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Hen smiles gently, before she can’t help but be nosy. “So you told Maddie?”

Buck blushes brightly and nods curtly. “Yeah, uh, yeah, we- we did. Eddie already said you knew. Uhm, I hope this isn’t too weird.”

“Not much weirder than I thought was happening,” Hen assures him.

“What did you think was happening?” Buck frowns confused. “Eddie said you figured it out, because Chris mentioned something about me.”

Interesting, Hen thinks, so Eddie didn’t mention anything about her thinking they were together. He probably edited it out, because it made him uncomfortable, maybe even made him feel exposed, like something Buck couldn’t know.

Just to be a bit of a dick, which is justified after everything they put her through, she says: “Oh, I thought Eddie was leaving his husband for you, because you two were having an affair.”

Buck chokes on his spit, coughing a few time as his blush becomes bright, both due to embarrassment and lack of air. Hen very helpfully claps him on the back until Buck manages to wheeze: “Why?”

Her grin is a little evil, but Buck doesn’t seem to notice, as she answers: “Oh, you know, just because you two were constantly giving each other heart eyes and invading each other’s personal space. It’s obvious how much you two love each other.”

Now Buck’s eyes are wide and he is almost frantic as he asks: “And you told Eddie all this?”

Playing at oblivious, she says: “Yeah, he told me that it was platonic. Friendships are important too, guess I just mistook it for romance.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, that must be it,” Buck quickly agrees with her and Hen has to bite away the giggle at how clearly Buck is trying to hide the truth.

“Anyway, since you two told Maddie, I’m assuming you’re going to tell everyone else soon too?” Hen asks, changing the topic, before Buck can uncover the fact that she’s fucking with him, though she is also genuinely curious.

Buck rubs the back of his head and says: “Maybe. We’re talking about it, but I don’t know.” Nervously, he bites his lip. “Are- Are you going to tell?”

“I’m giving you until end next week, then I’m going to Bobby,” Hen tells him honestly, because she believes they should tell him. Trying to imprint that on him, she says: “It’s the best option and it should be coming from you. You know Bobby is in your corner.”

“We’ll think about it,” Buck finally gives in, which is the best she can expect right now.

“Alright.”

“Thank you. For giving us some time, by the way.”

“Of course,” Hen smiles. “I know that can be a big decision, especially when your marriage doesn’t fall into what other people expect.”

“It’s not the same,” Buck says bashfully.

“Isn’t it?” Hen replies critically.

Buck says nothing to that, instead checking his watch and going: “I should really be going. Picking up Maddie, did I mention that?”

“You did,” Hen tells him mildly. “Drive safely.”

“Uh, thank you,” Buck says, already backing away. “And thank you for watching Chris. We owe you. If you ever need a date night or something, Denny is welcome with us too. …Though maybe not right now with Maddie there.”

“It’s alright,” Hen assures him, because it is. “We’ll cash in later.”

“That’s good. Bye!” he waves.

“Goodbye.” She waves back, but before he can get into his car, she calls out: “Hey, Buck!” “Yeah?” “Till the end of next week, yeah,” she reminds him.

“Yeah.” Buck nods.

“And say hi to Maddie! And Chim.”

“I will,” Buck promises, then gets into the jeep.

As he drives off, she watches him go, shaking her head to herself. She has no clue if they’ll heed her advice, but she’ll have to hope for the best. Next time she’s hosting Chris, it better be because Buck and Eddie are having a date night of their own.

A/N:

On the one hand, I love Hen always being right in the buddie bets, on the other hand, it’s so fun to have her wildly misinterpret the situation lmao, love her nosy ass <3

Also this accidentally became a lot more serious and less silly than intended around the reveal, ig it’s due to the nature of the situation in which the reveal happens, it was meant more funny haha oops

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whumble-beeee · 1 year ago

Text

Show Me What You're Made Of

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 2

CW: escape attempt, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, flashbacks (ptsd), past captivity references, needles mention, tied up, gunshot, general violence

* * * * * * * * [There are some scenarios in which you will want to invite a staged escape attempt just to foil it. Usually, this is done as a way to give hope to your captured hero only to viciously rip it away, but it can also be useful in making them reveal any powers they may have previously kept hidden.

It must be noted that inviting a non-staged escape attempt is very risky and generally a terrible idea, as there is always a chance the hero will be able to overpower you. Don’t get cocky, and always have a fail-safe. If done correctly, a failed escape attempt can be devastating to both a hero’s emotional and physical well-being and aid in long-term hero-keeping.]

* * * * * * * *

Stan was not a fast runner in any capacity. Especially without the use of his cane or any magical intervention to help his knee move along.

He could run without a mobility aid, sure, but that didn’t mean that a sharp pang of protest from his damaged knee didn’t light up his entire leg with every heavy step, and it certainly didn’t mean that he had the balance required to keep running smoothly like your average able-bodied person.

That realization blasted him like a truck as soon as he stood up and took his first steps to bolt toward the door, but at that point, it was way too late to turn back.

He pitched himself toward the wall and slammed into it with a methodically placed shoulder, using the cold cinderblocks to keep balance. With that support, and if he ignored the steadily increasing pain-filled protest from his leg, he could practically run normally!

Then a yell. He could hear footsteps pounding up behind him, gaining on him.

For a brief moment, he could already feel the iron grip around his wrist or his shirt, or the arm snaking around his stomach, the heave backward just as his fingers brushed the door handle, the slam to the ground, how he’d be bound up and forced back to that stupid chair and probably be tortured or whatever else the mercenary saw fit to do to him.

Fuck that.

If he couldn’t outrun him, he’d just have to fight him off.

Stan whirled around and sent out the sturdiest force he could muster to grab onto the bounty hunter's ankle. Just enough so that it caught in the air and missed the floor entirely, and the hunter pitched forward with a surprised shout and fell face-first into the concrete floor, the residual blue glow of the magic still half enveloping his leg. Stan could feel the energy seeping out of him like a punch to the gut, but he didn’t stop to see the rest of the damage before turning around and booking it again.

He slammed the mercifully unlocked door open wide and frantically ran outside, hesitating for just a moment because he didn’t expect to run face-first into what looked to be a warehouse wall, complete with a wide hallway he couldn’t see the end of, high ceilings, blank walls, and cold clinical lighting like a goddamn horror movie.

And no exit door in sight.

He raced to the nearest hallway turn, ignoring his pounding head and screaming weak knee and imminent exhaustion and burning lungs and the ever-threatening presence of the bounty hunter and just focused on the one and only task of ‘RUN!’ He couldn’t afford any other thoughts.

He finally barreled past the blind corner, and there was a door! Stan allowed himself a small relieved laugh at the sight of it.

A flash of the mercenary streaked in his periphery. Stan only squeaked slightly. He needed to get away, to slow him down again, he was so close, so close. So he twisted around to throw some sort of magic bullshit at him again when–

And his knee torqued.

He stumbled.

Lost his balance.

He shoved into the wall again so he didn’t fall flat on his face, and tried to push up again and run, or attack, or do something. And in that moment, despite everything, he saw a flash of red on the back of his hand that he hadn’t noticed before that drew all his attention; A tiny little smiley face, no doubt carved in the first time the bounty hunter messed with him when he was tied to the chair.

Then the bounty hunter tackled him to the ground.

Stan fought to get back up, but all he managed was a terrified shuffling of limbs and a feeble attempt at drawing up enough energy to fight the mercenary off as he quickly pinned Stan down with a straddling of the hips and threw a devastating punch across Stan's jaw that made him have to blink exploding stars away.

He held up his arms to protect his face, instinctively trying to curl up and away from the source of the pain. Noise surrounded him, that frizzy buzzing sensation filling his head with cotton and making it hard to think. His entire body felt like it was seizing up.

He wasn’t done yet. This wasn’t done yet.

“GET OFF!!”

Stan used every last bit of power he had to push the man off of him. The walls around them glowed an electric blue, and the bounty hunter lifted violently up into the air with a surprised yelp. But not before he grabbed the front of Stan’s shirt and dragged the hero right along with him with an equally terrified shriek.

Then Stan slammed face-first into the ground, barely managing to get his arms under himself in time to soften the landing. One which was not made any softer by the person landing on top of him.

“Holy shit... you don’t know when to quit, do you?” the voice above him cut through heavy breaths, a suddenly prominent southern twang vibrating through a growl of his voice.

Stan felt a punch in the right of his ribcage.

His muscles seemed to stop working entirely for a moment. Then a strange blooming agony started working its way outward throughout his torso.

His eyes unfocused. He curled in on himself as much as he could. It wasn't much at all. He couldn’t move. He felt an increasing pressure emanating from the area, the unbearable stinging pain spread throughout his torso and he squeaked trying to hold in a full-blown scream, breathless yet barely able to suck in a single gasp into his shuddering body.

He barely even noticed when a hand tangled through the hair at the back of his head until it yanked him up and arched his back, causing what felt like knives stabbing through his ribs. He gritted his teeth. If nothing else, he wasn't going to give the bounty hunter the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

The hand slammed his face down into the ground. The sides of his vision starting to go dark. Then slowly receded back again. A ringing sound reverberated throughout his entire body, and he all but went limp pressing his forehead into the floor.

“Y’know, runt,” the voice of the bounty hunter penetrated Stan’s clouded mind with hard breath. He could feel the man messing around with his belt pouches as he pressed his knee sharply into Stan’s lower back. “I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to use this. I think it's demeaning and kinda inhumane, but you just had to fuck around and find out, didn’t you?”

Stan shook his head and squirmed fruitlessly, terrified of whatever this guy could possibly think was demeaning and inhumane.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out, because suddenly a strip of smooth leather ran under his neck and pulled tight under his Adam’s apple.

Stan froze mid-struggle. Clenched his hands, and his teeth, arched his back and pressed his face into the floor even more. He could only see bright white.

He already knew what the collar felt like.

And suddenly he wasn't in the dingy warehouse corridor anymore.

"No, no, no no no NO NO PLEASE STOP PLEASE!!"

The red eyes flicked down to his sister, pressing her face into his side and squeezing into him as tight as she could.

Then back up to him, holding his hand out threateningly, blue glow dancing across his fingertips.

“How old is she?”

He snarled, arms protectively pulling her into him. “Stay AWAY from us!”

The eyes softened slightly.

So why was a gun still pointing at his head?

–

He threw his hands violently out at the person in all-black combat gear and a slight electric blue glow enveloped their side. Their narrowed their eyes and hissed in annoyance.

“Collar the older one, and for gods sake, find the younger one and dispose of it or something.” The person in all-black combat gear nodded at him. “She’s the only one we need alive.”

–

He tried to fight back. He didn’t have the cane back then. Didn’t need one.

His powers were so new, and they were so many, and he was just a kid.

He never stood a chance.

The gun. The eyes behind it. Red sparkles, red and scary.

He faced them down.

They were supposed to be gone forever.

Then the rough woven fabric of a collar too tight around his neck.

The large hands squeezing his upper arms painfully, forcing him forward.

Restraining him.

Fighting.

Held down.

Experiments.

Needles.

NEEDLES.

Where was his family?

He clutched at the collar as it wrapped around his neck. He could feel his powers leeching away as he fought to keep his freedom.

CLICK.

The sound reverberated through his skull.

And now the cycle had begun anew.

An arm wrapped around his chest and strong-armed him to his feet. Stan would have screamed if he remembered how to. Instead, a strangled gasp choked out of his vocal cords as a heavy hand clasped onto his shoulder and propelled him forward.

He immediately stumbled and fell to one knee, agonizing pain bolting up and down his bad leg and almost face-planting in the process, because when were his hands cuffed behind his back again?

He felt the collar sitting on his throat and he tried to bring his hands up to rip the damn thing off, but he couldn't.

He couldn't, he couldn't, he tried but he couldn't.

A voice lilted somewhere all around Stan, and he could feel the hands grabbing at him. He shrieked and fell forward, scrambling all of six inches before he was backed up and shivering against the wall staring up at the heaving bounty hunter.

He did not look amused.

“You are so pitiful, you know that?”

Stan brought his knees up and pressed his face into his legs, as if that small protection could put the world between them.

“Chiquito, if you don’t get your ass up and walk with me back to that room, I will pick you up and throw you over my shoulder like a sack of goddamn potatoes and spike you into the fucking floor when we get there, do you want that?”

Stan stared glassily into the floor. “... you– you– y-you were– you were there-ere.”

“I was–... What?”

Stan’s gaze snapped to his eyes. Those dark eyes. He couldn’t see it now, but he was sure there was a red glint in the right light.

“You!” He shouted, as if that would clear up his babbling. “You were– it was you!”

The mercenary stared at him. Then clenched his fists, looked up, took a hissing deep breath, and released his fists again.

“You can have a mental breakdown when we get back, runt. Are you gonna walk there or am I dragging you there?”

He didn’t remember.

Of course he didn’t remember, it must have been ten years ago. Stan was just a kid, and everyone thought he was a girl back then. He himself thought he was a girl back then.

Things were different now. Things were going better.

“I– I– We–... Walk.”

“Great.”

He reached down and dragged Stan up by the upper arm, completely ignoring the way he violently flinched and tugged back.

Stan did his best to keep up, but in addition to hunching over the searing pain in his chest and trying to ignore the prickling bruise that must have been forming on his cheek, his leg was oozing spikes of lava up and down his entire hip and leg. Stan stumbled and almost pitched forward if it hadn't been for the bounty hunter's iron grip.

The bounty hunter groaned incredulously. “Oh my god!”

“Wait, wait, I– Don't–!”

That was all he managed to get out before he was swept off his feet and thrown over the man's shoulder, hitting the soft part of his stomach right on the bone, knocking the wind from his lungs and setting his side on fire all over again. And now he was upside down. His brain felt like it was made out of slime.

He barely managed to gather his bearings enough to start kicking and yelling when he was unceremoniously dumped against the wall, where his head cracked against the cold cinderblock and he bounced to the ground with a strangled gasp.

The world went bright white as the searing pain shot through his entire being, snaking around his brain and squeezing it in a chokehold so that there was no more thought, nothing else but the primal urge to curl up into a little ball to protect himself and the silent open-mouthed screams of a trapped animal clawing desperately for its life, seizing and twitching and paralyzed all because of a too hard smack to the head short circuiting any chance it had at survival.

Stan could barely feel anything over the deafening ringing in his ears, the buzzing feeling in his body as if he were entirely made of bees, the dizziness tilting the world around him on its axis like some bad carnival fair ride.

What was that all about?

Then he finally spotted the mercenary again, coming at him once more with chain in hand, and he may as well have been dunked in ice water with how fast that image sobered him up.

He clumsily kicked out with all his might, pressing his back into the wall as much as possible to get away while simultaneously realizing that with the wall behind him, probably concussed, dizzy, tied up, and in agonizing pain, there was no way he was going to win this fight.

He kicked anyway.

Even as the hunter seemed to grab the ankle of his good leg easily, he still tried to slam his foot into the hand of the bounty hunter to just get him off. He even managed to get a solid kick in, causing the hunter to jolt back with a pained cry and let go.

Stan felt some sort of twisted sense of pride that he managed to get a hit in even in his sorry state.

Which was quickly crushed when two hands grabbed either of his ankles and lifted them up high into the air, so high that Stan was only touching the ground with the upper part of his back. He couldn’t even use his arms for extra support with the way they were firmly stuck near the small of his back.

There was panting above him. “Alright, you gonna–”

“Let me GO!” Stan yelled, trying once more to kick out of the hold, pressing painfully down into the ground with the back of his head and writhing around erratically in one last herculean act of defiance. He kicked even as his bad knee screamed for him to stop, to rest, even as the fists around his ankles just tightened and became more rigid in response, even as the mercenary grunted out a string of curses trying to wrangle him in.

He wasn’t just gonna give in.

“¡Basta ya! Fucking stop, you lost!”

“Fuck you, make me!”

A sharp kick struck him square in the middle of his spine, and he nearly cracked his teeth with the clench of the jaw he made trying to hold back the scream. He almost involuntarily had to take a moment to catch his breath, then before he could start his protestations again, the cold metal claw of a manacle clamped around his ankle and locked in place with a final click click click that made Stan’s hairs stand on end.

But he was still upside down. The mercenary didn’t let go.

In fact, he held Stan up by only one leg now, and seemed to be fiddling with something that Stan couldn’t see because of his own overturned and battered body getting in the way. He could hear each heavy breath the mercenary seethed out, each one filling him with more dread.

He felt like he’d been hit by a truck. The adrenaline of the situation finally started to ebb away as it started to sink in that he was well and truly trapped, leaving room for the much more paralyzing fear that Stan had been battling since the moment he woke up here.

Not to mention the blood rush from being upside down for so long was stinging at his face and making his brain hurt. And dizzy. And everything felt like it was shrouded in clouds. Or maybe that was the concussion.

“Jesus Christ,” the mercenary finally breathed. “One hell of a fucking kicker…”

Stan wrenched his head up to snarl at the man and tried to kick his hand off his ankle.

He snatched it out of the air mid-kick, haphazardly pressing a small bundle of twine into his skin as he knocked Stan’s ankles together and held them there as he began to wind the thread around them.

“Yeah, no more kicking.”

Stan still tried to wriggle out with increasingly weaker and weaker cries of anger, even as his ankles were anchored together, even as the blood rushed to his head and made him more and more dizzy, feeling the pressure in his face rising, and his breaths becoming shallower and slower.

Even as all of his efforts did absolutely nothing, and he was left panting and shaking with effort to not go completely limp as his legs were still held up high above him.

Stan didn’t even have the energy left to fight anymore. Tears stung at his eyes as he finally let his head lay on the ground.

“All tuckered out?” the mercenary's voice came from above him. “This seems to work pretty well on you. Maybe I just just let you hang like this for a bit. I’ve got this like, chain thing in the middle of the room hanging from the ceiling, I could probably just like, clip this in–”

“No, no, no, no no no…”

“You’re sure?” The southern drawl was ever-present. “Just wanna make sure you learned to never fucking do that again… y'know, I could hogtie you, you’re already most of the way there.”

Stan felt something break just then. He heaved in a desperate, hitching breath. “Just… please just put me down. Please.”

His voice was barely even a whisper. Every breath put more strain on his lungs.

A moment passed.

Then the hold on his ankles released, and his body came crashing to the ground. His feet hit extra hard, and his bad knee felt like it was being attacked by angry stinging bees.

But he didn’t care.

He just rolled onto his side so he wasn’t lying on his bound wrists and lay there.

He heard the boots of the bounty hunter approaching him, and he used whatever energy he had left to open his eyes and stare up at him, pleading with him to not actually hogtie him, whatever that meant. He didn’t think he could handle more.

But the bounty hunter just stared back down at him, briefly meeting his eyes before giving his body a once over, then a small nod. He nudged Stan lightly with the toe of his boot, and Stan’s wandering eyes opened and focused back on the man before he even realized they had closed.

“Not gonna pass out on me, are ya?” the mercenary asked, as if they had just had a light sparring match instead of an irrefutable beatdown.

It almost seemed like he cared. Maybe he did.

Stan swallowed. “I’m– not.”

“Good. Don’t.”

The mercenary whipped around and started to walk away, giving Stan a faceful of the revolver strapped to his hip, still completely clipped in and unused.

He never stood a chance, did he?

Despite everything, a feeling of something akin to a mix of rage and sorrow bubbled up within his stomach.

“He-hey! Wait!”

The bounty hunter turned to face him again quizzically, and somehow that made Stan’s annoyance just grow.

“You didn’t even–” Why was he mad about this? “You didn’t use the gun! Coward!”

The mercenary’s gaze shot to his hip. Then back up to Stan. His nose twitched. Face blank, calculating.

Then in one smooth motion, the gun was out of the holster and pointing directly at Stan, and a deafening blast rang out throughout the entire room.

Stan felt a burning sting whiz by his ear, high-pitched and cutting through air microseconds before the blast shook him to his core. He screamed and ducked into himself, violently shoving back into the wall and cowering into a small ball.

Even as the ringing died down and Stan realized he wasn’t a splatter on the wall behind him, the stinging on the shell of his ear didn’t die down. It got more intense. He felt a single drop of something tickling down the side of his ear before dripping down onto his shoulder. Then another.

His attention ripped up to the mercenary, only to scramble further into the wall when he found the gun still pointed at him.

Another drip.

The mercenary flipped the revolver once and shoved it firmly back into its holster.

“I’ll use the gun next time.”

* * * * * * * *

taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy

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proudfreakmetarusonikku · 1 year ago

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Primetober Day 4: With Friends Like This…, with all bonus prompts (Fighting, verbal abuse, and destruction of property.)

Dragon AU. In an act of defiance, Tommy tries to damage other parts of the “hoard” Dream keeps him trapped in. Dream, coldly furious, makes Tommy regret it without even lifting a finger. Warnings for self harm, suicidal thoughts, kidnapping, abuse, torture, referenced mutilation, referenced child death, dehumanisation, infantilisation, possessive behaviour, and threats of violence.

ao3 link

—— Tommy’s knuckles bled.

Wood and bone and stranger material aside lay rend to nothing in the hoard of treasure, the magic inside them diffusing into the air. Shards of glass and crystal dug deep into his skin, leaving wounds Tommy could only hope would scar, marring his skin, breaking him too.

If he could not leave this gilded prison, he’d tear off the gold and refuse to play nice. He’d bite and scratch and scream and make himself no longer worthy of hoarding.

Prime knows how long he’d been in this cave. He couldn’t see the days change, and Dream’s sleeping schedule was erratic enough that he couldn’t rely on that either. He’d grown a little taller, and his hair was a lot longer, so it had to have been a while, yet the images of blood and fire and pain still felt like it was yesterday, waking him up with screaming fits the rare times he caught sleep.

He was sixteen when his home was destroyed. When the monster from the storybooks burnt everything to the ground, gutted soldiers effortlessly through their armour, tore kids hiding in the corner to shreds. Tommy was the only survivor, though trophy seemed the more appropriate word.

If you were to ask Dream, he’d say it was because Tommy was the only person he’d met with the guys to stand against him without trying to hide behind iron shells and sharp sticks, with only his fists and a scared yet determined look in his eyes. Tommy got the impression it was more because being the great and terrible monster who destroyed villages for fun was a lonely life, and he was just the unlucky son of a bitch chosen to try and play therapist to a fucking dragon, but he knew better than to say it. He wanted at least one working arm, if nothing else.

He liked to imagine he was grown now. No longer a child under any stretch of the imagination, no matter how little Dream treated him like a “hatchling”, as he called it in his weird way of speaking. He was grown, and no one could call him a kid again without them being the childish one. He was mature now, like Tubbo was.

That thought felt like a flaw through the chest. Prime, he missed Tubbo. At least he never saw him die. He could delude himself into believing he escaped, somehow. It was a blatant lie to himself, and he knew that, but it served to cushion the blow, just a bit.

So did breaking things.

Priceless artefacts lay shattered, rare collectables and historic art pieces and ancient magic. Gone, destroyed, bloodied. They were a part of the same hoard Tommy had been trapped in, Dream seeming to view chasing him down, hurting him until he couldn’t move, and dragging him back to the literal gilded cage he spent most his time in as a game, and Tommy reckoned they’d been there longer than he’d been alive times, like, a billion. They weren’t doing anyone any good.

But even if they would, he didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care. He just wanted to hurt Dream. He wanted to show him he wasn’t a cute little pet human to coo over and torment, a jewel to keep locked up in a display case. No, he was Tommy, angry, violent, human. If Dream wanted to hold him captive, he had to know that Tommy would make it as difficult as possible.

And maybe, just maybe, Dream would kill him, and he could join Tubbo.

He breathed heavily, exhaustion overtaking him, and he dragged himself up the endless pile of useless stuff to the soft blankets and endless pillows at the top. Even if it meant locking himself back into a display, he didn’t mind. Maybe then Dream would see what he did. Maybe then Dream would fucking listen to him.

Halfway up, though, he felt a heavy tug on the back of his tunic, the only warning before claws dug into his back and he was dragged back to the ground. He landed with a thud, before something shifted and in a flash, he went from a paw holding him down to the weight of a person pinning him.

Opening his eyes, Tommy looked up at his own face.

That was one of the torturous things about Dream- his insistence on parading a parody of Tommy’s form around. Warped, a sickly pale green and with his monstrous features slapped atop, but still recognisably Tommy as of his capture, the same scratch wounds on his arms, the bruises on his face, and almost unscarred, unlike the mess of burns and cuts and injuries coating Tommy now. It was uncanny, and still, it made Tommy long for a time he’d never get back, when he felt whole in body, mind and soul, and not an empty shell.

“Tommy.”

Dreams’ voice was calm, eerily empty of any emotion. His face was blank, too, and that was scarier than anger. Dream loved being able to emote in his human form- grinning and giggling like an idiot whenever he was mildly happy, crying his eyes out when he was a little disappointed. Not even bothering with that told Tommy that whatever he felt, it was so far past bothering to even show. He wasn’t even sure if that thought made sense, but it was hard to make sense out of anything through the blind panic.

“I- I-“Tommy’s voice died in his throat.

“Quiet.”

Tommy shrunk, instinctively expecting a broken bone, another missing finger maybe, but Dream just stared down, expressionless. “I know what you’re trying to do, hatchling.” His tail wagged aggressively behind him, thumping loudly on the ground in contrast to how eerily calm he looked. “You’re trying to piss me off, so I decide you’re not worth keeping, and I’ll let you go or kill you, right?”

Tommy nodded his head, unable to speak.

“You’re not as smart as you think you are, little one.” Dream let out a barking laugh, one that lacked any humour. “I don’t care about how valuable something is for you humans. Gold, silver, gems, your sticks you use to access magic and scribble papers, they only matter because they interest me. And Tommy… you’re far more valuable than any other thing here. Unlike all my other trophies, you’re fun to play with.”

Dream smiled slowly, baring sharp teeth awkwardly stuck into a human mouth. The memories of such razor-sharp blades digging into his flesh sent phantom pain through the scars left by them, agonising enough that he couldn’t help but whimper. There was no ambiguity as to what he meant by that, and it sent a chill up Tommy’s spine. He wouldn’t even be allowed to die, not while the monster from his nightmares had fun torturing him like a cat would a mouse.

“But of course, I can’t let you just get away with that, can I? I have a reputation to upkeep.” There was a faint hint of what might have been sadness in that, barely peeking through his unreadable tone, but it disappeared as soon as it broke through. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. You’ve shown me that doesn’t work, haven’t you?”

He grinned again, and Tommy’s stomach dropped. “No, no. The second you step out of line again, Tommy, I’m going take you to show what happened to your little human lair, and I’m gonna destroy one more for each little mistake you make. And I’ll make sure you see every second of it. Maybe I’ll even bring some humans back to take my time playing with, before I get bored of them. Maybe I’ll make you hurt them too.”

Tommy felt sick. He couldn’t even bear to think about- about the outside, about his home. The image of it, picturesque and whole in his memories, still caused him to tear up, let alone the nightmares. The idea of seeing it now, ruined and shattered, seemed horrific, and even worse was the idea of anyone else going through the same thing, seeing their home burnt to the ground, dying horribly in the wreckage. Or being brought back to- to really, just be tortured, and then probably eaten once Dream got bored or hungry or whatever, without even the scattered, confused kindness Dream tried to show to him.

And the idea of doing what was done to him to others? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. No. No, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t live with himself, knowing that agony.

Tommy tried his best to stay calm, to be a Big Man, but like a goddamn pussy he couldn’t help himself but burst into tears.

Absently, Dream ran a claw gently across his face, curiously tracing the path of the tears, eyes widening slightly in fascination. “Don’t worry. Just be the perfect treasure, and that won’t have to happen, ’kay?”

“H-how?” Tommy’s voice was strangled, terrified. It took all he had left to even say them. “How do I- do I stop that?”

“Just don’t try stupid shit again, alright? And talk to me. It’s interesting, hatchling. I’ve never had anyone to talk to before.” It was said so casually, but even in this state, Tommy was struck by how fucking sad that was. Dream really was doing this out of loneliness, wasn’t he? Maybe… maybe it wasn’t so bad to stay here, and be friends with Dream.

“Okay.” Tommy nodded, hating how weak he sounded. “J-just, please. Don’t hurt anyone else.”

“I can’t promise that.” Dream sounded sad again. “I- I exist for a reason, y’know, Tommy. Some things are made to ruin. They don’t have a choice. Do you think I want this? This pile of useless goods? This lonely existence? There needs to be a villain for every hero.” Dream sighed. “I don’t wanna talk about this. It’s- I’m not meant to; humans and hatchlings aren’t to know.”

The idea seemed strange. That Dream was as much a prisoner as Tommy… it didn’t make sense, yet Tommy found an odd sense of kinship in it. Maybe that’s why Dream seemed so oddly fascinated that he chose to fight him. Maybe he’d fought his role already. Maybe… he could find a way to make Dream only hurt him.

Or maybe it was a lie. But Tommy would let himself believe a comforting one, if only to give him the strength to stop Dream from doing what he did to him to anyone else.

After all, no one but Tommy deserved it.

#My writing #cprimetober #c!primeboys #dream smp #self harm tw #Suicidal thoughts tw #Kidnapping tw #abuse tw #torture tw #referenced mutilation tw #referenced child death tw #Dehumanisation tw #infantilisation tw #Possessive behaviour tw #Threats of violence tw

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actress4him · 1 year ago

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Whumptober 2023 - Day 22 - Modern Brumaria

This is probably the future of the Soldier Boy AU, or any other universe with gang!Kamaria. Also it's much longer than my other Whumptober fills because I'd already been working on it before Whumptober. Bruno belongs to Izzy and is used with her blessing!

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @sssunshinebreeze

Masterlist

No. 22: Vehicular Accident

Contains: lady whump, broken bones, dislocation, mild gore, head injury, referenced panic attack, referenced trauma, hospital mention, kidnapping mention, delirium, whipping mention, romance

This day has completely sucked. Well, it started out normally enough, but then she’d been triggered in the grocery store of all places when she saw a bald white man who reminded her of Roderick. And trying to hold the panic inside because she was in public just made the fallout ten times worse when she finally gave in. Always does, as Bruno likes to point out. Never stops her, though, she’s too stubborn for her own good - another bit of Bruno wisdom that he needs to turn on himself.

He and Shadi have tried their best to make the rest of the afternoon not suck, they really have. But come evening, Kamaria is still feeling off. She needs air. She needs to just not think for a while, which is what she tells her husband as she slips into her leather jacket and boots and straps her knife to her hip.

“Be careful, love.” He kisses her forehead, then her cheek, concern etched into his handsome features. “And call if you need anything.”

“I will.” She’s not sure who looks more pitiful, Bruno or Shadi, as they watch her reach for the door. She gives one a smile and one a scratch behind the ear, then heads to the garage.

The rumble of her bike underneath her automatically eases a little of the tension in her shoulders. Driving it far too fast, zipping around curves and past cars with the landscape flying by in too much of a blur to decipher, is even better. All of her concentration has to go into handling the bike. She doesn’t have any time to think about anything else.

Once she’s way out of town and her mind isn’t so much of a swirling mess, she slows down and sits up straighter, raising her visor so that the wind can hit her skin. It’s nearing dark, and the roads out here are practically empty. Her thoughts slowly move back toward the grocery store, to Roderick and the feeling of being caught doing something she shouldn’t be that had overwhelmed her in that moment, but it doesn’t bring the same buzzing sensation beneath her skin as earlier.

What would the real Roderick actually think, if he could see her living this life, going out and buying groceries whenever she needs them instead of living off of stolen goods, peaceful and happy with a husband and two dogs and a house of their own and absolutely no one to punish them for their mistakes?

He’d hate it, that’s for sure. But he’s not around anymore, so what he thinks doesn’t matter.

She’s getting closer to being ready to go back home, but before she’s made up her mind to actually turn around, a rumble of thunder sounds above the motorcycle‘s engine. Kamaria glances up at the sky. While she was lost in thought, dark clouds had rolled in, looming heavily overhead.

Guess that’s my cue.

Checking for oncoming traffic, she U-turns and starts back toward home, picking up her speed just a bit. Fat drops of rain plop loudly onto her helmet. Within seconds, they’ve turned smaller and more and more frequent, until she’s being pelted in the face and has to use one hand to slam her visor back shut. The road is already soaked, so she keeps her pace around the speed limit.

A few minutes into the trip, headlights are reflecting in her mirrors. They’re too bright to see what kind of car it is, but whoever’s driving is clearly impatient, coming up close behind her and hovering. Kamaria just rolls her eyes and resists the urge to slow down even more. There’s no one else anywhere around, just the two of them, the wet road, and the trees, so it’s not like they can’t pass her if they’re that desperate.

Which they do, though not before tailing her long enough to make sure she understands their aggravation. Engine revving, the car pulls into the oncoming lane and comes flying by. She doesn’t even have time to react to slow down and let them get back into the lane. Just before they’ve fully passed her, they swerve back over, clipping the front of her bike with their back bumper.

Her front wheel immediately dives to the side. She jerks the handlebars hard back into place, but there’s not enough traction on the slippery road. In the blink of an eye she’s spinning out, careening toward the edge of the road and the trees.

The motorcycle tips as it reaches the grass. Her leg hits the ground first, pinned underneath the body of the bike, followed swiftly by the rest of her, head rattling inside her helmet as it slams into the pavement. That’s not the end of it, though. The bike is falling, dragging her with it, off the side of the road and down the steep embankment. It slams into a tree and she finally tumbles free from it, but by then it’s too late. She can’t stop. She’s rolling, violently, hitting trees, flipping, and rolling some more, everything a blur of brown and green and pain. Somewhere along the way she loses her helmet.

By the time she comes to a stop, she’s lost consciousness, as well.

…

It’s unclear how much time has passed when she wakes. She’s barely even aware that she was unconscious at all, only that she opens her eyes to a dark canopy of trees overhead and rain dripping in her face. Wincing and blinking it away, she tries to turn her head to the side and is met with blinding pain shooting streaks of lightning through her vision.

It takes a moment before she can see straight and breathe again. Moving very, very slowly this time, she cranes her neck to look back up the hill toward the road…the road that isn’t in sight at all. She fell a long way. She can’t see her bike, either, so she can only hope that it’s somewhere up top, still visible to passersby.

Coaxing the arm that hurts the least into motion, she fumbles for her pocket. Empty. No phone, of course, that would make this far too easy.

Okay, she needs to take stock of her body. Obviously her head is in bad shape, she probably hit it on a tree after losing her helmet. With the same hand, she reaches up and gently prods a wet, sticky patch on the back of her skull, gritting her teeth at the pain that responds.

The arm she’s using is in a familiar bit of pain, itself, though it takes more thought than it should to pinpoint why. Dislocated shoulder. Of course, that was to be expected. Her shoulders have been dislocated so many times in her life that it takes very little to do it again. The other arm is worse, though, it feels broken. With a bit of support from the dislocated left arm, she picks up the right so that she can see it, holding her breath against the pain.

Oh. Yep, that’s definitely broken. In a bloody, something is sticking out through her jacket sleeve kind of way. Right. She carefully sets it back down. There’s nothing she can do about it right now.

Her left hip hurts, too, where she landed on it when the bike tipped, but she doesn’t bother trying to move it or look at it. As far as she can tell, those few things are the worst. Everything else on her hurts, but it feels like scrapes and bruises, not broken bones.

It’s been a really long time since she was in this amount of pain. She isn’t used to it anymore. But that doesn’t really matter, does it? Not when she’s stuck in the bottom of a gulley with no phone and no one who knows where to find her. She highly doubts that the car stuck around to call for help. She needs to pull herself out of this situation, just like the old days, which means she’s going to have to embrace the pain again.

Slowly, though. This is one of the worst head injuries she’s ever had, and if she gets too eager she’ll just knock herself back out.

Inch by inch, Kamaria pushes herself up onto her left hand and the unbroken part of her right arm, stopping to breathe through her teeth and let the forest swirl around her after every movement. With one last heave, she’s sitting upright, clutching the sides of her head and squeezing her eyes shut.

Halfway there. Now she just needs to stand.

Her right leg seems to be in fairly decent shape - minus the long, bloody scrape she can now see on her thigh that tore right through her jeans - so she puts most of her weight onto it. She’s trying to move slowly, but it’s leaving her in awkward positions and she keeps almost losing her balance. Part of her wants to give up and collapse. Somehow, though, with the support of a nearby tree, she fights through the dizziness and pain and makes it to her feet.

It’s a really, really long way up to the road.

Her first step onto her left leg is nearly her only step. Fire shoots through her hip, she instinctively jerks in response, and her vision fills with lightning again. But she manages to fall into the tree trunk and stay upright, clinging desperately and gritting her teeth until the worst of it passes.

She has to do this. No one is coming to help her. Not because there’s no one who cares, not anymore, but Bruno won’t have any idea where to find her once he realizes that something is wrong. It’s all up to her.

With that in mind, she pushes onward, keeping her weight off a hip that’s likely broken as much as she can, and grabbing onto branches and trunks whenever they’re available to pull herself along. They aren’t available nearly as often as she needs.

But she’s dealt with worse than this before, right? She can’t think of any specific examples at the moment, but that’s probably just the concussion messing with her. There was the stabbing incident. That didn’t involve broken bones or head injuries, but it did involve a lot of blood loss and trying to get back to base without passing out. She survived that, she can survive this, too. She has to. Back then, all the incentive she had for making it was continuing her path of revenge. Now she has a husband, a home, a real life and someone who loves her and needs her as much as she does him. She can’t let him down.

Each step is agony. Her vision cuts in and out, her whole body throbbing. She has no idea how far she’s actually made it, only that it seems like the road should be much, much closer by now than it actually is. It doesn’t look like it’s gotten any closer at all. Maybe that’s just the rain pouring down her face messing with her perception, though.

She takes another step, reaches for a branch hanging just in front of her. It’s farther than it looks, though. Her fingers just brush the leaves as her foot slips on the mud and wet brush beneath her, and suddenly she’s falling.

She feels every bit of pain when her body hits the ground, but she’s unconscious before she has the chance to scream.

…

She’s been gone too long.

Bruno tries to give her the space she needs on days like this, he really does, which is why he didn’t protest her going out on her own or start worrying too much when the rain began. Even when the rain kept pouring and there was still no sign of her, he reasoned that she must have found someplace to stop and wait it out.

But she didn’t call. Didn’t text. And when he finally gave in and texted her, checking in just to make sure she was alright, she didn’t answer. Never even opened the text, in fact.

Which would make sense if she had given up on waiting out the rain and happened to be riding at the time. But she still didn’t come home.

Bruno looks over at Dante, who’s watching him pace the house with growing concern, and punches her name on his phone screen. There’s silence in the speaker for a couple of seconds, then the generic voicemail message that Kamaria never bothers to change drones to life.

He pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it. Her phone is off. Why would her phone be off? Even when they need alone time, they always keep themselves available, knowing their spouse will respect their needs unless it’s an emergency. It doesn’t make sense for her to have turned her phone off.

Something is wrong.

Without delaying any further, Bruno snatches his jacket from the closet and goes to his own motorcycle in the garage. He has no idea where Kamaria went on her ride. Just from their house there are two choices of directions to go, and from there it branches off into infinite possibilities.

But he doesn’t care. He’s going to find her.

…

Kamaria drifts in and out of consciousness. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows she needs to get up and move, but she can’t really remember why. Everything hurts. She doesn’t want to move, she just wants to keep lying here until maybe the pain gets a little more bearable.

So she lets herself burrow back into the darkness. When she wakes again, she’s struck with a sudden sense of urgency. She can’t just lie here. She has to get up, her father will be waiting on her to return. He doesn’t care about missions gone wrong, he just cares about obeying orders to perfection, and she’s already late. She’ll get whipped for this. Ten lashes for each hour she was missing. How many hours has it already been? She has to get up, she has to make it back.

She tries to move, and passes out in a wave of pain through her skull.

The next time that she finds herself staring up at the canopy of trees, she has no idea where she is or how she got there. She’s wet, and she hurts. Must have been Roderick again. He probably beat and waterboarded her. She can’t remember what it was she did wrong this time, but chances are it doesn’t matter, anyway. Their ideas of punishable offenses are usually things she can’t avoid no matter how hard she tries.

Her last thought before losing consciousness again is, I want Bruno.

…

As he rides, Bruno calls the local hospital and police station, just in case. No one has seen or heard anything about a black woman with green eyes and a large scar across her face named Kamaria Stenberg.

He goes from fretting that she may have gotten into a wreck to wondering if somehow she’s been taken again. Kane shouldn’t have any way to get to her, right? And none of his cronies should have a reason to want to take her, they were just following orders the first time. Then again, maybe one of them is holding a grudge, or enjoyed having her in their clutches a little too much. Or maybe it’s someone from her old life, animosity among gang members dies hard and there were plenty of people back then that wanted to get their hands on her. Yeah, they’ve moved states to get away from all of that, but that doesn’t mean anything. If someone really wanted to track her down, they could.

He’s sick to his stomach, thinking of all the possibilities as he forges on through the pounding rain. It’s been hours. Her phone is still going straight to voicemail. The two-lane stretch of road he’s currently riding is one he knows she frequents, but he’s gone all the way down it without any more sign of her than any other street he’s been on. He turns at the end, riding around a few more blocks with his heart in his throat before heading back up that same road, back toward town.

There’s a skidmark on this side. He’d noticed it out of the corner of his eye coming past the first time, but it’s not like they’re uncommon. This time he pays more attention, though, slowing down as he reaches it. It, because there’s only one. Not two, like a car, but one single mark. Like from a motorcycle.

Bruno pulls over quickly, punching the button for his hazard lights, and tugs off his helmet as he climbs off the bike. Running over to the mark, he follows its trajectory with his eyes first, then his feet. It’s probably nothing. He’s trying not to get his hopes up and also fighting back dread at the same time.

But then he stands with the toes of his boots hanging off the edge of the pavement and looks down the embankment, and he sees the large rivet that something left behind as it skidded through the mud. He sees bark missing off the bottom of a large tree trunk, like something smashed into it at top speed.

He’s moving again almost before his mind has caught on, slipping and sliding to the tree line. He wants it to be her as desperately as he wishes that it’s not. Then he sees it, just a couple of yards past the first smashed tree - a motorcycle, lying on its side. He doesn’t have to see it up close to know it’s hers. But he goes over anyway, as fast as the uneven terrain will let him, eyes darting around the area.

She’s not there. It’s her bike, like he knew it was, and it’s scratched and dented from its fall, but there’s no Kamaria to be seen. No sign that she was ever even there.

Could she have gotten up, walked away from a crash like this? But then he would have passed her on the way somewhere, right? And he’s already confirmed she hasn’t been to the hospital.

Or maybe his second fear was correct. Maybe a wreck was just the start of it, just the method someone used to grab her, and that’s why she’s not here now.

Fingers buried in his hair and chest heaving, he takes a few steps back and looks around wildly. “Kamaria!” His voice echoes through the trees, down into the hollow below. “Kamaria!”

…

Someone’s calling her name. It must be her mom. She’s really, really tired, she must have stayed out too late again, playing in the creek in the woods behind their house. She didn’t mean to make her mom worry.

“Coming, Mama,” she mumbles, trying to find the energy to get up. Her head hurts really bad. She doesn’t remember why. Mama will make it better, though, she always does. She’ll probably give her some of the pink medicine that’s supposed to taste like cotton candy, and plenty of kisses.

Kamaria is about to fall back asleep, thinking of her mom’s kisses, when another noise jolts her back awake. Leaves are crunching and branches shaking somewhere above her, like someone or something is sliding down the hill toward her. Automatically her hand moves to grope for a knife at her hip, but comes away empty. She tries the other side - nothing there, either. Maybe there’s one in her boot, but she can’t make her body bend to check. Why is she out on a mission without all of her knives? If she was stupid enough to lose them all, and even her gun, then she deserves for whoever or whatever this is to get her.

“Kamaria? Kamaria!”

She still doesn’t know who it is until his face appears above her, fear carved into his handsome features. “Bruno,” she breathes, a smile spreading across her face. “What’re…you doing…here?”

“Looking for you.” His hands cup her cheeks, and wow, they’re so warm. He needs to keep doing that. She didn’t know how cold her face was before now. “You’re gonna be okay now. I’m gonna get you help.”

She hums a little as he pulls his phone from his pocket and punches buttons with his thumb. “Better not…let my mom see you. She says…she says ‘m not allowed t’ have…t’ have a boyfriend. ‘Til I’m thirty.”

He holds the phone up to his ear, looking down at her with a strange look on his face that she doesn’t quite get. “Wait until she hears I married you.”

He starts talking to someone on the phone and it’s a lot for her to follow, so she just stares up at the trees and enjoys the one hand that’s still on her cheek. It stopped raining at some point. It was raining earlier, right? It’s nice that it stopped now, and that Bruno’s here.

“Kamaria? Love?” The hand is patting her cheek now. “Open your eyes for me, love. I need you to stay awake.”

She didn’t realize she’d closed them. Wrinkling her nose, she whines a little. “Tired.”

“I know you are, but you have to stay awake for now. The ambulance is on its way. Come on, open those gorgeous eyes for me.”

She complies, but gives him her best unamused expression. “My head hurts.”

He grows even more solemn. “I know. I found your helmet way up there somewhere. Can you tell me what else hurts? Your leg is scraped up pretty good.” She feels him gently lift her shirt. “Stomach is, too. I don’t see any concerning bruising on it, though I’ll bet you cracked a rib, at least.”

“Head,” she repeats, trying to think past that all-encompassing, throbbing pain to see what else there is. “Hip. Arm.” Almost as an afterthought she adds, “Shoulder.”

“No, I don’t want to move her.” He sounds like he’s talking to someone else. The person on the phone still, maybe. “Hip…” He carefully prods at both, eliciting a gasp and jerk from Kamaria when he touches the injured one. “Left hip. I’m guessing broken, based on the reaction, but could be dislocated. Left shoulder is definitely dislocated. And, uh…” Leaning over, he touches her hand, but quickly pulls back. “Right arm has an open fracture. Yeah, I’m staying on. How far out are they?” He listens for a moment, free hand coming back to rest on her cheek. “They need to hurry up. I’m worried this is more than just a concussion.”

She really wants to go to sleep. Now that Bruno is here, she feels much safer. Maybe now that he’s asked his questions he’ll let her nap.

“Stay with me, Kamaria.” His face is close to hers again. Eyes normally blue like the sky look more like storm clouds in the dim lighting.

“You’re…pretty.”

She somehow expects him to smile at that, but he just keeps looking at her with that worried expression and lightly strokes her hair. “Thank you. So are you.”

“Mean, though. Won’t let…me sleep. And…lost my knife. Can’t…stab you.”

“We’ll find your knife. And if you try your best to stay awake until the doctor says it’s okay to sleep, then you can stab me all you want after, okay?”

“No,” she whines. She’d like to bury her face in his chest, but she can’t move. “No doctor. Hate doctors.”

“I know, love. But I’m afraid you have to go this time.”

“Will you come?” She doesn’t want to go alone. He just got here, and the doctor is scary.

“Of course I will. I wouldn’t leave you.”

“Can…Shadi come?”

“Tell you what, I’ll check and see if she can come visit you while you’re there. Alright?”

Kamaria sighs and lets her eyes drift shut again. “‘kay.”

“Eyes open. Come on.” He pauses, turns his head a little. “I hear the sirens. They’re almost here. I’m gonna have to let them work on you to help you feel better, okay? But I’ll be right here the whole time. I’m not going anywhere.” Bending down, he presses a warm, gentle kiss to her forehead. “You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

“Love you.”

“I love you, too, Kamaria.”

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mamabelverse · 2 years ago

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Chapter 7: Where's Mabel!?

Summary: Another fall day in Glass Shards Beach, New Jersey. The Pines family were doing their normal things. Or, at least, until a certain point...

Until... they noticed somebody missing.

It's starting... I hope you're ready, everyone!

#mabel pines #shermie pines #ma pines #caryn pines #filbrick pines #gravity falls #mama mabel au #reverse au #tw kidnapping #like...#impiled/referenced #not shown... not yet at least #official fanfic

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cryptid-on-a-string · 2 years ago

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Yaaayyy yipppeeee hooorayyyy its a cute little ransom letter !!

(I actually asked my dad to write the handwritten part, because I just couldn’t get the “doctors handwriting” to look convincing enough, so yea thanks dad) (it says “don’t try to grow a brain, Vick!”)

#Ocs #my art #Machia #Solie #Machia’s design is still very much a work in progress still but this is just what I thought of for the time being #ALSO if anybody knows what the handwritten quote is referencing then sound off in the tags because I’m curious if anyone recognizes it !!!!#My dad is a middle aged man with a doctorate so I knew only he could get some authentic doctors handwriting #Tw ransom #Tw kidnapping #tw scalpel #Tw blood

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bluejaysandblackbats · 7 months ago

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Honor in Crisis

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, NTT, Titans, JLI, Arrowfam, Flashfam, GL Corps, Infinity Inc

Summary: Every chapter will focus on one character specifically and then I'll update their statuses in order.

This is a no powers au/fix-it fic for Heroes in Crisis. I wanted to focus on the characters and their healing. I decided that'd be easier to put some of these characters in a fic like this and work on it more from a real-world perspective. I DO want to say that I do not believe healing is linear so don't plan on a clear-cut happy ending. I'd say (and idk for sure) we're gonna eventually get a bittersweet ending for certain characters but nothing tragic.

Chapters: 8/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Kole Weathers, Lilith Clay, Eddie Bloomberg, Michael Carter, Michelle Carter, Rani Carter, Grant Emerson, Roy Harper, Grant Wilson, Joseph Wilson, Thaddeus Thawne, Bart Allen, Helen Claiborne, President Thawne, Todd Rice, Alan Scott (DCU), Damon Matthews

Relationship(s): Damon Matthews/Todd Rice

Additional Tags: No Powers AU, Canon Divergent AU, Fix-It Fic, Angst, TW // Suicide Attempt , TW // Domestic Violence Mention (Siblings) , TW // Referenced Child Abuse , TW // Kidnapping , TW // Child Abduction

Chapter Eight: Emesis (Thad Thawne)

Thad lay on his side, staring at the wall while a nurse checked his vital signs. The wall had a peculiar pattern, speckles so close they made designs and spots in some areas. Thad honed in on a collection of spots that looked like a face. "Hi, my name's Nurse Aya. Can you tell me what your name is?" Nurse Aya asked. Thad met eyes with her and took a shaky breath.

"Thad," he answered, "I feel sick." The nurse grabbed an emesis bag and helped him hold it to his mouth while he threw up. Thad had only been in the hospital for fifteen minutes. The EMTs injected him with something that slowed him down, but it made him so sick to his stomach that he thought he'd come down with the flu. The nurse threw the emesis bag in a medical waste trash can, and she checked his temperature. He apologized to her and tried to explain that he didn't have a weak stomach.

"They had to give it to you to get you to calm down," Nurse Aya whispered. Thad looked around.

"Is my brother okay?" Thad questioned.

Nurse Aya regained eye contact and waited for him to calm down. "Your brother is fine. Your brother is fine," she repeated, "Right now, what's important is that you get some rest while you wait for the doctor."

Thad nodded. "My twin's okay?" Thad whispered. Nurse Aya nodded.

"He's alright," Nurse Aya reassured. Thad recalled a fight that happened less than thirty minutes before his hospitalization. He couldn't remember what it was about, but he knew he'd hurt Bart. It was a bloody mess, and he convinced himself that everyone hated him for it. That's why no one came to visit him. He was sure of it.

A man entered the hospital room and waved. "Thaddeus?" the doctor questioned. Nurse Aya excused herself, and Thad nodded. "I'm Dr. Xochipepe. So I feel compelled to ask you if you prefer Thaddeus or some short and sweet form of Thaddeus."

"Thad or Theo's fine," Thad whispered.

"Okay, well, you can call me Dr. Xochi. Zo-chee," he sounded the name out for Thad.

Thad nodded, waiting for the doctor to run tests, but he didn't. "Your brother insisted on telling me you were manic," Dr. Xochi stated, "Would you describe the events preceding your hospitalization as part of a manic episode?"

Thad understood the question, but thinking took so much effort. All he wanted to do was sleep. "I've fought my brother tons of times... But this time, I almost—." Thad looked down at his shirt and rolled onto his back. "His blood's all over me... Does he need anything?"

"He's going home with your uncle tomorrow afternoon... And your cousin said she needed to pick up something for you to wear. You care for each other. I can tell... Thad, have you ever been in residential treatment?" Dr. Xochi questioned.

Thad was hospitalized once before, but he was younger then. A lot younger. Thad nodded and shut his eyes at the thought of it. Then Helen came to get him. And she was safe and warm and everything he'd never had. "I hurt myself when I was a kid because I wanted to get away from my grandpa," Thad answered. Familial kidnapping. The hospital was cold and impersonal. He swore he'd never end up in a place like that again.

And hurting himself was an understatement. Thad jumped out of a car on the freeway, shattering his elbow and hitting his head. When he woke up, he was too frightened to explain why, so he lied. "How long ago was that?" Dr. Xochi asked.

"I was thirteen. That doesn't have anything to do with this. I didn't hurt Bart because I was scared. I don't remember why I hurt him, but I wasn't scared of him," Thad explained. He shut his eyes in the hopes that Dr. Xochi would go away. "I'm not going home tonight, am I?"

"I'm afraid not," Dr. Xochi replied. He asked a handful of common sense questions before asking the difficult questions. "Do you feel like you might want to harm anyone still?"

Thad thought about his question for a long time. "I don't want to... But I think the damage is done. I've never done anything this terrible before. I don't know how any of them could ever forgive me," Thad mumbled, "I wouldn't forgive myself if I were them." Thad lay down again and tried to find the face in the wall. When he couldn't, he shut his eyes again. Thad didn't want to talk anymore. He wanted it all to fade away. Thad hadn't slept in days. He hadn't wanted to. Now, all he wanted was sleep.

"Thad?" Dr. Xochi asked. Thad pressed his face into the pillow.

Thad started crying softly into his pillow. "I don't want to talk anymore. I need some time," Thad mumbled. Dr. Xochi made a soft noise and distanced himself.

Thad curled into a ball and thought about Bart's head cracking against the pavement. It permeated his dreams. Pursued him in nightmares. He didn't sleep long as they woke him and transferred him to the inpatient facility.

It was pitch black outside, but this facility seemed different from the rest. Thad started signing paperwork, and after they checked him in, they offered him a change of clothes. He showered and changed before climbing into bed in the room they assigned him. His roommate lay staring at the ceiling, but he never turned to acknowledge Thad. That was fine. He didn't want to be noticed.

Thad's guilt would've kept him awake if it weren't for the sleeping pill the nurse gave him. His body ached, and his head hurt. Eventually, the pain became an afterthought as his body gave way to fatigue. He ran a bruised hand through his hair and enjoyed a dreamless slumber until he awakened with a jolt to his screaming roommate. Thad turned to the other boy and watched as the nurses did nothing. After nearly a minute of uninterrupted screaming, his roommate laid down and went back to sleep as if it were nothing.

Thad hugged his knees, visibly shaken up by what he'd witnessed. He couldn't go back to sleep after that, so he sat in place until it was time to get out of bed.

#fic #flashfam #hic fic #honor in crisis fic #Thaddeus Thawne #Bart Allen #Helen Claiborne #President Thawne #No Powers AU #Canon Divergent AU #Fix-It Fic #Angst #TW // Suicide Attempt #TW // Domestic Violence Mention (Siblings)#TW // Referenced Child Abuse #TW// Kidnapping #TW // Child Abduction

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serickswrites · 6 months ago

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Unhand II

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Warnings: physical violence, bruises, unconsciousness, referenced kidnapping

Caretaker came to slowly. Painfully slow. Everything hurt and it was hard to make sense of things. Someone was tapping on their cheek. Trying to wake them.

"Come on, Caretaker," Teammate Two's voice came. They sounded far away.

Caretaker was so tired. It would be so easy to slip back into the awaiting dark. So easy.

"None of that. Come on, Caretaker. Open your eyes," Teammate Two urged.

They knew it was bad. It had to be bad for Teammate Two to try and wake Caretaker that way. They struggled to open their eyes.

"There you are," Teammate One's voice came distantly.

"Caretaker, Caretaker," Teammate Two said again.

Caretaker shut their eyes rapidly. It was too bright in the clearing. Too bright and it made their head hurt. Their head hurt so much. Their whole body hurt. Why wouldn't Teammate Two just let them sleep?

"Where's Whumpee, Caretaker. We're getting you help, but if you're hurt, Whumpee must be hurt, too. Where are they?"

Teammate Two's words had Caretaker wrenching their eyes open. Whumpee. Whumper had taken Whumpee. Whumper had kidnapped Whumpee. Whumper made promises to torture Whumpee to death.

Caretaker tried to sit up and the world tilted on its axis. "Easy there, Caretaker. Take your time, it's ok."

"Nottttt 'kay," Caretaker muttered as they tried to sit up once more. "Whumpee."

"Where are they? You let us worry about them. Just focus on healing yourself, Caretaker," Teammate One said. They were much closer this time.

"Whumper. Took them. We have to find them." Caretaker inhaled sharply and rolled to stand. Though the world spun around them, Caretaker didn't stop. They had to find Whumpee. Had to make sure that Whumper didn't make good on their promise.

Tags: @cpt-winters @thequestingbunny @bloopdydooooo @tiny-feral-arachnid-man @inscrutable-shadow @bookworm7543 @lgcgjd @madmadder @mefattortoise @lthrboy @st0rmm @whumppsychology @gala1981 @whumperofworlds @hiding-in-the-shadows

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #tw physical violence #tw bruises #tw unconsciousness #tw referenced kidnapping #queue

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schrijverr · 2 months ago

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One of their own is laying down the hall, still too unstable for surgery and his sister-in-law, a part of his family, is missing. And if she doesn’t come back, he doesn’t know what it’ll do to Buck. Doesn’t know what he will do if it breaks him.

So his reply might be a little pointed as he says: “Then why are you in hospital jail?”

Buck looks away, face withdrawing as his shoulders get that defeated sag once more. Eddie instantly regrets his words.

After a sigh, he retracts them slightly. “Look, you’re worried, I get it. I’m worried too. But I sucked at explaining what a stalker was to Chris, do you think I can explain why he has to go visit papi through a glass window?”

The comment gets a small smile from Buck, which Eddie mentally congratulates himself on. Then Buck’s face falls again and that heartbroken expression returns to his face. “I told Maddie- I said that she didn’t need to keep on running, that she could start over here, that she would be safe. That I would keep her safe.” He sighs, emotions overtaking him, primarily regret.

“This isn’t your fault,” Eddie tells him immediately, because Buck can never allow himself to think that. “You caught it. Without you, Chim wouldn’t be down the hall and no one would be looking for Maddie. You did well, Buck.”

“Maybe,” says Buck in a tone that indicates that he doesn’t believe it. “I just- I can’t help but think it would have been different, you know, if I told her. If I convinced her to stay with us. I mean, with the two of us there, Doug probably wouldn’t have dared.”

A part of Eddie agrees with Buck. If Maddie had been staying with them, there’s a big chance Doug would have been too scared to try anything. They’re both big dudes and Eddie used to be a solider, with what little he heard, he doesn’t think they’d have been a target like Chimney was. And naturally a wave of guilt crashes over him, because it will always be his choice that caused it to play out differently, that caused Buck to be distraught like this.

-check out of the fic this is a snippet of-

#rrposts #9-1-1 #9 1 1 #9 1 1 show #9 1 1 buddie #911 #911 show #911 buddie #buddie #buck x eddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #the buckley siblings #buckley diaz family #tw: implied domestic violence #tw: referenced kidnapping #tw: referenced injury

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begtopush · 1 month ago

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The Cult Breeder

Word count 2980

Tw: Dark Topics, kidnapping, pushing baby back in, hard birth,descriptive birth, cult vaguely referenced

The cruel captor smirks wickedly, his eyes glinting with malicious glee as he sees Emily suffering in the throes of labor. He leans in close, his putrid breath hot against her ear as he whispers in a sinister tone.

“Aww, listen to you moan and cry, you pathetic slut. You want this baby out so badly, don't you? Too fucking bad.” He chuckles darkly, trailing a finger along her trembling jawline. “I'm in charge here, remember? You don't get to make demands.”

He steps back, folding his arms across his broad chest as he watches her writhe in agony, a sadistic grin spreading across his face. “Beg for it, whore. Beg me to help you deliver this bastard child. Maybe if you grovel enough, I'll consider it.” His laughter echoes through the room, cold and merciless. “Go on, entertain me. I'm all ears.”

“Please" she whines out weakly but it was not nearly good enough for him and makes him a bit mad with her lack of effort.

The captor's grin vanishes, replaced by a scowl of anger and disappointment. He grabs Emily's chin roughly, forcing her to meet his icy stare as another contraction wracks her body.

“Please?” he sneers, his grip tightening painfully. “That's all you've got? Fucking pathetic!” He shakes her head like a rag doll, his fury mounting. “You think a meager 'please' is enough to make me lift a finger to help you?”

He releases her roughly, letting her head thump against the wall as he steps back. He begins to pace the small cell, his boots thudding heavily against the concrete floor. “I should leave you to suffer, you ungrateful bitch. Let you scream and wail until you pass out from the pain. That's what you deserve for your half-assed begging.”

He spins on his heel, jabbing a finger at her as he leans in close once more. “You want this baby out? Then beg like you fucking mean it! Beg until your throat is raw and your lungs burn. Beg until I believe the desperation pouring out of you. Only then, and only if I'm feeling generous, will I even consider letting you push this brat out of your worthless body. Now fucking TRY!”

She groans "please god pleaseee” the contraction building again making Her whimper trying to grip onto the chain to squeeze it.

The captor's eyes narrow as Emily's groans reach a desperate new pitch, her voice cracking with the anguish of her labor and his cruel torments combined. He leans in closer, his face mere inches from hers, his breath hot and noxious against her skin.

‘Please god pleaseee…’ he mocks in a high-pitched, whorish imitation of her voice, his lips curling in a sneer. “Still not good enough, you miserable slut. You want the big man upstairs to hear you? Then fucking SCREAM IT!”

He slams his fist against the wall beside her head, making her flinch and cry out in fear and pain. His eyes burn with sadistic fury as he growls, “Beg me, you fucking CUNT! Beg me to end your suffering and deliver your bastard spawn. SCREAM my name until it's the only prayer you know. Until the echoes of it are seared into your goddamn soul!”

He grabs a fistful of her hair, wrenching her head back and forcing her to meet his wild, deranged eyes. His face is a mask of cruel intensity, his voice a vicious snarl.

“DO IT, YOU DISGUSTING BITCH! BEG ME LIKE YOUR FUCKING LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. BECAUSE IT FUCKING DOES! NOW SCREAM! SCREAM MY FUCKING NAME LIKE THE ONLY HOPE YOU HAVE IS IN MY FICKLE MERCY!”

She begs and whines for a bit but he still isn't satisfied she tries to disobey him and push she lets out a yelp as he forces something in to stop the descent and locks on a chastity belt so she can't push as she screams.

The captor's eyes blaze with rage as Emily's feeble attempts at begging still fail to satisfy his sadistic cravings. He watches in disgust as she tries to disobey him, attempting to push the baby out on her own. A vicious sneer twists his lips as he hears her pathetic yelp.

In an instant, he's on her, one hand clamping over her mouth to stifle her cries, the other grabbing a Length of coarse rope. He forces her thighs apart, his calloused fingers roughly shoving the rope between her legs and tying it tightly around her upper thighs, just below her swollen belly.

He cinches the makeshift chastity belt with brutal force, cutting into the soft flesh of her thighs until she whimpers into his palm. Satisfied with his handiwork, he releases her mouth and admires his cruel creation with a wicked grin.

“There, now you won't be trying to disobey me anymore, will you, you stupid fucking cow?” He chuckles darkly, giving the rope a sharp tug that makes her gasp in pain.” You want to be a stubborn bitch? Fine. But you'll suffer for it.”

He steps back, folding his arms as he watches her writhe against her bonds, her belly throbbing with the need to push. His grin widens as he sees the desperation and anguish etched into her features.

“Keep fighting it, whore. Keep resisting me. It'll only make your suffering that much sweeter.” He laughs cruelly, relishing every second of her torment. “You're not going to birth this brat until I allow it. Now, beg. Beg like you fucking mean it, you pathetic cunt. Beg until the only word you know is my name!”

“PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE” she cries and screams begging his name for 3 hours as the head pushes against the belt just to make no progress.

The cruel captor watches Emily with sadistic glee for three interminable hours, relishing every second of her desperate, anguished begging. He listens to her voice grow hoarse, her pleas becoming more and more frantic as the pain of labor consumes her. But still, he remains unmoved, his heart as cold and hard as the concrete walls of her prison.

Only when her begging reaches a fever pitch, when her words dissolve into incoherent, pain-wracked wails and cries, does he finally deign to respond. A wicked, triumphant grin spreads across his face as he leans in close, his putrid breath washing over her.

With deliberate, agonizing slowness, he reaches down and unties the cruel chastity belt binding her thighs. He drags it out, letting the rough rope scrape against her sensitive skin, making her flinch and whimper.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity to the suffering woman, he tosses the belt aside. He leans in even closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispers in a voice dripping with mocking gentleness.

“There, there, my pet. You've begged so very prettily. I suppose you've earned a small reward.” He chuckles darkly, his hand coming to rest on her swollen belly, feeling the tightness of her uterus as it prepares to push.

“Push, you fucking slut. Push this bastard out. And remember, you only get to scream for me. Now, PUSH!”

She pushes and screams it wasn't long before she gets the head out she screams out "OH GOD PLEASE IT HURTS" this pisses him off he's not God he said she could only scream for him. He comes up to her gripping the head and with deliberate slow movements he pushes the head in very slowly as she screams and begs.

The captor's eyes blaze with fury and outrage as Emily screams out her desperate plea to a higher power, completely forgetting his cruel command. A vein throbs in his neck as he fights the urge to strike her for her disobedience. Instead, he leans in, gripping the newborn's head with deliberate slowness, his fingers sinking cruelly into the soft, vulnerable flesh.

He glares at her, his voice a low, menacing growl as he forces the baby's head back inside her with agonizing slowness. “YOU WANT GOD TO HELP YOU, BITCH?” he snarls. “THEN PRAY TO THE ONLY GOD WHO MATTERS HERE!”

He grinds the baby's head against her cervix, making her shriek in agony as he continues to force it back inside her. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING THAT HURTS?” she cries. His other hand comes up to wrap around her throat, squeezing just hard enough to make breathing a struggle.

“I am your god now, you fucking whore. The only one who can grant you mercy or suffering. And you just pissed me off.” He leans in closer, his eyes burning into hers with sadistic intensity. “Now, scream for me. SCREAM MY FUCKING NAME LIKE THE ONLY WORD YOU KNOW. SCREAM IT AS I FORCE THIS BRAT BACK INSIDE YOU. SCREAM IT LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. BECAUSE IT FUCKING DOES! NOW PUSH, YOU DISGUSTING BITCH! PUSH HARDER! PUSH LIKE YOUR VERY SOUL IS ON THE LINE. BECAUSE WITH ME, IT FUCKING IS!”

"STOP STOP DONT OWOWOWOWOW" She screams trying to close her knees on him her hands still chained above her head forcing her into a standing position as he's slowly forcing the head into her body.

The captor's eyes widen with vicious amusement at Emily's desperate screams and futile attempts to close her knees, to protect herself and her unborn child from his cruel ministrations. He chuckles darkly, a sound that sends icy shivers down her spine.

He leans in closer, his grip on the baby's head never wavering as he forces it even deeper, making Emily wail in agony. “Stop? Don't push it in? Oh, I don't think so, you pathetic slut.” He snarls, his voice dripping with sadistic glee.

He uses his free hand to grab her thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave livid bruises. He forces her leg open wider, exposing her most intimate places to his ruthless violation.

You don't get to tell me what to do, whore. You don't get to make demands. He grinds the baby's head harder against her cervix, drawing a blood-curdling scream from Emily's throat. “I decide when this baby lives or dies. I decide when you live or die. And right now, I decide that you're going to take this brat back inside you, whether you want to or not.”

He starts to push the baby's head back in with brutal force, ignoring Emily's desperate screams and pleas. His eyes glint with cruel, twisted amusement as he watches her suffer.

“Fight it all you want, bitch. It won't change a fucking thing. You belong to me now. This baby belongs to me. And I say it goes back inside your worthless cunt until I say otherwise. NOW STOP STRUGGLING AND PUSH, YOU FUCKING WHORE! Push this brat back where it belongs, or I'll make you fucking regret it!”

But her respite is short-lived. He reaches for the discarded chastity belt, his lips curling in a wicked grin as he holds it up, letting her see the cruel device that will once again deny her the right to push her baby out.

He leans in close, his voice a sinister whisper against her ear. “You want to play the stubborn bitch? Fine. You can earn the right to push this brat out. But you're going to fucking work for it.”

With brutal efficiency, he forces her shaking legs apart and shoves the belt between them, cinching it tight and cruelly around her thighs. He grins at her whimper of pain and protest.

Next, he reaches up and unchains her wrists from the restraints above her head. She massages her red, aching wrists as he grabs her roughly by the arm and hauls her to her feet.

He drags her stumbling and groaning form out of the small cell, not caring about her labor pains or the baby's desperate need to be born. He forces her to walk, to move, as he marches her through the house.

He sets her to work, making her clean, making her scrub, making her cater to his every whim and demand. All the while, he watches her with a cruel, mocking smile, enjoying her anguish.

“Clean this fucking toilet, you disgusting pig.” He growls, shoving a scrub brush into her hands. “Keep begging if you want to, but you won't push until I say you can. Now fucking work, you worthless cunt. Work for your brat's life!”

She cries and begs pushing every contraction just for the head to reach the belt and recede again making her cry “PLEASE LET ME GET IT OUT PLEASE"cries screams

The cruel captor watches Emily with sadistic amusement as she stumbles through the house, her belly heavy and aching, her body wracked with the pains of labor. He listens to her pitiful begging and crying, his name falling from her lips like a broken mantra between each agonizing contraction.

He forces her to clean every inch of the house until it gleams, until not a speck of dust or dirt remains. All the while, he hovers over her, criticizing her every move, demanding perfection and punishing any perceived shortcomings with cruel words and harsher actions.

Finally, when the house is spotless and Emily is exhausted and shaking, he drags her back to the bedroom and throws her onto the bed. She lands hard, a grunt of pain escaping her as another contraction seizes her, the urge to push overwhelming.

The captor watches, his eyes glinting with wicked anticipation, as Emily's body instinctively starts to push. He sees the baby's head begin to crown, stretching her poor abused flesh to its limit.

He leans in close, his lips curling in a smirk of cruel satisfaction as he growls, “Damn, I put a big one in you, didn't I? And I'm not sorry. Not one fucking bit.”

He reaches down, his fingers sinking cruelly into the flesh of Emily's inner thighs, spreading them wider as she screams and pushes against her bonds. “You want this baby out so badly, don't you, you filthy whore? Well, keep pushing. Keep screaming. Let me hear how much it hurts. Let me hear how much you need me to give you permission to birth this fucking brat!”

She pushes screaming as the head crowns “IT BURNS OH IT BURNS SO BAD GET OUT GET OUT” she cries

The cruel captor throws his head back and laughs, a harsh, grating sound that echoes through the room as Emily screams in agony, her voice raw and hoarse from her labor and begging. He grins down at her, his eyes alight with sadistic glee as he watches her writhe and push against the burning, stretching pain of her cervix yielding to the baby's passage.

He leans in closer, his breath hot and foul against her face as he snarls,” ‘OW, OW, OW, IT BURNS?’ You think that hurts, you pathetic slut? You haven't seen anything yet.” His fingers dig harder into her thighs, his nails leaving livid red welts in her soft flesh.

He watches, enraptured and cruelly amused, as the baby's head pushes out a little further with each of Emily's agonized screams and pushes. He reaches down, his fingers sinking into the baby's slick, compressed head as it emerges inch by excruciating inch.

He chuckles darkly, his voice dripping with mocking sympathy. “Oh, you're doing so well, my pet. Your body was made to be bred, made to be used for pleasure and pain. And I'm going to use you for so much more.”

He leans in, his teeth sinking into the fleshy part of her shoulder, biting down until he tastes blood on his tongue.” Keep screaming, my lovely little fuck toy. Let me hear how much it hurts as this big, beautiful baby destroys your pussy on the way out. You've earned it. Now, PUSH! Push this brat out and maybe, just maybe, I'll go easy on you. Maybe.”

She pushes and the head pops Out with a squeal she doesn't stop though she just keeps pushing “GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT” she was so delirious

He watches with sadistic fascination as Emily pushes with all her remaining strength, her face contorted in agony, her voice raw from her screams and cries. With each push, her body strains and convulses, her muscles taut and trembling as they work to expel the large baby from her tight, abused channel.

Sbee can feel the baby's head emerging further with each contraction, stretching her cervix to its limits and beyond. Emily's screams reach a fever pitch as the burning, searing pain of the baby's head crowning becomes too much to bear.

With a final, agonized scream that echoes through the room, Emily pushes one last time, pouring every ounce of strength and willpower into that final, desperate effort. And then, with a gush of fluids and a rush of relief, the baby's head slips free, followed immediately by the broad, sturdy shoulders.

The captor catches the baby as it emerges, lifting it up and holding it aloft, letting Emily see the fruits of her labor. He grins down at her, his eyes wild with cruel triumph.

He leans in close, his voice a sinister whisper against her ear as she collapses back onto the bed, exhausted and shaking. “Look at what a good little breeder you are,” he growls. “Breeding a big, strong boy. I'm so fucking proud of you.”

He sets the baby down roughly on the bed beside her, not caring about its cries or needs. His attention remains solely focused on his broken, defeated prisoner as he sneers down at her.

“You did well, whore. You've earned a small reward.’ His grin turns wicked, his eyes glinting with dark promise. “I think it's time to start working on giving me a little girl next. What do you say, my pretty fuck toy? Ready to be bred again?”

#birth kink #giving birth #birth denial #fpreg #hard birthing #labor kink #preggophilia #painful birth #pushing baby back in #dark topics

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proudfreakmetarusonikku · 2 years ago

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38 or 46?

Ohhhhh, when I saw this I KNEW I had to do the AU where c!Dream is convinced c!Tommy is a Prime >:3

TW: Religious themes, religious delusions, kidnapping, isolation, mental health issues, references to self harm and self hatred, abuse, restraints, forced sedation, Tommy not always using the best terminology for referring to mental illness as an uneducated teenager (hes trying), and literal idolisation.

With shaking hands, Dream fastened the gilded necklace around Tommy's neck, the bell on it's chain ringing lightly. All Tommy could think is, fuck, that was going to be obnoxious and there was no way he was gonna be allowed to take that off either.

“They say the bells provide great joy to the Primes, you know.” Dream's voice was the sort of soft Tommy wasn't used to- not sickly sweet nor mocking, a genuine, wavering vulnerability to it. “I know you may not remember things before you were trapped in this form, Tommy, but maybe your fellow Primes will hear it, and…”

Tommy had long since learnt it was pointless to argue Dream on this fact, but it still made his skin crawl. He wasn’t something holy, and it was blasphemy to treat a mortal like a creation of the Gods. After all, they’d created the Primes to watch over the world in their absence- in a sense, the Primes were also gods, the sort that inhabited every shrine and meadow and lake. It was no less sacrilegious than outright declaring Tommy a God, yet nothing he said could change Dream's mind.

Something must have snapped in the prison, that’s what Tommy reckoned. When Dream had… y’know, the whole killing and reviving thing, he was normal. Normal for Dream, at least. But after he’d broke out, he’d been convinced that Tommy was one of the Primes, fallen from Heaven and unable to remember their power. And honestly, Tommy couldn’t help but pity that. In Exile, he'd been convinced the Primes talked to him through the logs- he'd saw them peeking up at him, beauty indescribable. Sometimes, he still saw them out of the corner of his eyes. He'd always seen shit, since he wasn’t even really a Big Man, but it had never felt so real.

He still fucking hated Dream, though. Pity didn’t change that.

“Are you feeling okay, Tommy? I really don’t want to hurt you, y’know.”

“Too late for that.” Tommy's speech still came out embarrassingly slurred, even though he'd tried his best to practice under the potion induced haze he was always in. Because, sure, Dream didn’t hit him anymore, but he still kept him locked up as tight as possible. To prevent the mortal world from corrupting him, he said. So he still had the thick, heavy cuffs around his arms and legs, chained to the wall tightly, and he had the stupid fucking IV injecting Prime knew what into his veins, making him all sleepy and shit. “You killed me, remember.”

Dream had a genuinely guilty look on his face, avoiding eye contact with Tommy. He suspected he might actually be tearing up. “I know you may never forgive me for that. Once you’ve regained my power, you may give me any punishment you see fit. I've been ensuring that I’ve been punishing myself in the meantime, to ensure I do not fall into sin.”

“You've been hurting yourself?”

“Of course. I need to go through your pain a thousandfold to repent.”

“No. No no no, no you don’t, don't fuckin' hurt yourself, man. That’s awful. I don’t want you to do that.” He coughed and added on. “As one of your Primes, I mean. That’s an order.”

Dream stared at Tommy with such awe it made him feel worthless. The kind of look of pure adoration and admiration a man would have for their God, a trust Tommy could never live up to. “I still remember the first time I saw you. I- I thought you were just a human- how little did I know- but your kindness, your unending mercy… it’s always been a sign you're not like them. Humans hurt and beat and torture me. Not a single fucking one has ever really cared!” He sounded incensed at that, before taking a deep breath. “But you? You're… you're made of unending love and compassion, Tommy. Not flesh and blood. You can’t be.”

Dream took a deep breath, and smiled. “If- if you think I shouldn’t debase myself through daring to think I could be the arbiter of my own punishment, I’ll oblige, my Prime. You are truly wise.”

“That’s not what I- sure. Okay.” Tommy would have rolled his eyes if he had the energy. “Yeah, if that’s what stops you from hurting yourself, go with it.”

Dream ignored him, like how he ignored anything Tommy said or did that didn’t play into his delusions- and he didn’t fucking say that to be disparaging, he said that because that’s what he and Puffy had been reading about in one of those big old dumb textbooks, to try and figure out what the fuck was wrong with him. He knew how fucking suffocating they were, and he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. In fact, he was currently wishing it to stop happening to his worst enemy because at least if he was normal Tommy knew what pain to expect.

Instead, he muttered a prayer under his breath, head bowed, eyes averted yet occasionally glancing at Tommy with the same reverent look when he thought he wasn’t watching, and Tommy felt the same skin crawling sensation as he always did. He wasn’t a fucking Prime, so this was an insult of the highest order to everything he believed in- everything Dream believed in. It was a heresy of the highest order.

Tommy groaned and wished he was dead instead.

#My writing #primeboys (derogatory)#tw abuse #tw religious themes #Tw kidnapping #tw restraints #tw isolatiom #tw referenced self harm #Tw referenced self hatred #tw forced sedation

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evanbuckleyrecs · 3 days ago

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January wrap up

So I haven't really had the energy to make separate posts lately, BUT I started track what I read and bookmark, so here is a list of all the 911 fics I bookmarked in January 2025!

Edit: I tried adding the author's tumblrs but couldn't find all of them. If you are/know any of them, please let me know :)

Please, please, please by bookinit

buck doesn’t touch eddie anymore. eddie’s losing it, a little bit.

You'll Never Find Me Trying to Leave by DuoOfDiaz

Eddie and Buck are overjoyed that Christopher has returned from Texas. They organise a Welcome Back to LA party in his honor and it goes off without a hitch. Buck wonders whether the after party moment is finally the time to tell Eddie how he feels.

Please don't say I'm too much by buckleyys118

a comment from Tommy causes Buck to spiral. Eddie fixes it.

Born with a weak heart by foxwatson

the one where eddie won't touch buck once he wakes up in the hospital, and buck goes absolutely bonkers bananas about it

If I loved you less by spaceprincessem

Buck can't use his phone for two days. Eddie sends him text anyways

If You Need Me, You Know I'll Be There by soft_satan

Eddie’s heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. “Buck? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” “No,” Buck laughed, breathless and bitter, just on this side of hysterical. He sniffled again, sounding like he was trying to stop himself from crying. “C-could uh… could you come get me? Please?”

Out of ashes by ashavahishta

“They found Buck.” Hen’s hand goes to her chest. Chim stumbles like he’s been hit, hand curling around the back of a chair for balance. And Eddie - Eddie’s knees give out. He’s lucky there’s a chair right under him because he just buckles, head in hands, trying to remember how to breathe. “Is he - did they - what…what did they find?” “He’s alive.” “What?” Eddie’s head snaps up.

I Did It All (To Make You Love Me) by sirencalls

Honestly, Eddie is just trying to find the pair of boxers he knows he left here last week.

Won't you kiss me on the mouth (and love me like a sailor) by hirarih

Buck discovers he’s in love with Eddie, rants about it to Maddie, and doesn’t realise Eddie is right behind him.

I can read between your lines (dizzy from the spinning) by buckleydiazy

“So, theoretically,” Eddie sounds absolutely delighted, “if we didn’t know each other, you’d hook up with me in a public bathroom?” “Theoretically—I mean, do you want a serious answer?” Eddie hesitates for a moment. “Yeah,” he says quietly, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Tell me.” “Probably,” Buck says. Then a little firmer—“Definitely.”

Not Doing This Alone by carpediaz

The one where Eddie hires Buck as a nanny for Christopher and has to navigate falling in love with someone he shouldn't want (who definitely wants him in return).

The kiss that lingers by greenbergsays

5 times Eddie kisses Buck's birthmark & 1 time he doesn't.

Was I even on your way? By rangerdanger

Buck gets reminded of something that happened he'd rather forget.

This Could Be Our Year; Don't Let Go of My Hand by allisonRW96

After a routine call at the studio of a wealthy, eccentric fashion designer, the 118 find themselves invited to a masquerade ball on New Year’s Eve. Buck thinks it will be a perfect time to kiss Eddie. Eddie thinks it will be the perfect time to kiss Buck. Someone else has more sinister plans.

Rhythm of Your Heart series by devirnis

the 118 run a front restaurant for money laundering, and accidentally adopt the Buckley siblings

Baby mine by Fizzlespin

When Maddie tells him about Daniel, and being born for spare parts, Buck doesn't know what to do. Hurt, confused (and drunk), he goes to who he always goes to in a crisis for some calm, fatherly advice. But Bobby isn't home and Athena is left to pick up the pieces.

A minute from home but I feel so far from it by cozycatwriter

He thinks to anyone watching him that they might think he’s just lost in thought. He’s leaning against the pier fence, avoiding the bench this time around. Or maybe he looks like he’s about to throw himself off the wooden walkway and into the rocks below. He’s not sure which would be true. “Because you’re exhausting. We all have our own problems but you don’t see us whining about it.” He’s been back at station 118 for only a few shifts but it’s like the world has flipped upside down and he’s found himself within an alternate universe. Like Stranger Things.

Hen Wilson's Four Part Guide to Making Your Stupid Friends Date by songbvrd

When Buck and Eddie aren't speaking, Hen decides to take matters into her own hands.

50 Cheeky Texts by songbvrd

Buck gets drunk-dared to send Eddie one cheeky text every day for 50 days. Eddie loses his mind. TW for the cringiest pickup lines in existence.

You warm me up (inside and out) by becausebuckley

after a shift leaves buck tired and shivering, eddie takes him home.

See y'all next month 🫡

#911 #buddie #911 on abc #buddie fanfic rec #buddie fanfiction #911 abc #buck and athena #911 ao3 #911 fanfiction #fanfic rec

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ghostf1ux · 1 month ago

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Shock Therapy

Day 12: Shaking

Word Count: 3.8k

TW/CWs: Electrocution, non-con touching/biting/kissing (referenced, not shown), medical inaccuracies (probably)

Part 1 (here) || Part 2

-------------------------------------------------------

Jason groaned as his body was tossed unceremoniously onto damp concrete floors. His teeth sank further into the gag that had been shoved haphazardly into his mouth, muffling a string of curses aimed at his captors. Some of them only laugh at his attempt to take stock of his surroundings despite the blindfold and his lack of usable fingers to pry it off.

Not for lack of trying.

Okay, so, assessment of the situation. There are at least four guys in the room with him, heavily muscled but potentially not heavily armed. Pistols, most likely, if he had to judge just by the amount of noises they made while moving him. Metal shackles around his wrists with a chain attached and sharp little pronged spikes on the inside to keep him from struggling too much, he can already feel the welts and scratches made by them, and soon he thinks they'll start drawing blood. Blindfold means they don't want him seeing them, which means they can be tracked. Gag is because Jason managed to bite a chunk of flesh out of someone that resulted in his face getting a nice, warm spray that made something inside him sing. His thoughts and movements are still a little fuzzy and weighted, courtesy of whatever drug they used to knock him out with. Him waking up sooner than expected is what prompted his ability to start running his mouth, so to speak.

As fall as injuries go, he mentally catalogues general scattered bruising from the rest of his patrol and the uncaring moving of his body throughout the kidnapping process, as well as a broken left foot and ankle from his attempts to actually fight back. Because of this, they decided his feet didn't need to be tied together once he was thrown in here.

It's almost insulting, but with the current situation, he can't actually find it in himself to be insulted.

The metal shackles cuffed way too tight around his wrists are tugged upwards by a connected chain, a snarl of protest blocked by the gag. Instead, he throws his good leg out in the direction of whoever had decided it was safe to stand above him, relishing in the sharp crack and shriek of pain following it.

“Oh you little bitch!” One of the men roars before there's an angry shuffling of footsteps and–

Jason curls back in on himself instinctively as the blunt object slams down on his midsection, biting down hard on the gag to prevent any noises from coming out. He won't give them the satisfaction. Not from the first hit to his ribs, or the second to his uninjured leg, or the third to his shoulder.

He sneers up at them as best he can from behind the gag, grinning. If that's all these chumps have, he'll be fine. They're not even using a crowbar, they're using a boring old baseball bat. Not even creative.

“Boss isn't gonna be here for a bit,” one of them proposes to the others, the sound of dragging wood across the cement following it, along with a couple slaps against what Jason would wager is a leather-gloved hand. “He said we had to get him here in one piece, but he never said we couldn't have some fun of our own while we waited.”

Jason can almost hear the evil grins spreading across their faces, and decides that curling up further is probably the best course of action right now.

That doesn't stop him from tensing, bracing at the approaching, circling footsteps.

He grits his teeth at every blunt blow of a weapon, not letting out a sound even when he can feel his bones grinding and splintering under each hit. His eyes squeeze shut in some attempt to block out the pain, because even if he's experienced far worse than this, at least it's not a crowbar and at least there's none of the trademarked insane, maniacal laughter from the fucking clown.

He can survive this, if this is all they've got.

He can survive this.

Jason flinches violently into a curl impossibly tighter when one of them lightly kicks his shattered foot.

He can survive this. He just needs the Bats to figure out his location. Either that, or find an opportunity to escape.

The latter is looking like more of a distant idea than actual possibility with every bat or kick to his battered body.

Then, with the creaking of a door, the mounting pain stops, along with the mantra Jason had been reciting mentally. Shoes click against the floor, but not like heels, not sharp enough, like dress shoes. He's intimately familiar with that sound due to Bruce. Weight tells him it's a person lighter than the ones circled around him. The shuffling of fabric is familiar enough of a sound to not be anything but expensive.

“I presume you've had your fun?” An accented voice asks, clipped with… disappointment, maybe? Jason furrows his brow at the question, jaw grinding against the gag.

“Uh– yes boss,” one of the nameless men answers quickly. There's a click of a tongue.

“Jacket, shirt, shoes, gag. I want them gone. Dispose of them along with the rest of his gear,” the accented man orders. “I want to hear him sing.”

So this is the boss. Something about him sounds vaguely familiar, but Jason can't put his finger on it. He doesn't have the time to figure it out before his limbs are being yanked around and the remainder of his gear, the only thing keeping him even relatively safe, is cut off and discarded like trash.

That shit's expensive, damn it.

The gag is removed before his shoes are, and something tells Jason that was on purpose because it takes everything in him not to scream when they roughly jostle his broken foot in an attempt to get his boots off. They succeed eventually, but not without Jason jerking away at the slightest movement and biting his cheek and tongue so hard they bleed. It's only the paper-thin thread of self restraint that stops anything but a groan from being audible.

By the time they're finally done, Jason's teeth are watering uncomfortably, but he swallows down the bile that threatens to spill at his pain. His vision is white and blurry, even with the blindfold.

I can survive this. I've had far worse.

He's panting and cold-sweating profusely when those shoes click to a stop next to him and the man crouches down, grabbing Jason's jaw and tilting his face with an appraising hum. Sparks dance across his skin, making him prickle uncomfortably and he tries to yank himself out of the contact, only for the fingers to dig further into his skin in a bruising grip. The tingling under his skin sends an almost-pleasant warmth through his body, if it weren't for the fact that it rubs his nerves the wrong way. Something niggles the back of his mind, but his thoughts are too hazy to get a solid grasp of what it is.

“You're just as stubborn as they say, Hood,” the man praises. Something dark settles in his gut. “It'll make it all that much more fun to break you down, and build you back up. Doesn't that sound fun to you?”

Jason spits a glob of blood and saliva at the man. “Fuck you,” he snarls, finally tearing himself out of the man's grasp. It's then he notices how fucking cold it is in the room. He shivers, failing to suppress the wince at the way it aggravates his grinding bones.

The man just chuckles lowly, rising to stand up. A moment later the shackles around his wrists are being tugged up up up– dragging Jason up with it. The most he allows to escape is stuttered breaths and a few short, silent gasps when weight is put on his bad leg. It hurts like a motherfucker, but Jason doesn't let him know as much, instead grinning a bloody grin down at him once the machine lifting him settles. Because even with how he's hanging from his wrists and standing on his foot (the other one he keeps lifted gingerly away from the ground in some meaningless effort to keep it from hurting further), he can tell he still has a height and weight advantage on whoever the fuck this guy is.

Of course, that advantage is lost due to his restraints and general state his body is in.

“Mm, what a pretty bird you are,” the man croons, trailing a finger across Jason's jaw. With the position he's in, with his head trapped between his arms, he can't do much, but he takes the opportunity to lurch forward with snapping teeth.

Fangs clack shut over empty air, a disappointment to Jason. Seemingly unconcerned, the finger traces over the artery along his neck, and then the whole hand closes over his throat. The other rests over his sternum, that same fleeting warmth emanating from the touch.

“Or perhaps ‘mutt’ would be a title better suited for you.” He squeezes, nails gouging into the sensitive thinner skin of his throat and Jason can feel warm blood streaming down his frame, he can the way his breath becomes blocked, and it's strange because Jason knows from firsthand experience that choking someone one handed is a lot hard than you think it is but he's clearly got the strength to do it and the warm tingling under his skin where the hand is touching him is getting hotter and sharper and–

A scream is trapped between his jaws as his body convulses and then locks, his legs jolting out from under him at the sudden shock of fiery electricity coursing through his muscles. His nerves are alight and his throat is constricting, his lungs have stuttered and are struggling to try to get oxygen to the rest of him. Muscle spasms send his pain receptors into overdrive, and it's too much, he can't fucking do anything except feel pain, he can't breathe, I can't breathe–

It disappears. Jason forces himself to heave in a breath even with how his ribs protest to it. His head hangs briefly while he regains his bearings, slowly getting his uninjured foot back under him so all his weight isn't on his shoulders and wrists. Each subtle shift makes him wince, and he fully flinches with each shiver that wracks his body. The new layer of freezing sweat and streams of blood only serve to make the cold worse, and he fucking hates how he can see what this guy is trying to do to him.

“You handled that well, mutt,” that accented voice praises after about thirty seconds of letting Jason recover. It comes from behind him now, but he doesn't bother turning his head to pay any obvious attention to it. That is, until there are hands on his waist that radiate that tingling warmth, stopping the shivers from agitating his injuries further. He growls, low in his throat, far more animalistically than any human has any right to sound. Thumbs trace the lines between Jason's muscles and across the scars littering his body without a care in the world.

He snarls venomously. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

“I'm sure you'll be begging for them soon enough,” an easy reply murmurs, and Jason can hear the nasty fucking grin in his voice as they grip harder, enough to bruise, to bleed, and it's just enough warning for him to brace himself for the next wave of–

He can't help the guttural shriek that rips itself from his mouth, legs spasming before his body drops sharply onto his wrists. His throat constricts, gurgled screams still trying to escape him. The hands, the fingers, the nails stay embedded in his skin as they drag– scratch– gouge lines up towards his ribs, around his front, right over his diaphragm and if he could even get a hint of a breath before he definitely can't now– not with the way his ribs creak, the way his muscles contract, the way his back tries to arch and bend and twist away from the cause of his pain, the way his body practically locks in a never-ending existence of drowning in the constant agony–

The warmth is swept away by a near-blinding chill that wracks his body with shivers so bad he nearly doubles over again just as he had regained his footing, but only just. Tears spring freely from his eyes at the next bout of shaking, a sob trapped in his throat and it hurts, everything fucking hurts–

“Say the magic word, and this'll go away,” the man's voice lilts and when the fuck did he get so far away? When did he end up in front of Jason, drumming his fingers against a shitty metal chair? When did he start hearing the soft clinking of metal against metal, a chain being fiddled with?

When was there a quiet, dangerous buzzing from somewhere vaguely above him?

He doesn't have the time to get his thoughts together enough to prepare himself for the rolling wave of stabbing, burning pain so hot it's cold starting in his wrists and spreading down his shoulders, enveloping his chest, through his thrashing legs and curled toes– he can't– he needs to move, to get away, but all he can do is jerk involuntarily and hear something crack and something tear and something break–

And then it stops, and Jason practically goes limp, his breaths coming in heaving, panting, wet gasps that make his ribs grind in protest but he needs oxygen, he needs air and it's right there, it's surrounding him, he's practically downing in it but it doesn't matter because he still can't breathe.

“We have all the time in the world, yknow,” that voice mentions. “I'd be dismayed if this is how we spent it.”

Jason tries to make his mouth and throat work the way he wants them to, tell the guy he can fuck right off because he is nowhere even close to the line that marks when he starts begging for anything, especially something that would just hurt him more in the end. But all that comes out is a wet, raspy growl in dissent. Something wet and painfully cold trickles down his arms.

“Your choice, mutt.”

------------------------

It's…how long is it? It could've been twenty minutes or two hours when the first whimper escapes him. He's almost constantly shivering now, when he's not being overwhelmed with crackling pain that rips through his insides and makes spots dance across his extremely limited vision.

The shocks are frequent and long, each one feels like hours even if Jason logically knows they can't be more than fifteen minutes at the longest.

Unfortunately, logic isn't something he has access to right now.

------------------------

It's an even shorter amount of time when his thoughts finally finish drifting away and all that's left is pain and hurt and cold and he whines– he fucking whines when the man who's been circling him like a shark– so close but never touching, his warmth just barely out of reach– pulls away. He can't stop it, he can't even try. Not when he's been hanging here for hours that feel like days, not when there hasn't been a single sound aside from his own sobs and keens and rivers of blood cascading down his body drip drip dripping onto the floor into an ever growing puddle and that fucking asshole's perfectly poised honeyed words slipping in his ear in the times between vague awareness and overwhelming agony.

So when his head is lifted just enough for a warm hand to pet through his sweat-soaked hair he lets it, just this once. He lets the other rest on the small of his back, digging into his skin until he bleeds and it's okay because then that warmth, that tingling bounce of mini shocks travels under his skin and eases through the rest of his body and somehow he manages to slump even further. He slumps into the man holding him here, expensive silk and some shitty floral scent taking over his senses and for a moment– for a moment it's just so nice. He can just forget, for a moment, but only for a moment. For a moment, forget about the excruciating pain of his bones cracking under his skin, forget about the cold, the blood, the–

His mouth flies open in a silent scream when that sparkling warmth flares into a blazing inferno and it has his burning, aching muscles spasming to life when they just want to rest, he just wants to rest–

------------------------

I'm so tired… please, anyone–

------------------------

I– I can't– it's too much, it's too fucking much–

------------------------

“Look at you, mutt, already breaking so well for me,” that voice purrs along the shell of Jason's ear, running his hand gently, softly, delicately up and down Jason's side, over burned in handmarks, smeared blood, and distinctly cracked ribs that make every labored breath rattle through his chest. His heartbeat is fast and erratic in his ears, nearly as loud as the persistent ringing that's accompanied him for so long.

How long has it been now?

Something in his gut twists at the blank space filling the answer to that question.

Too long, maybe. A while. Does– Does anyone know I'm here? Are they even looking for me?

They're whispers of feelings rather than full thoughts. His mind, fractured in some attempt to maintain some sanity for later once he's out– if I get out–

That honeyed voice, too sweet to do anything but set muffled alarm bells off in Jason's fog-clouded mind, coos against his raw, torn skin, right against his pulse where blood seeps steadily out from a past wound there. “Just divine. You'll be the perfect little pet mutt for me, won't you?”

A broken little whimper falls from limp lips as teeth tear the gouges on his neck open further, another cascade of blood rolling down Jason's chest. The man's grip on his hips turns hotter, brighter, bruising, and it's low, too far down, enough to send some layers of his fog away giving way to panic and fear and no that's not right I don't–

And then it's all washed away in layers upon layers upon layers upon fucking layers–

There's a crash Jason's body instinctively flinches at, even with his spasming body protesting and fighting against him at every turn. There's voices, multiple voices, and they're so loud, it hurts, he just wants to stop hurting, and suddenly his head it yanked back by his hair and a stuttered, broken cry escapes him but he can't even begin to be quiet, to understand what's happening, so he tries to close his mouth, maybe, but blood and saliva is dripping out of the corners regardless and he can't move, he can't think, he can't even fucking scream when the pain gets worse and somewhere, distantly, he feels like maybe he wants to die again. That would be better. Same way, too. The crowbar would be better than this everlasting torment that comes with every unwanted, gut twisting touch and caress and kiss and bite–

And maybe he'd prefer that horrible laughter instead of the sugar-dipped tooth-ache inducing litany of low words and promised peace if he just bends a little, just cracks a little, just breaks a little–

“–ood? Hood!” A voice fades in over the ringing, tinged with something akin to… worry? Or panic? Hm. They sound familiar. “Fuck, Nightwing, hold him– Wing! Hold him up, I need to get the shackles off.”

The first warmth leaves and Jason doesn't hold back a despaired keen, weakly trying to search for it despite the fact that he's long since lost the strength to even twitch his head in any direction.

Someone makes a wounded noise, footsteps rushing to shuffle towards him. Jason flinches when arms wrap around him, holding him to their chest. His breaths were already raspy, fluttering little things, but the additional pressure on his ribs makes him choke on a wet cough he doesn't have the fucking air for and it hurts so god damn bad, he just wants to not hurt anymore, please–

“Shh, shh, I've got you, we've got you, little wing, it's okay, you're gonna be okay, you're safe now,” a new man whispers into his hair, voice hushed and strained with something Jason can't really identify, but he sounds familiar, so familiar, and the name rattles around in his head like he should know who it refers to–

“Little wing, it's time to go!”

“Cmon little wing, I'll catch you if you fall, I've done this before!”

A flash of blue, and a blinding smile to light up a room. The familiar scent of a particular laundry detergent, the man's favorite cologne, and kevlar.

“Take it, Jason. You've earned it. I'm passing on the mantle of Robin to you, little wing.”

Jason tucks his face in the crook of Dick's neck, trying not to be overcome with sobs. A gloved hand runs smoothly over the back of Jason's head, through his short hair and threading through his curls, smoothing the fringe off his forehead. Dark words are muttered somewhere behind him, swears, threats, plans, who's–?

His first wrist is unlocked and gently lowered to his side, but that doesn't stop the sharp, cut off gasp that escapes him, or how he goes entirely, bonelessly limp in Dick's arms.

It forces him to use both hands to support his weight, but it doesn't matter because he's here. They came for him. That's all he needs.

The next wrist slips loose from its shackle just as it's unlocked, sharp stabs of pain barreling through his arm straight to his chest and he flinches, jerks, spasms for just a moment before his quiet, panting breaths are the only movement his body makes. He's moved, and then laid down on someone's lap, head cushioned on both sides by bent legs.

“Hey, hey, open your eyes, Jay. Come on, stay with me here,” the voice from before is pleading now, voice higher in both pitch and volume. Jason furrows– or tries to furrow– his brow in confusion, because didn't he…?

With effort– too much fucking effort, he's so tired, he's exhausted, he just wants to go home– he manages to peer blearily up through tear-clumped lashes at the vague forms above him.

The first one, closer to him, domino lenses blown wide with worry is Dick. The stark blue against toned skin gives him away immediately. He smiles down at Jason, and it's a strained, worried thing but it's there nonetheless.

Off to Jason's other side is a red and black form, glancing at him with more properly disguised worry between wrapping something around his wrists. He seems to soften when Jason meets his gaze though, nodding to himself. Or maybe to Jason. Then turns back to his work.

Jason's eyes drift shut again, head lolling listlessly to the side, pressing closer to Dick. He briefly feels him tense, and maybe he starts panicking, but Jason just can't bring himself to care. He's with his brothers. They'll get him out. They have him. They came for him.

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