#tw: aftermath of torture

[serickswrites]

Lie Still

@lurkingwhump gave me such a delightful idea for this little piece

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, wounds, rescue, unconsciousness, bed side vigil, hospital, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort, caretaker and whumpee

The world Whumpee lived in was hazy. Hazy and narrow. Logically they knew this meant they weren't going to live much longer, that Whumper had gone too far and cut too deep. Logically they knew that they were bleeding out and would be gone soon. But they were too tired and too cold to care.

They were so tired. They could barely keep their eyes open. Each time their eyes drifted closed, they knew they had to open them again. They couldn't let the last few moments of their life slip away with closed eyes. Even if the world was hazy.

Sounds were muffled and distorted. They thought they had heard Whumper talking to them. Then the sound of a fight. But that didn't make sense. Whumper had them all alone. There was no one else here. Perhaps their mind was playing tricks on them.

But their mind played the cruelest trick of all: Caretaker. They could hear Caretaker calling to them. They began to cry as they realized it was their dying brain trying to soothe them. To give them one last measure of comfort as they faded into oblivion.

"Whumpee, darling, it's ok, you're ok. I've got you," Caretaker murmured in Whumpee's ear.

Whumpee sobbed harder as they lay there, the hallucination of Caretaker stroking their hair as shadows moved in and out of their field of vision. Even though Caretaker was supposed to be a measure of comfort, it hurt Whumpee. Hurt worse than the pain of being cut open repeatedly by Whumper. Hurt more than any torture Whumper had done. Because Caretaker wasn't here, but Whumpee wanted them. Wanted them more than anything.

"Keep your eyes open, darling. You're doing so great. Please, come on. Look at me, Whumpee. I've got you."

Whumpee wanted to look at the hallucination. Wanted to listen to Caretaker's voice. Because even if Caretaker wasn't really here, they were soothed. As Whumpee let themself fade into oblivion, they could have sworn they heard their hallucination crying softly.

***

Caretaker froze the moment they entered into Whumper's torture chamber. Whumpee was restrained to a metal table in the center of the room, their abdomen and chest cut to ribbons, their blood flowing over the edges of the table and onto the floor. The floor was slick with Whumpee's blood.

"What did they do to you, Whumpee?" Caretaker muttered as they hurried over. The medic had called for them to hurry, that they weren't too late, but it was close.

They could see Whumpee was blinking slowly, their breathing shallow. Between the deep slash marks in their body and blood loss, Caretaker knew Whumpee was going into shock. And if they lost consciousness, Caretaker wasn't sure they would wake up. "I'm here, Whumpee."

Whumpee was unresponsive to their words. "Whumpee, darling, it's ok, you're ok. I've got you," Caretaker murmured in Whumpee's ear.

They were unsure where they could touch Whumpee. Between the team of medics working to stabilize Whumpee and all the injuries on their body, Caretaker wasn't sure where wouldn't hurt. They stroked Whumpee's hair and murmured in Whumpee's ear.

"Keep your eyes open, darling. You're doing so great. Please, come on. Look at me, Whumpee. I've got you."

It didn't matter how much they begged Whumpee to keep awake. They knew Whumpee wouldn't be conscious for much longer. Their only hope was that the medic had done enough to stop the bleeding to get Whumpee to the hospital.

But as they watched Whumpee's eyes close, no longer fluttering open, panic gripped Caretaker's heart. As Whumpee took a stuttering breath and went still beneath the medic's hands, Caretaker looked around, desperate to find any help.

"It's ok, Caretaker, I gave them something to make transport easier," the medic reassured Caretaker. "I'm going to try and dress some of these, it's going to hurt. I want them to be comfortable."

As Whumpee was whisked away from them, Caretaker tried to swallow past the lump in their throat. Whumpee would live. Whumpee had to live. Caretaker wouldn't be able to living in a world without Whumpee.

***

"What did they do to you, darling?" Caretaker whispered to the near silent room. They had taken up residence in the chair next to Whumpee's bed the moment the doctor said that they could. Whumpee hadn't woken yet, no one was sure when, or even if, Whumpee would wake up.

The only thing that told Caretaker that Whumpee was still alive was the whirring and hissing of the ventilator and the steady, regular beeps of the heart monitor. Whumpee was alive. Whumpee was alive. They weren't too late. They squeezed Whumpee's hand. "Please come back to me, darling. I'm here. I've got you. Please come back to me."

Death would not be good enough for Whumper. Caretaker was going to rip Whumper apart limb from limb the moment Whumpee was stable enough for them to leave. Caretaker couldn't risk leaving and having Whumpee fade away to nothing.

Caretaker's rage was nearly all consuming. To be angry, to be ready to destroy Whumper felt so much better than to give into the terror that had been gripping Caretaker's heart since they found Whumpee. Since they nearly lost Whumpee.

Whumpee was strong. They were a fighter. Caretaker kept reassuring themself that Whumpee would wake soon. That Whumpee would be ok. That they would heal. They wouldn't lose Whumpee. Whumpee would be ok.

Caretaker didn't want to imagine what would happen otherwise.

***

"Darling, you have to stay in bed," Caretaker urged Whumpee four days later.

Whumpee lay against the pillows, their face glistening with sweat. But they had the look of determination on their face that Caretaker knew was dangerous. "Darling, you are still so weak. Please, please lay back."

"I....I am tired of....being in bed." Whumpee's speech was still stilted, every word and effort for them to get enough breath to speak. Whumper had injured their lungs. Whumpee was determined to stand today. They pushed off again and tried to rise.

"Darling, you will tear your stitches. Please, lay back. For me?" Caretaker put a gentle hand on Whumpee's shoulder and guided them back down to the pillows.

Whumpee didn't want to admit it, but Caretaker was right. They were so exhausted. What little energy they had evaporated with their attempt to sit up in bed. "Maybe....maybe I....could nap....for a while."

Caretaker smiled softly at Whumpee. "I think that's a great idea, darling." Caretaker took Whumpee's hand in their and squeezed. "I'll watch over you. Rest, please, darling."

Whumpee's eyelids slipped closed as they could no longer fight the weight. "Love you," Whumpee muttered as sleep claimed them again.

"I love you, too," Caretaker said as they leaned down and kissed Whumpee's forehead.

Which is why they were going to end Whumper at the first opportunity they could. Caretaker knew that their colleagues wouldn't let them get close to Whumper. Wouldn't let them be alone in a room. Still, there was always the opportunity for something. Because death was not good enough for Whumper. Not after everything they put Whumpee through.

"Sleep, darling, I'll keep you safe. I'll always keep you safe. I love you so much, darling," Caretaker murmured again as they watched Whumpee relax into a deeper sleep.

[chaotic-orphan]

Would you write another part of June of Doom: Day 19? I loved it!

Continuation of June of doom; day nineteen:

Read part one Here

I am so sorry to whoever asked this, I have had this in my drafts for a while and just didn't have the energy to edit it, but I did now and hope it satisfies ~ enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

“Come on Leader,” Leader heard in a hazed moment of consciousness, hungry, stormy eyes gleaming down at them, “I thought you were more durable than this.”

Leader blinked, eyelids heavy, watching Supervillain lift a hand covered in blood – Leader's blood, they recognised dimly – and run it back through his hair, slicking it back off his face using Leader's blood. He looked feral, unhinged, and Leader wanted to look away. He wanted to move, but his body was as heavy as lead and all he could do was look into those bright, stormy eyes smirking down at him.

Until the darkness swallowed Leader again.

When he woke for the second time he was sitting in a chair. He was vaguely aware that his hands were asleep, tied behind his back, he found out after a jerking, pulling tug. He shouldn’t have moved, he realised in hindsight as the pins and needles set in from being stuck in the same position for too long.

Leader lifted his eyes to get his bearings and saw himself sitting ahead of him. Leader blinked, groggy from blacking out after Supervillain’s welcome. He could see it plain and clear in the mirror, his torso bare just so he could see Supervillain’s handiwork.

Bile crawled thick and hot up his throat. Leader looked away sharply, bending over his torso and only just managing to not get any vomit on himself as he threw up the contents of his stomach. It was grim and vile, but Leader felt a little better after it, spitting for good measure to clear the rancid taste from his mouth in place of mouthwash or toothpaste. He rubbed his chin on his shoulder as he sat up again, dragging reluctant eyes to the full-length mirror in front of him.

Leader only remembered Supervillain carving in two letters to his body, but the bastard must have kept working after Leader passed out.

Leader’s torso still had dried blood sticking to it, but Leader’s eyes stayed on the two jagged letters carved into each shoulder. A crooked S on his right and a ghastly F on his left.

S. Fowl was carved into his body.

A signature.

Supervillain’s promise echoed in Leader’s ears as his eyes lingered on Supervillain’s name: “You I want on display. As a warning and a trophy. A reminder to what happens to those who oppose me.”

Leader wanted to cry. He did, he should have, maybe he would feel better, but he was exhausted. He didn’t know how long he was passed out for, but his body ached from his fight with Supervillain — Fowl — and his struggle when Supervillain dragged him to the medical table.

Leader’s ribs throbbed dully, his jaw hurt from where Fowl’s cane had hit it, a big angry blue bruise the size of Leader’s hand colouring his jaw and neck. Even his throat was raw from all his screaming. He looked like shit, which he could see thanks to Supervillain’s perfectly placed mirror, to remind Leader just how shit he looked. There were lines of purple bags under his eyes, his skin was dry and lacklustre, and his lips were pale except from where the blood from Leader’s nose painted them a faded dark crimson.

The mirror was torture, seeing himself broken and marked and beaten, too afraid to move because his entire body was sore and crying at him to stay as still as he could. Supervillain had cuffed Leader’s hands behind his back, attached them to the chair so his chest stood out in the mirror.

So Supervillain’s name stood out in the mirror, more like. His own personal brand.

Leader didn’t recognise himself in the mirror, this wasn’t – it couldn’t be him. This weak shell of a person who couldn’t fight Supervillain off him. How pathetic. Too powerless to stop himself being branded. His team relied on Leader to lead them; make the plans, do the impossible. All Leader could do at the moment was stare at that fucking name on his chest, written forever…

They’ll die with that scar.

Leader let out a soft sigh.

“Leader…” it was Medic. Leader closed his eyes. He was sitting in a chair in the centre of their circle of cages. The mirror was just a little in front of the door, reflecting the cages back at Leader from behind him.

Medic’s cage to be exact, who was looking at him through the mirror with wide eyes filled with pity. Leader didn’t need their pity; he shouldn’t have let this happen. He should have been ready for Supervillain he should have—

Leader’s hands balled into fists in the cuffs. He couldn’t see that look in Medic’s eyes again.

“Leader… we’re okay,” Medic said softly. Leader sniffed, unaware that he was crying. “Supervillain kept his promise, and he didn’t touch us. He brought us food. Brought us to the bathroom. We have water.”

“In dog bowls,” Rogue muttered in disgust. Leader wasn’t aware that they were all awake. Shame burned hot up Leader’s neck, colouring it red.

“I’m sorry,” Leader whispered. “This is all my fault. None of you would be here if it wasn’t for me, I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll follow you anywhere, Leader,” said Rogue without hesitation. Leader opened his eyes, glancing at Rogue’s cage and saw them sitting at the front bars, expression one of unflinching earnest.

“We’ll get out of here, Leader,” said Medic behind him, determined. “We always do.”

“You just can’t give up hope,” Youngest piped up. “Not with that bastard, Leader. You’re better than him. When we’re finished with him, you can carve your name on his chest.”

“Exactly,” said Medic, a smile in their voice. “You just have to stay strong, Leader. We’re all here with you. Supervillain can try, but he can’t beat us all.”

“How touching,” Supervillain said. Leader’s head whipped back to the door; he didn’t hear it open. Only Supervillain didn’t come in through the door, in the mirror Leader could see him standing behind Leader’s cage, that same horrible smirk in his eyes, face impassive as always, neutral, sending a shiver down Leader’s spine he suppressed as best as he could.

“Do you like your new addition, Leader? I was so proud of it myself, but I thought it was so good it just needed to be shared. You needed to see it for yourself.”

“Kinda weird you kept going after I passed out, Supervillain, I doubt I could have given proper consent.”

Supervillain stared into Leader’s cool eyes through the mirror, the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly, as he said as if it was a completely civil conversation: “Mutilation is hardly ever conducted with consent.”

“You don’t know,” Leader said with an effortless shrug that almost winded him but was glad to see he looked fine in the mirror. “Maybe I was into it.”

“If you like we can go again,” Supervillain purred, walking up behind Leader and putting a hand over his last name. The heat from his hand was enough to make Leader wince, and he cried out as Supervillain dug his fingers into Leader’s chest. “Although… you still seem pretty raw to me, Leader.”

“If you keep doing that, you’re risking infection!” Medic cried, trying to draw Supervillain’s attention away from Leader.

“Oh Medic,” Supervillain cooed, looking at them through the mirror, but Leader didn’t really care what he was doing because as Supervillain spoke, he dug his fingers deeper into Leader’s chest and Leader was screaming. The pain was white hot, blinding and Leader swore he was seeing stars as the world tilted hazily around him.

After what felt like an eternity, Supervillain let go of Leader. Leader doubled over, the handcuffs clanging the only thing keeping Leader in the chair as he gasped in lungfuls of air that his screams had stolen from him.

Nausea climbed Leader’s throat again as Supervillain walked over to Medic’s cage.

“Don’t…” Leader wheezed pathetically, even to his own ears.

“Relax,” Supervillain chided politely, waving away Leader’s concern. Leader could only watch through bleary eyes as Supervillain started unlocking Medic’s cage.

“Don’t… tou—” Leader said but was cut off by Rogue’s menacing:

“Get off them!” Rogue growled, kicking at the bars of their cage. Youngest was quiet, and the silence was a welcome relief to Leader. One Rogue was enough, and Supervillain was brutal.

Supervillain offered a hand to Medic, but Medic stood up on their own and nearly let out a sigh at being able to be vertical for the first time in who knows how long.

“Come now, Medic,” Supervillain scolded, voice playful but behind it was something cold that only promised pain. “Take my hand and I’ll let you look at your dear Leader, hmm? Make sure he doesn’t get an infection.”

Leader swallowed; mouth suddenly dry as Medic took Supervillain’s hand. Supervillain’s fingers closed tightly around Medic’s like a vice and Leader knew something was wrong with the scene, but he couldn’t think of what it was. His brain sluggish and muggy like a swamp Leader’s thoughts were trudging through.

Fuck.

Maybe he did get an infection from Supervillain’s branding.

Supervillain led Medic over to Leader and grabbed a fistful of Leader’s hair yanking his head up to face him. Medic protested, but Supervillain still hadn’t let go of Medic’s hand so all they could do was try and pry Supervillain’s fingers off of them.

“It’s bad manners not to look someone in the eye, Leader.”

“If you want to talk about manners let’s start with your hospitality, Supervillain,” Leader ground out. He just saw the flash of Medic’s exasperated face, before Supervillain’s fist blocked it from view and Leader’s head slammed back, blood dripping from his nose.

“Sorry, Medic, he has a really punchable face,” said Supervillain conversationally, then let go of both Leader and Medic and stepped back. “Whatever you need, Medic, just make sure he won’t die for round two.”

Medic whirled on Supervillain, eyes wide. “Round two?”

“Did I or did I not say that I want Leader on display? He is going to live a long, long life by my side or at my feet, or whatever way I want him. The only reason you’re looking him over, and not another doctor, is merely convenience, Medic, so don’t give me that wide eyed Bambi look when I say I want to hurt him again. Like I said, Leader has a very punchable face.”

“What about us?” Medic demanded, taking a step forward. Leader relaxed back into his chair, craning his neck back to see Supervillain’s face. He was smiling. Like that was exactly what Supervillain wanted them to say.

Wait, Supervillain was smiling?

Leader did a double take and just stared, not believing his eyes.

Supervillain was… Leader didn’t think he knew how to smile, and it looked wrong on his face. Hollow, twisted, hungry and vicious.

That meant nothing good.

The realisation dropped like a stone into Leader’s chest, and he looked over at Youngest and Rogue’s cages, but they were gone. How? Leader didn’t even see—

He was too focused on Medic.

He knew it was too quiet.

“Medic!” Leader cried, shooting to his feet and shouldering Medic out of the way of Supervillain. His head swam but Leader didn’t care as he planted a foot and pivoted the chair’s legs towards Supervillain. They made impact and Leader heard a satisfying oomf from Supervillain as he faced Medic.

Their devil-may-care smile melting off his face as he saw Supervillain's Henchman come up behind Medic, needle in hand. Leader wanted to shout in warning, but the words were too slow.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, and yet too quick to wrap his head around.

Leader shot forward like a bull on instinct, Medic dodging at the last second, before Leader collided with Henchman. The pair toppled to the ground, Leader on top snarling at Henchman below but unable to get themselves back up to defend Medic.

A hand on the back of his chair and Leader was dragged back up, all four legs on the ground and Medic was kicking the needle out of Henchman's hand and stomped on their face with a satisfying crack.

Medic looked back up at Leader, eyes bright from the brawl and then they went to Supervillain behind Leader, and they froze. All blood draining from their face.

“Even two of you is enough to cause this much trouble,” Supervillain said, voice cutting through the room like ice. “I’m going to give you two options Leader,” said Supervillain coolly. Then: “Bambi, be a dear and turn Leader to me, would you?”

Wordlessly, Medic turned Leader’s chair and Leader understood Medic’s silence. Supervillain held a gagged Youngest up, an arm around Youngest’s shoulder and his stupid hidden dagger from his cane at their throat. The same knife he used to carve his name on Leader’s chest, Leader realised. His heart lurched and his stomach churned, fear rooting him to the spot. Youngest’s hands were bound in front of them and there were terrified tears spilling from their eyes.

Leader felt winded again, but when he met Supervillain’s eyes he was filled with a powerless kind of hatred.

“Do I have your attention now?” Supervillain asked, voice cool.

Leader’s throat felt like sandpaper, tongue heavy and dry as he replied with a raspy— “yes.”

“I have come to the conclusion, Leader, that there is no chance of getting you to submit to me while you are surrounded by your teammates. You have too much bravado around them, they encourage you too much. To — what was it you said, Bambi? “You’ll get out of here together, you always do? We’re all here with you. Supervillain can try, but he can’t beat us all.””

Leader could see Medic still from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Youngest, shaking in Supervillain’s grip.

“Fine,” Leader said, licking his lips, trying to add moisture to his mouth but it didn’t do anything to stop the raspiness, “you let them go.”

Supervillain smiled and pressed the knife into Youngest’s throat just enough to draw blood. Medic and Leader lurched forward but were stopped at Supervillain’s soft: “ah-ah-ah. Move and the kid dies on the spot, Medic. Do you want to test how good your medical skills are right now?”

Medic stepped back, shaking with anger and adrenaline, but they stepped back.

Supervillain looked between the pair and the hideous, gruesome light returned to his eyes. “Isn’t this nice, huh? Just a nice easy hostage situation with you two too concerned for Youngest’s safety to think of any witticisms? I could do this all day just to hear that silence.”

“It’s not – it’s not silence if you fill it with the sound of your own voice.”

Supervillain’s eyes narrowed in confusion. He was looking at Leader and Medic and they didn’t speak. Didn’t open their mouths at least, but Medic and Leader were staring at Youngest like kids who just talked back to their parents and were waiting for the punishment to begin.

Supervillain took the knife from Youngest’s throat and gently turned them around to face him, the cloth Henchman had gagged them with now loose around Youngest’s skinny neck. Their eyes had that same spark of defiance that made them want to kill Leader on his bad days. Days when he wasn’t in control.

“I should have expected as much,” said Supervillain, raising his chin, turning his nose up at Youngest’s defiance.

“Leader has corrupted you, Youngest, but don’t worry. I’ll fix you,” Supervillain said, grabbing Youngest by the throat and squeezing slightly. Youngest jerked back, trying and failing to fight Supervillain off. He was twice Youngest’s size, and one hand nearly wrapped all the way around their throat, not applying pressure. Not yet, but Youngest still panicked.

“Just— fucking— let me go—” Youngest cried, struggling to wrench themselves free. Supervillain sighed. With a deft flick of their wrist silver flashed through the air and Youngest gasped, screwing their eyes shut bracing for the worst. The blow never came and just when that thought registered in Youngest’s mind they heard Leader grunt in pain.

“Leader!” Medic cried and Youngest’s eyes were open, staring into Supervillain’s triumphant ones.

“Medic, you move, and Youngest dies.”

“You fucking bastard!” Medic cried. Youngest looked over their shoulder and saw Leader with the knife in his shoulder, just above the clavicle and they couldn’t stop the trembling at seeing what Supervillain did because of them.

“Leader will be fine, as long as you all behave. This was a good lesson to learn before you’re all separated.”

“You said—” Leader breathed, voice strained. “You said you were giving… giving me two options.”

Supervillain smiled.

“Oh. I was. Then your subordinates pissed me off and now I’m not letting any of you go. Especially Bambi and Youngest here, they’re just too fun. Rogue on the other hand, well,” Supervillain’s smile widened at the mix of helpless fury and pain twisting Leader’s features into something close to desperation, something close to submission. “Rogue, I could just slit their throat and leave them in a ditch, and you wouldn’t know any better, Leader, would you?”

Leader’s breath was coming out laboured and ragged. This was too much. This was too much, the pain was too much, and he couldn’t move, he couldn’t fight, he couldn’t talk his way out of this. It felt like everything was slipping, and it was all his fault. If he had predicted the blade in the cane, then none of this would have happened.

The blade that was currently imbedded in his shoulder.

He lost focus for a moment.

A moment too long.

And it got everyone he loved here. Trapped. Just as powerless as Leader was to protect them.

“Leader,” it was Youngest. Their voice so quiet, so lost, looking for what they had to do, because Leader always knew.

Leader swallowed the lump in his throat, shaking his head slowly, voice hoarse. “Don’t act out. Don’t rebel, do whatever Supervillain tells you without question or hesitation—”

“Leader?!” Medic cried, panic colouring their voice as they kneeled in front of Leader, trying to catch his eye. “Leader you can’t just—”

Leader looked at Medic then, his eyes pleading and hard, and Medic swallowed the rest of their sentence. It hurt, it hurt more than anything to see Medic have to accept their fate, fighting back the tears gathering behind their eyes.

Leader spoke before he lost his nerve, he refused to crack in front of Supervillain. He looked at Youngest’s lost expression, like a little kid being told Santa isn’t real and remembered how young they were… then he looked at Medic and his expression softened as he gave the orders to protect them as much as he could. To protect themselves when Leader wasn’t there to do it for them.

“Remember when you want to react or scream or fight, that it won't be you that Supervillain hurts, it will be someone else. This is the best we can do for each other now. We're still a team, we're still stronger together, even when we're apart,” Leader said, confident defiance still emanating from his gaze as he met Supervillain's eyes in a challenge. “Even Supervillain can't stop us looking out for each other. Remember that.”

A corner of Supervillain's lips curled up in a half smirk, surprised at the gall of Leader to look at him with that much cocky assuredness that they won't break in Supervillain's care.

Supervillain would prove him wrong.

“We'll see,” Supervillain hummed, smiling eyes narrowed, locked on Leader's.

Challenge accepted.

Supervillain’s eyes turned to Medic, finally letting Youngest go with a gentle shove backwards. Youngest stumbled a step and regained their footing, glaring at Supervillain.

“You first, Bambi, since you seem to love the drama of it all.”

Medic didn’t say a word. They just glanced at Leader who nodded his head slightly. Medic walked towards Supervillain and willingly gave themselves up. It put a spear of fear through Leader’s heart to see Supervillain put his hands on Medic, but Leader forced himself to be still. To not react. That was what Supervillain wanted, he wasn’t going to give it to him.

“Oh, Youngest?” Supervillain asked, voice deceptively sweet. Youngest didn’t answer. Supervillain didn’t even hesitate to slap Medic across the face, eliciting a shocked gasp from Medic. Leader’s handcuffs rattled and Supervillain’s cruel grey eyes got brighter, and said again: “will we try that again?”

“Yes,” said Youngest.

Supervillain’s face settled into one of neutrality. “Yes what?” he asked, voice as cold as the arctic.

“Yes sir,” Youngest bit out, their voice cracking on sir.

“Be a dear and keep Leader company while I bring Bambi to their new cell, will you?”

Youngest hesitated again, but this time Leader nudged them with his foot and Youngest said again, more demoralised now: “yes sir.”

“Good. Sit by Leader’s leg like a good little dog, I insist,” and Youngest sank to the floor, slumping beside Leader’s chair, bound hands still in front of them. “See, Leader? They can be trained to be civilised. I’ll be back soon.”

Youngest and Leader watched scornfully as Supervillain led Medic out of the room. Watched them disappear from view, powerless to stop it happening. Leader just sat handcuffed to the chair, knife imbedded in his shoulder, Youngest tied up by his side and let out a long, shaky sigh.

He didn’t know how they were going to get out of this, or what they’d have to endure, he just had to believe that they would, because… well, to think anything else would be blasphemous and Leader didn’t think he’d be able to survive if he started going down that rabbit hole.

[3-2-whump]

Falling Like Snow

<prev next>

The penultimate chapter, can you believe it? Break out the tissues for this one, folks.

Thanks again @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz, you two are the best!

Obligatory Author's Note: This is it, folks, the end of Tom's story. Sorry to those who wished for a miracle, and congratulations to those of you rooting for his demise. You know exactly what to do if you desire a different ending. Fanfiction, canon divergence -the world is your oyster, so just go for it! I encourage it, if anything! Just, you know, tag me or let me know in some way. But anyway, here we go

TW/CW: major character death, blood, gore (?) (tagging it just to cover my bases), aftermath of torture, cigarette whump (brief), emotional angst, slave whump, noncon nudity (in the first half), Stockholm Syndrome (maybe?) (like the beginnings of it), but more so, emotional angst. So much angst. Please let me know if I missed anything though! Enjoy

From: Master Forgot about a meeting I have tonight. Be home late. Wait for me.

Khaled noted the time the message was sent, and compared it to how late at night/early in the morning it now was. He wondered if his master was out drinking, or whoring, or whatever it was he got up to when he’d stay out late on short notice. Not like it was his business anyway.

Khaled yawned, shaking out the numbness in his legs from his kneeling position next to the couch. He put away the plate of food on the table that had long gone cold by now. His own stomach gurgled with the need to eat something, but he dared not touch any of the food he carefully stowed away.

With the leftovers sorted out, there was nothing to do but put the dishes in the dishwasher and start the cycle. The kitchen, as well as the rest of the apartment, was spotless, since now he had nothing else to do but keep it clean. Khaled returned to his place on the bare living room floor, grabbing a blanket off the couch as an afterthought as he wrapped it around his nude frame. He was forbidden from wearing any clothes now, as the man who owned him was just a little too eager to see his ‘beautiful body,’ as he called it, and did not want anything obstructing its form. He’d watched in abject horror as all but a few changes of clothes were burned before his eyes and the rest had been locked in a safe. It had been a cold February ever since.

“I like you more like this,” his master had told him. “You’re far more cuddly like this, love, far more tactile.”

That’s another thing; Master was saying the word ‘love’ a lot more, averaging at least one “I love you Khaled” per day for the past two weeks. More than a little overwhelming, the frequency at which he’d expressed his affections seemed just this side of insincere. The three little words Khaled had craved for so many years now sounded so flat and fake, given everything else that had happened to him. How could anyone who isolates a man from his friends, from his job, from the world itself claim to love him? How was any of what he went through love?

What was more unbearable was when he was expected to say it back.

And he would say it back, a strained ‘I love you too’ that grated against his throat like swallowing broken glass. Yet, with a defeated resignation, Khaled realized it had gotten much easier to say, with enough repetition. If he said ‘I love you too, Master’ enough times, he may actually begin to believe it. It was only a matter of time until he would say it and mean it, if his enforced isolation continued much longer. Thomas Costa and Luca Bianchi were the only other human beings he had seen for two weeks now; he had no idea how he was strong enough to deal with this for more than a year when he was a child!

He positioned himself on his side, his sore back facing the door and his head facing the wide windows of the living room overlooking the city skyline. Outside it began to snow. The white, fluffy flakes were a vision of beauty flying against the heavy gray sky. Khaled’s eyelids drooped as he watched the snow fall in the greyish-white winter night. It was cold, yes, but beautiful, like him, he guessed.  His last conscious thoughts were wondering when his master would come home to him. Regardless of whether he loved him back or not, he was cold, so cold without him.

-

It was cold, so cold, on the dirty concrete floor. Not even the blood pouring out of his lacerated wounds could keep him warm anymore. Above him, Julio circled him like a vulture, taking a long drag of his cigarette before throwing it lit-end first at Thomas’ face. The beaten man was too far gone to even flinch.

Damn, is this how Khaled felt when I cut him? he deliriously wondered. With all that Julio and the Juicio Divino boys had done to him, he doubted he’d ever get the chance to ask.

Khaled. There are so many things Thomas now wished he did differently. He should’ve been kinder, more patient, should’ve protected him from the world, from his men -even from himself. Especially from himself.

“Khaled…” he moaned.

A blood-speckled Nike connected painfully with his side. “You dare call out to him, even now?!” Julio growled icily. He kicked Thomas again.

“Julio, just kill him already, for fuck’s sakes,” a voice shouted from the corner of the warehouse. The traitor –Nico- stood off to the side, icing his bashed-in face with some snow wrapped in shirt fabric. “You’re worse than a cat that plays with the mouse it caught!” he admonished. As furious and confused and disappointed as Thomas was about the Clemenza boy betraying him like this, the primal animal part of him was grateful that he was asking for mercy on his behalf.

Although he could no longer raise his head to see past Julio’s ankles, Thomas could feel the assassin roll his eyes above him as he cursed in Spanish. The next thing he knew, Julio was crouching down to his level. He tried to mentally prepare for whatever would happen next.

Julio sunk his fingers into his short, blood-soaked hair, wrenching his head back as he held up a now-very-familiar knife to Thomas’ throat. “Any last words, puto?”

So many last words.

So many things to apologize for.

So many words left unsaid. Not just to Khaled, but to Callahan, to Trémeaux, to Robinson, Kreuger, Martinez, Kościelsky, and of course to Tony. Young Tony, dear Tony, high as fuck at a church wedding Tony. His pain in the ass little brother and his only constant in his childhood, who never lived to see twenty-two years old.

Khaled and Tony were a lot alike in some ways. Smarter than they thought they were, yet looked up to him for no explicable reason. It was a shame Thomas never consciously noticed that similarity until now.

All this time, Thomas thought he bought Khaled as a form of penitence, to make up for killing that boy who was suspected of killing his brother. And while, yes, that was partially why he bought him, maybe he also bought Khaled as a way resurrect his brother. It had been so long since he’d seen warm brown eyes look up at him, he didn’t even know he missed it until he saw Khaled’s eyes that day.

“Forgive me…” he rasped.

Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was the certainty that this was the end, making him see things, but for a second, Thomas saw a crack in that frosty glare Julio bore down onto him. For a brief second, a painful mix of shock, anger, sadness, and even sympathy flashed within Julio’s golden eyes, before the glacial cold vengeance covered them in its frosty glare once again.

“See you in hell,” Julio murmured.

A sharp pain sliced its way into his jugular and down. (Who the hell slices down?!) As the pain dulled and his vision started to go, Thomas’ ebbing consciousness latched onto a memory, one of the fondest memories he had of Khaled.

He’d had an intense nightmare within the first month of buying his new slave, and instead of deriding him or prying for more details than he was owed, the boy had heated him a cup of milk, rubbed his back, and stayed up with him until he was ready to go to sleep again, just like how he and Tony used to comfort each other after a nightmare. As the last threads of his vision faded and the boss’ surroundings sunk into darkness, he swore he could still hear younger Khaled’s words that night, murmured shyly as he still had his accent.

“Sleep well, Master.”

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1256

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

TW: starvation | disordered eating

If a character has become accustomed to prolonged under-nourishment, they probably won't be "fine" as soon as they can eat adequately. Of course there's the psychological recovery from whatever experience(s) they had, but also their body may not remember how to deal with normal amounts of food.

A few things they may experience when they start eating more (severe cases can be dangerous and require medical intervention, these are just in the "unpleasant" range):

Poor appetite and rapid/disproportionate satiety

Bad stomach aches

Increased lethargy/fatigue, in general but especially after meals

Suddenly needing a lot more sleep

Dizziness/shakiness/weakness if they haven't eaten for a few hours, even if they don't feel hungry.

[slippedtheknot]

"Shirt off,"

Whumper, telling Whumpee this for another round of torture.

Caretaker, telling Whumpee this to clean Whumpee's wound.

[hurtcomfortguaranteed]

Bheem works to rescue the best friend he wrongly believed had betrayed him, in the masterpiece of bromantic cinema that is RRR.

[autism-swagger]

Me: I need to draw Steph again

My brain: the best I can do is a shitpost

[bilightningwhumper]

@ailesswhumptober 2024- Day 21

Medical Monday: Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

<<Previous . My AI-less Whumptober 2024 Masterlist . Next>>

Plight of the Canary (Mare's story) Masterlist --- SoaS Series Masterlist

Summary:

Excerpt for "Plight of the Canary" (Mare's story) An unexpected reunion for a pair of twins

Notes:

Characters: Mare- Bucky and Natasha's daughter, Will's twin Will- Bucky and Natasha's son, Mare's twin Mariya Ivanof (mentioned)- scientist of a splinter group from both HYDRA and the Red Room Warnings: past noncon drugging, dubcon drugging, medical whump

Ao3 link

Word count: 281

Mare PoV

The world was moving. Too many loud voices. No one she- wait, no. Was that-?

“Please, just let me see her!”

Mare struggled to open her eyes, to say something, anything. But whatever Mariya had given her was still wreaking havoc in her system. She could barely move a finger without pain rippling through her nerves. The most she manged to do was make a weak whine.

Cool hands soothed her burning skin, one on her side, one on the top of her head. They were damp, but she didn’t care as tears leaked from her own eyes as she heard her twin’s voice.

“He-hey, Mare.” he choked out as his forehead leaned on the side of hers. “You’re safe. You’re here.” His laugh was strangled, more tears falling with her own. “God, you’re really here.”

Someone else spoke, making him more away, though his hands never left her. Then he was back, voice slightly more controlled as he whispered in her ear. “They’re going to set you up with a new IV. One with meds that can help. And-”

“No.” she managed to mumble out. “No more… hurts…”

A gentle squeeze on her side from him made her stop trying to talk. “This will make you feel better, okay? If it doesn’t, I’ll make them stop. I promise.”

She wanted to protest, to tell him that nothing else Mariya or her scientists gave her would help, that they were lying to him. But she was tired. So, so, so… tired. If- if Will was here, he’d keep her safe. Or he’d try. He was here. With her.

So she gave in, letting the dark behind her eyes take over again.

SoaS Taglist:

No one so far

[rizzoto-whump]

For @figuwhump​ day 18

[normaltothemax]

My muse had been kidnapped and tortured for the past week send “I’m here- I’m here, now” for your muse to save them. “I’m here- I’m here, now” [bucky @ clint]

The torture was awful, don’t get him wrong. Physical, psychological, they tried it all. He’d been beaten and cut and burned, hadn’t been allowed to sleep. They’d kept him in a room with no windows, kept the lights constantly on and had randomized the schedule with which they entered and took him out, so he’d swiftly lost all track of time, despite his best efforts. But the thing Clint was most distraught about was the fact that they’d broken all of his fucking fingers.

Badly.

Recovering from an injury like this was going to take a lot of time and a lot of physical therapy, and even then he would most likely might never have the same dexterity as before. This sort of injury might just bench him permanently. These assholes might’ve rendered him completely useless to SHIELD, to the Avengers, and when he gets out of here, Clint will be destroyed by that. But as the man he’s dubbed Igor waltzes back into the room, he plasters a cheeky smile on. Forces a ridiculous amount of cheer into his voice. “Hey, there he is! S’been a while, man. How’s the wife? How’s the kids? Thought you might’a forgotten about little ol’ me, in here.”

It’s a blur of pain after that. Pain and anguish and agony and gunshots and more pain.

Wait.

Something…something’s not right about that. One of those things is not like the others, one of those things just doesn’t belong—Clint’s mind is just a little too hazy to figure out what.

Out of seemingly nowhere, the pain abruptly stops. A face looms in front of his own, and really, Igor should know better by now. After the first two times Clint headbutted someone and broke their nose, you’d think people would learn. Well, third time’s the charm, he supposes.

He tries to headbutt Igor, because seriously, fuck this guy, but the face is quicker, moves out of range before he’s able to make contact, leaving Clint slumped forward in the chair he’s restrained in, chest heaving. “Lookit that,” he slurs, spitting a mouthful of blood out to the side. When he grins back up at the man, it’s with bloody teeth. “You’re learnin’.”

He stops. Squints. Frowns. That’s not Igor. Then who…?

“Bucky?” When did Bucky get here? “What’re you…oh.” Oh, he remembers now. The phone call, the threats. Bucky came for him, just like he said. Bucky found him.

That’s nice.

“You know, the room service here sucks,” he complains, because if he doesn’t try and keep it light, he might just lose his shit and break down completely. “Bedside manner’s even worse.”

@dramatisperscnae (x)

[robinrites]

Villain Whumpee story part 3

last part here!

By the time Hero reaches the hideout with Villain, Villain’s whole crew has already arrived, eager to see their boss again. Thankfully, Sidekick quickly shoos them off, knowing that their boss wouldn’t want the crew to see him in this state. Hero thanks him, then carries Villain into the med room, extremely thankful Villain happened to have Medic on staff before all this happened. He lays Villain down on the table, then his head darts up as the door opens and Sidekick and Medic walk in. 

“Holy shit.” Sidekick mutters, taking in all the injuries on their boss. 

Hero can’t blame them either. Villain seems much worse than the last time he saw them. Hero can’t help but internally curse himself for taking so long. One of Villain’s shoulders is clearly dislocated, bruises and cuts and burns cover every visible inch of Villain’s body. Thick lines of scarring surround his wrists, throat, and ankles from where the shackles rested. Villain’s hand shows signs of being broken and healing wrong, which means they’ll need to re-break it so it can heal properly. Villain shivers, despite his forehead burning up. As Medic carefully takes Villain’s shirt off, the room falls silent. Every rib is visible, one or two even appear broken. Hero takes the scraps left of Villain’s shirt from Medic to dispose of and can’t help but notice how thin it is. He must’ve been freezing. He shakes his head to bring himself back to focus and notices that Medic has already got an IV running into Villain’s arm. 

“It’s just nutrients and water for now. I’ll probably add some sedatives once we really assess the damage.” Medic chimes in, noticing Hero staring at the IV. 

Sidekick places their arm on Hero’s shoulder, “It’s not your fault y’know? You had no way of knowing.” 

“Maybe if I had rescued him sooner-” 

“Hero, that’s not going to make it better. You did what you could.” Sidekick rubs his shoulder gently, “We have him now, let’s make sure it stays that way okay?” Hero swallows the lump in his throat and then nods. 

“How can I help?” 

One and a half years ago

Villain rushes down the maintenance tunnels under the prison and can barely stifle a laugh. “Oh my gods, I can’t believe my plan actually worked.” He steals a quick glance behind him, just to make sure he really isn’t being followed before continuing forward. When he finally reaches the end of the tunnel, he finds a duffle bag stuffed with civilian clothes to help him blend in, which he quickly changes into before climbing the ladder out of the tunnels. 

Villain pops his head up hesitantly, and upon seeing that no one is around, he slides the street cover out of the way and quickly climbs up, making sure he slides the cover back in place before moving to a busier street to try to blend in. Six blocks to the safehouse, and then I just have to wait for nightfall to get out of the city. How hard could this be? Ten minutes pass and Villain finds himself standing in front of his safehouse, or as he likes to call it, his “totally nondescript house in the ‘burbs’”. Villain walks around the side of the house, then picks up the rock his henchmen told him the key would be in. 

Villain slides the key into the lock easily and smiles, he closes his eyes as he throws open the door, saying “Honey, I’m home!” In a mock suburban tone. When he’s not greeted by a gaggle of henchman, he opens his eyes. The keys fall, and his stomach drops as he makes eye contact with none other than Superhero. “Y-you.” Villain takes a step back, panic beginning to fill his whole body. Villain’s heart sinks as the realization that there’s no winning this fight settles into his mind. Six months in prison means little to no exercise, and since he hadn’t planned on staying in the safehouse more than a couple hours, all his gadgets are at his lair outside the city. 

“Me.” Superhero says with a smile, stepping closer and closer to Villain until his back is pushed up against the door he’d just come through. Superhero grabs Villain by his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. “What, you didn’t think I’d just let you go, did you?” 

Villain tries to push fake confidence, “Since when do you care about low lifes like me? I’m usually Hero’s problem…So maybe you should just let him deal with me.” Villain’s heart races, he’s heard from other villains about how Superhero fights with no holds barred. He takes out all his anger on who he’s fighting, that’s part of the reason Villain is glad Hero is his archnemesis, and not Superhero. Well, that and the fact that Villain might have the tiniest crush on Hero, but that’s an issue for later. 

Superhero shakes his head, “Tsk, but then you’d just escape again. Don’t you get tired of the same old cat and mouse game, Villain?” Villain yanks his chin out of Superhero’s grasp and tries to shove him away. “Don’t try to fight me on this.” Superhero shoves his forearm against Villain’s throat, pinning him to the wall. “This should make you a little bit more agreeable.” Villain barely registers the glint of a needle before he feels a sharp prick in his neck. He tries to say anything in protest, but all that comes out is jumbled, until he feels darkness take over and his body hits the floor. 

Villain wakes up in a cell, and if it wasn’t for the glaring lack of dull prison decorations, he thinks he would have forgotten what had happened hours (or days, it’s hard to tell when you’re unconscious) prior. In spite of feeling groggy as hell, Villain pushes his hands underneath him to maneuver himself into a seated position. It’s only after he’s done this that he notices the shackles wrapped around his wrists and ankles. Chains connect his wrists to each other, and the same for his ankles, with one additional chain on each “pair” leading to a bolt in the center. His head darts around, checking for any hidden camera or microphone in the room. 

“Alright Superhero!” Villain shouts, his voice shaky from nerves. “You’ve got me! You can take me back to prison now, I won’t escape I promise!” 

A door slides open, frightening Villain who flinches back briefly. Superhero steps in, towering over Villain who is doing his best to put on a brave face. 

“Ah!” Superhero smiles, “Glad to see you’ve woken up. Now, I think I heard you say you wanted me to take you back to prison, is that correct?” Villain silently nods, holding his breath. “That’s what I thought. Let’s get one thing very clear, okay?” He crouches down to eye level with Villain, grabbing his chin, just like he had earlier, to assert control. “You don’t tell me what to do. I am in control here. You are just a sad, pathetic, little Villain who needs to be taught some manners. Understood?” Villain spits in his face, or at least tries to. A lack of water results in barely a spattering of spit, which angers Superhero nonetheless. He lets go of Villain’s chin and stands up. “So this is how we’re going to play this hm?” 

He turns around and exits the room briefly. Villain scoots as far back as his chains allow and releases the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. Before Villain even has a second to collect his thoughts, the door opens and allows Superhero back in, who is now holding some mysterious object behind his back. 

“W-What’s that?” Villain’s heart races a bit as a sly smile builds on Superhero’s face. 

“I had really hoped we could do this the easy way, Villain.” Superhero shakes his head, “But, I can already tell you are going to make this anything but easy. So instead, I get to try something I’ve always wanted to try.” He reveals a black bag, “Tell me, Villain, have you ever tried sensory deprivation on any of your victims?” 

“Victims? What the hell do you mean? I never hurt a soul while I’m out-” Villain’s eyes widen as Superhero begins to pull items from the bag. He watches silently as a blindfold, headphones, and a gag are laid before him. 

“Pick one.” 

“What the fuck do you mean by ‘pick one’?” Villain’s back presses up against the wall. 

“Fine. Guess we’re doing them all.” Superhero grabs the blindfold first and quickly ties it around Villain’s hair, purposefully making sure some of his hair is tied up in the knot. 

“Wait! Wait!” Villain tries to beg quickly, “Superhero please don’t-” A metal gag covers his mouth and Villain can hear a lock turning on the back, he shakes his head, tears starting to form in his eyes as he shakes his head, trying to avoid having headphones put over his ears. 

“Don’t get too comfortable now.” Villain can picture Superhero smirking as he says this, making Villain’s stomach turn. “I’ll be back to take these off when I decide you’ve earned it, understand?” When Villain does nothing to acknowledge him, Superhero smacks him across the face. “I said, understand?” Villain quickly nods, then he feels big headphones slide over his ears, blocking out any other words Superhero might say to him. 

In the end, Superhero leaves him like that for a week. Halfway through the week, he takes the gag off, purely so he can hear Villain beg. Sometimes Villain calls out for Hero, which always makes Superhero laugh, especially knowing that Hero is looking for Villain. Sometimes he cries for his mom, and other times he begs Superhero to listen to him. If Villain could hear, all he would hear is Superhero laughing at him, mocking him. Maybe it was for the best that way.

[serickswrites]

I'm Glad

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, rescue, hurt/aftermath

Hero burst into the dungeon, fully expecting to find a heartbreaking scene. They braced to see the corpse of the one person who cared about them and would do anything to protect them. Hero prepared to see Villain's dead body, mangled and broken by the days of torture that killed them.

"Took you long enough," Villain said weakly as Hero froze when they walked in.

"Villain! Thank God!" Hero surged forward to free Villain from their restraints. Villain looked awful. But they were alive. Hero hadn't failed to save them. "I'm glad you're still alive," Hero said as they gently uncuffed Villain.

"Course I'm still alive. It would take a hell of a lot more than a little torture to kill me, Hero. Besides, who else would take care of you, love?" Villain looked up at Hero, a crooked smile pulling at their split lips.

Hero carefully lifted Villain into their arms. "Right now, darling, the only person who needs taking care of is you. Let's get you home and get you cleaned up."

Villain's eyelids drooped as they sighed. "That sounds like a wonderful idea."

Hero kissed the top of Villain's head as they carried Villain out of the dungeon. They could feel Villain relax in their arms. "I've got you, darling. You're safe. You're alive. You're safe. I've got you."

"Thank you," Villain murmured as their eyelids fluttered closed.

"Sleep. When you wake, we'll be home. I've got you, darling. You're safe."

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

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

@pepeniascat

[blurryeyeswhump]

augusnippets

Day 2: platonic bathing, hair care, makeup

*hello all! this no context snippet contains characters that haven’t been featured on my blog before now but they are part of a larger story i’ve been working on. meet jude and luke (and nathan although he’s only mentioned)*

Jude was already tingeing the bath water pink, seconds after lowering himself into it. The hot water lapped at and stung the lashes across his back and chest but he sighed softly through his teeth and sunk further down into the tub.

Luke eyed him carefully. He could make out a few welts the shape of a belt buckle.

Jude would never talked much whenever Nathan brought him back to the cell, but then again Luke wasn’t sure what he’d say back anyway. He had to start trying.

Jude’s eyes were shut but twitching wildly and his breathing was still labored. Tears started to cut through the dust on his face.

Luke came a little closer.

“Hey,” he tried.

Jude made an inquisitive noise but it came out like a whimper.

“Is it okay if I touch you? I’ll be really gentle.”

Jude’s eyes opened and he looked up at the man standing over him.

“I’m okay I think. I don’t need stitches or anything, he didn’t,” Jude choked

down something desperate, “he didn’t do anything too bad.”

“No,” Luke said, “it’s not that I just-I don’t want you to forget what soft feels like.”

The pair stared at eachother and Jude nodded, understanding.

“Okay.”

Luke circled behind the tub now facing the back of Jude’s head.

“Tell me to stop and I will, okay? Right away.”

Jude nodded and held his breath a few seconds when he felt Luke’s fingers in his hair. He felt himself relax into the touch almost immediately.

Luke dipped his hands into the water, cupped it, and let it run over Jude’s scalp. He picked at the boy’s long dark waves and did his best to undo the little knots and tangles, taking great care not to tug at it too hard.

Jude was sinking in on himself in ecstasy, his eyes shut, chills running down his neck and shoulders. He reminded Luke of a cat somehow, just short of purring.

“Do you like your hair to be this long?” Luke asked, continuing to finger comb through it.

“I don’t know, I can’t exactly get it cut,” Jude replied.

“I could ask him, I don’t know. I can ask for some shampoo or something too. I have no clue what he’ll let me have,” Luke said.

“I just don’t want him to take you away,” Jude spoke so softly Luke barely heard it. But he did hear it and it made him take pause. He tried to think of something to say but Jude stayed quiet so he just began running his fingers through the boys hair again and again.

The two sat like that in the quiet for what felt like ages. Just the tiny drip from the tap and Jude’s little sighs broke the silence.

Eventually Luke thought he’d fallen asleep like this but he kept going hoping to get every knot or to at least keep him relaxed. He was surprised when he spoke up again.

“Nathan, better not give you any scissors for my hair,” Jude started, leaning his head back against Luke’s touch before finishing,

“I’d make sure they’d end up in his neck.”

[coffeeangelinabox]

Febuwhump Day #5: Not Trusting Reality

tw/cw non con nudity, mind fuckery

None of them go back to sleep. None of them try. 

Team Leader crosses the room to sit with Medic and in tense, hushed voices they go over what she has available for wound treatment, laying it all out in neat rows. Teammate One paces furiously, face getting grimmer, jaw tightening until even Smallest winces just to look at him. Teammate Two gathers Second’s discarded clothes. The bottom half is fine, though he’ll have to go commando. The shirt is unsalvageable. She brings the fabric over to Medic, holding it out wordlessly. 

Smallest sits and feels useless. 

She had wanted this so much when she convinced the Team to take her. 

She had been filled with the righteous fury and indignation of all fifteen of her years. When it had finally happened, the political wave which had promised equality for all turning and engulfing the nation, her small South-East suburb had remained untouched. Most of the people there had been professional middle class workers, their jobs not easily filled by sprites and golems. They had been kept in their homes and workplaces, expected to laud the new regime. And to report those that didn’t. 

Smallest had seen them, neighbours who used to wave now turning their faces in fear from one another. 

Once, when she had been small, her mother had promised to fill a quiet afternoon with her and her sisters baking. They had been planning on a surprise birthday cake for her father when he came home, but, trusted as the oldest to fetch the ingredients, Smallest, little more than five or six if she remembered correctly, had dropped the flour in her excitement, powder spilling over the floor. 

“Never mind, dearest,” her mother had said. “Go next door and see if Mrs Turtle can give us some.”

Mrs Turtle had, old lined face creased with grandmotherly understanding as Smallest had blurted out the whole sad story on her doorstep. Smallest had brought her a slice of cake, and mother had replaced the flour next time she went to the market. 

After Supervillain took over, a similar thing had happened. Smallest had gone into the pantry one day to discover the milk splattered on the floor, probably someone hadn’t shut the door (Youngest Sister, she was always doing that!) and the cat had gotten in again. 

“Never mind, mum,” she had said after clearing up the souring mess. “I’ll see if Mrs Turtle can give us some.”

Her mother had put a hand on her shoulder. “No,” she had said sharply, then more gently, “No. I don’t want to imply…if they think we’re saying we don’t have enough, it might be seen as a criticism.”

A cold heavy rock had settled hard in Smallest’s stomach at that. That such an ordinary act as helping someone could be viewed with suspicion. Then one of the girls at school had simply not come back after sharing a silly cartoon she’d scrawled about the lack of an election. Smallest had decided she wanted no part of it.

There were reports of terrorist actions, carried out by once-regular army only a few towns over. Watching the reports on the scry-projectors, Smallest had found herself thinking more and more that far from being immoral, unpatriotic monsters, these people, whoever they were, were carrying out the only actions that were conscionable.

She didn’t want to put her family in danger, so she had left her home, leaving only a letter of explanation for her mother and walked. It had been a cold, uncomfortable, homeless month before she had found the Team, and longer before she had made them see her as anything but a refugee to be saved.

"They weren’t looking to recruit children," Second had said, outraged at the suggestion.

She’d pulled herself up to her full height. She’s young and looks it, she knows, but she’s tall and her time on the streets had given a hardness to her face. 

“I’m nineteen,” she’d snapped. “Supervillain had my family killed for disagreeing with him. I’m not going to suck up to his government, and I haven’t got anywhere else to go.”

“Take her,” Leader had said.

“But-” That had been Three, London accent strong even in one appalled word.

“I don’t want to debate it.” Leader had been implacable, and Smallest had felt an almost embarrassingly overwhelming surge of hero worship. “She knows our faces, we can’t leave her here, and we’re not recruiting.” She had looked narrow eyed at Smallest, who had nodded hastily, “But…there’s also only six of us. We can’t topple a government without-”

“At least seven?” One had finished sarcastically.

Second had lifted what was left of Smallest’s possessions and walked her to the ramshackle contraption that claimed to be a crystalkart and which probably wouldn't run out of arcanium mid hop. 

She had followed him like a puppy after that. Leader she worshipped, as a small child to the idol she one day hoped to be. ("My daddy can do anything," she’d once bragged to a teacher, the same stars shining in her eyes, though she doesn’t remember). But it was Second who made sure she had everything she needed, made sure the others - all old soldiers - didn’t tease her too much. He hadn’t wanted her there, but it had obviously been out of concern for her, not rejection, and having taken her, he taught her to use a Blastwand, how to fall and fight and read a map and use a crystalwhisper. Leader she idolised, but Second she adored as an admired older brother and loved with everything hot and fierce inside of her. 

And now he’d been taken.

She’d watched, pointlessly, uselessly as Whumper had hurt him, humiliated him and she hadn’t even had the courage to tell him to stop.

Even now, as the others prepare and make plans, she has no role. She’s nothing but a waste of space child and Leader should have chosen her to die and spared Three. At least Three would have brought some skills to the room, other than just sitting.

Then there’s a footstep, a low grunt of pain, the now familiar sound of the door hinges, and Second is shoved roughly in. 

He’s conscious, Smallest has time to see that much in the rounded whites of his eyes before he topples forward like a cut oak and falls to the floor. He’s still naked, and there are bruises in darkening hues blooming over his body. There are cuts too, though most of those appear shallow and, Smallest notices, looking at the way the skin has been shredded in parallel lines up his forearms, above painful abraded bands on his wrists which speak of restraints, look like he did them to himself. She moves forward.

Leader pushes her back and Teammate Two catches her, holding her close in a sideways hug that Smallest can’t help but lean into. 

“What did you do to him?” she demands furiously of the silent, helmeted guards in the doorway. 

Smallest watches as Medic approaches Second. “Hey, Second, I’m gonna-”

He comes up swinging with a roar. His wild punch clumsy and uncoordinated, but still powerful and Medic flinches back. 

“Hey, hey, it’s just me. I’m-”

Second lunges at her again, gets fingers around her throat. “Stop!” he growls, accent pronounced. “I know-”

Teammate One grabs him, forcibly dragging him off Medic who stumbles back, coughing and holds him still. 

Team Leader gives up on the motionless soldiers and turns back to them as Second in Command struggles like a thing possessed, howling and screaming a mixture of obscenities and French and curses that could do real damage if he had enough power to rate even a one on the European index. She steps up to where he is restrained by One and slaps him, full across the face. 

He spits at her, snarls a few more insults, drags in a breath that sounds like it hurts and then says in carefully enunciated English, “I know you’re not real. I’ll tell you nothing, you hear!”

It is Medic that rounds on the soldiers this time, “What did you give him?” she sounds furious. “What potion is this?”

They don’t acknowledge her any more than they did Leader. 

Second is still throwing himself from side to side. It’s becoming harder and harder for One to hold him still unless he is willing to do some actual damage. Instead, he pinions the other man’s arms in a full bear hug from behind. 

“Get it together, Second,” he grunts. “You’ve got your crack rubbing on my junk. It’s awkward, man.”

Second pushes backwards, taking them both to the floor in a pile of limbs and thudding of flesh. One inhales sharply as his skull clonks on the floor but doesn’t let go. Second whines, high pitched like a wounded animal and Smallest sees blood, bright red and frothing on his lips. 

“Hold him still!” barks Medic. “He’s got a broken rib. It’s in his lung.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” grunts One.

Team Leader moves over trying to help immobilise an increasingly incoherent Second in Command who continues to shriek that they’re not real, that he won’t help them, that he knows what they are and who made them, that he won’t, won’t, won’t. “Can you put him out?” she asks Medic over her shoulder.

Medic rolls a ball of power between her fingers consideringly. “Not when he’s like this. If he’s not calm, if he’s resisting…and I still don’t know what they did. It could have adverse effects.”

Smallest ducks from under Two’s arm and crosses to the group on the floor. 

“Smallest-!” Two says, grabbing for her, but she shrugs the woman off and kneels down.

Leader puts an arm across her, barring her way. “I don’t think you should-”

Smallest laces her fingers through Second’s and feels the muscles straining in an arm that Leader is barely holding down. “Hi, Second,” she says quietly.

He blinks at her and the terrified, hate filled look turns to confusion. “Smallest,” he gasps. “How- You aren’t-?”

“I am real,” she says, leaning into him a little, keeping her eyes on his face. “But…even if I weren’t, you know I wouldn’t hurt you. You wouldn’t imagine a me that would hurt you.”

He chuckles a little and it turns into pained gasps, more of that red bubbly blood running down his chin. “I-”

“And even if you would, you know I couldn’t hurt you.” Though, with him in this state, she probably could.

He closes his eyes for so long that she thinks that he’s fallen unconscious, then his fingers grip hers, so tight that it makes her repress a gasp. “You’re real?” and his voice is so quiet, so tentative, her heart hurts.

“Yeah. We all are. We just want to help. You’re hurt.”

Another long pause, then he nods once, sharp and jerky like surrender and the tension runs out of him.

Leader and One look at each other and One, clearly poised to react should this turn out to be a trick, carefully lets go and shimmies out from under Second’s bulk.

There’s a noise from the door and another as Medic edges close once more. All their heads snap up to see the soldiers leaving, key clanking in the lock, clearly whatever they were waiting for has happened. Second on the other hand, cringes away from Medic’s footstep.

“Don’t touch me.”

“It’s just Medic,” Leader says and that doesn’t help with his flinching and cowering at all.

“It’s just Medic,” Smallest repeats and his eyes open, locking onto her face. 

“Medic?”

“Yeah,” she moves close to him once more. “She just wants to help.”

His eyes are still locked onto her, blurry with pain. “You promise? Promise me, ma chérie.”

“I promise, Second. No one here wants to hurt you.” She can hear her voice getting high pitched and squeaky, making her sound like a distressed nine year old. 

“I don’t like this,” says Two.

Everyone turns to look at her in astonishment. 

“Really?” says One laconically. “I thought this was quite a good teambuilding exercise. Better than building a tower out of loo roll tubes.”

She gives him a disgusted look. “I mean- I’ve read about this.”

Medic looks up. “What is it?  A potion or a spell or-”

“It’s a psyworm,” Two says. “It’s in his brain, eating into his memories, showing him whatever it thinks will get him to give it whatever it's been trained to look for.”

Second makes another broken sound and his hand tightens convulsively on Smallest’s once more, then terribly, dreadfully, he begins to cry.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

whumptober alt. prompt no. 2: aftermath of failure

“Please, ple-, please, I can’t…” Chapped lips rasp out the faint, desperate words. Tear-beaded lashes flutter slowly. Quinn’s chin wobbles as they try to keep pleading, but can’t find the breath to.

Scar-ridged hands swipe over Quinn’s body quickly, harshly, healing magic seeking out the worst of the damage. They arch up when he presses on their stomach and finds tension that shouldn’t be there. Internal bleeding is bad, especially if they’re already pale and breathing weakly and crying from the pain.

Across the room, Tank lies vulnerable, too, rolling the back of his skull back and forth on the ground. His arms are limp under misshapen shoulders, one of his hips jutting out wrong, his chest purpling from busted ribs. He howled so loudly with each injury that Major’s head is still throbbing. If Major listens very closely, he can hear his big boyfriend moaning deep in his throat.

The brushing at Major’s hip distracts him, and his hands fall from Quinn as he turns to see that it’s Remy’s fingers brushing up against him, reaching feebly. Those big, kind eyes are full of fear, but not recognition. Blood drips down Remy’s cheek from his nose, from the corners of his eyes, from his ears. It sticks his back to the floor, too. Remy healed everyone, healed as much as he could, accepting the lashes from the whip as he went just for the chance to help his friends. Eventually he ran out of magic, and with that exhaustion came the blindness, the bleeding, the frigid skin and fading hearing.

Riku and Sonia lie in a pile where they were trying to protect each other. Sonia fought well, even better than Tank did, but when one of their captors lit up a cigarette, something in her posture changed and she got sloppy, got easier to pin. Major didn’t see what was done to the girls, but they’re being quiet and still and it’s freaking him the fuck out.

The burns across his body hurt, hurt a lot, but he almost feels numb to them right now as he sits heavily and looks over each friend, thoughts slow and jumbled. He just doesn’t know what to do.

Soft fingers keep knocking against his side. They find a shredded sleeve and tug on it, trying to pull him closer. Major jerks away from Remy’s touch, stomach flipping with guilt.

“Please,” Croaks the healer who lost his sight and hearing and too much blood from being too generous. Major slams his hands over his ears and squeezes his eyes shut, knees folding up to his chest.

He can still hear Quinn’s low weeping, and how it’s getting more and more feeble. He can hear Tank’s near-silent whines - he won’t even ask for healing, he doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt for him. The girls are too quiet, the captors are gone but not for long, and Remy’s still grasping at him.

The downed healer says something. Major growls in frustration and slides his hands up into his hair to pull on it, tugging frizzy locks in opposite directions. It makes his headache worse.

“...for me,” Continues his soft, drained boyfriend. Remy’s voice is cracking. “Ignore the - can you hear me? The pain. The, if anyone’s d-, dead… look for what’s gotta get fixed, now.”

Major tugs harder and grimaces through the burning of his scalp. Hits the side of his own head once, twice, trying to make his brain work.

Remy has found Major’s thigh and has laid his palm on it. “Bleeding out, cracked skull, ribs bending wrong, internal bleeding.” He’s rubbing Major’s leg in small swipes of his thumb. “Look at who has that.”

Reluctantly, the overwhelmed healer looks over at each body, reading tension and amount of blood spilled and varying levels of consciousness. Tank’s in so much pain, he deserves to be fixed up first, he always gets fucked up so bad protecting everyone - but Quinn’s stomach is full of blood and they’re fading, it looks like - but Riku, Sonia, are they dead or just halfway there?

He reaches down and snatches up Remy’s hand, crushing it in an anxious grip. Remy’s face crumples with discomfort and sympathy. “Weakest breaths, then.”

Instead of looking around, Major closes his eyes and listens, now. Quinn’s breathing is pretty bad. Tank’s is choppy with pain. Riku’s is quiet but even with focus. Sonia’s - he can’t hear it.

Remy’s hand is thrown aside, Quinn shoved out of the way as Major throws himself onto his feet and then skids to his knees beside the pile of two girls. Rough, impatient hands tear Riku up and back, violently unwrapping her arms from around the smaller girl. Riku whines in stress but can’t resist being manhandled, clutching at the stab wounds down her thighs.

Curled up on the floor is Sonia, short black hair ruffled, knuckles swollen, ankle twisted. Her eyes are closed and her chest is still.

He shoves two fingers up under her jaw, presses a palm over her heart, checks if her skin’s still warm. The heartbeat is weak, and… her body jolts once, weakly. An unconscious, spasmodic attempt to breathe. He yanks her jaw down, reaches down unflinchingly to try to find an obstruction in her throat, but there is none. She doesn’t react to him searching. Flustered with distress, aware that her brain could be taking damage already, he just plants one hand on her throat, the other over her lungs, and pours out the first burst of healing magic that he’s dared to use here.

The magic is soaked into her throat, tugged in by the injury, and he figures out after a second that something in there broke. The trachea or whatever. She was strangled, and everyone was too busted up or busy taking their own beating to save her.

“Fuck,” Mutters the healer, and he focuses fully on fixing the small bone. It’s less than a minute before her body rocks, tenses, and then she coughs once before sucking down a ragged breath. Her blue-tinged lips go purple.

If he’d waited another minute, if Remy didn’t help him figure out… he has to keep working, fast. Major leaves Sonia curling up on her side and choking out confused sobs, not even bothering to get to his feet, instead crawling in a wild rush to get back to Quinn. Like Remy said, internal bleeding. His hands press down over the tense stomach and pour in magic to close internal wounds, seal up organs, redirect blood where it should go. Quinn tries and fails to scream with the deep ache of it.

His own nose itches. Major swipes at it with the back of his hand and finds blood. As soon as Quinn’s stomach feels squishy like it should and they’re trying to form words, he abandons them and goes to Tank.

He didn’t even see the shape of Tank’s face from over there. Crooked jaw, crushed eye socket. It looks like he can barely breathe around the trickle of blood down his throat. One eye blinks blearily up at Major, but he doesn’t reach for his boyfriend.

Scarred hands pour out healing magic until the jaw thunks back into place, and the eye socket takes on its old shape, and the left shoulder uncrunches, and the right shoulder pops into its joint, and the hip grinds slowly until it too can be shoved back into its place. It’s odd that Tank isn’t screaming, howling in the thunderous way he did earlier. Major’s cloudy eyes flick up to inspect his boyfriend’s face, only to find that it is stretched in a scream.

A cold, twitching hand rises to feel at his own ear, and comes away bloody. Major backs away from his latest victim and swipes again, paranoid, only to find more blood dripping down from his earlobe.

Movement in the corner of his vision catches his eye, and he finds Remy trying to rise, stuck to the floor by his bloody flayed back. Nausea settles heavily in his gut and Major crawls over, slower than before, to grab his other boyfriend by the shoulders and pin him, healing him simultaneously. The golden light flows down to mend Remy’s back, and there again Major sees screaming that he can’t hear. Remy can’t hear it, either. Nearby, Quinn flinches from the sound.

Blood splatters on Remy’s cheek. For a horrifying moment Major wonders if somehow his skin was punctured from the inside as if there were an alien infesting Remy’s body. But then another small splatter appears, and he realizes his nose feels clogged. Still bleeding from there, then. At least Rem’s almost unstuck from the floor, almost able to get up and cower if he needs to.

Pain explodes in his back, and with an undignified screech that he can’t hear, Major collapses onto Remy. He’s dragged off and flipped over to gasp and blink up at the guy standing over him with a crowbar.

They can’t be back for more already. Everyone was almost dead. Major tosses his head side to side to watch as the other captors find each of his friends where they lie and drag them up, or start a new beating, or pin them to the floor. He might be yelling, might be cursing, he’s not sure. His throat aches already from whatever he’s doing in protest, but it’s hard to tell if it’s coming out coherent at all. The end of the crowbar rests against the underside of his jaw, and Major falls silent, aware of just how easily that dense metal could turn his head into soup.

He can’t hear anyone being hurt, can’t quite see the new damage with the new fuzzy dark spots floating in his vision, but as the crowbar is raised over him, Major knows that all that healing was pointless. He didn’t save anyone.

[rta-user-2025]

"I'm here, Marcellus."