#which i started before or during whumptober but. obviously focused on whumptober

[blaiddraws]

I tried to imagine which other au I could fit dojoshipping into without it being cursed and the only one I could find was the ghost worm au. Imagine somehow he sticks around in the past for a bit and Zisu kisses his shiny metal head

hey check out this ask i got the other day

[wordsablaze]

You Break It You Buy It

day twenty three, where it’s damian who gets the message that someone is using dick as leverage...

A/N: and so the final stretch begins !! whumptober prompt: ransom

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“There is a package for you, Master Damian,” Alfred says during dinner. And, having predicted that Damian would frown at him suspiciously, he adds, “It’s from Master Richard.”

Damian swallows a smile and finishes his meal with record speed, not quite racing but definitely moving much faster than he usually does back up to his room where he knows Alfred will have deposited whatever it is Dick has sent him, which turns out to be a small box.

He frowns at it for an entire minute before using a letter opener to gently prise it open. As soon as he’s pushed the layer of tissue paper aside, he gasps. “Alfred!”

Bruce arrives at his door within seconds, frowning when he sees no immediate threat. “What is it, Damian?”

Damian waits until Alfred also arrives at the door before pointing to the box. “Who sent this?”

“Master Richard?” Alfred offers, sharing a confused look with Bruce.

But Damian shakes his head, exhaling slowly. “I do not think Richard would send me his blood-stained police badge.”

“His what?” Bruce demands, stalking forwards to see the contents of the box for himself, his jaw clenching when he does. “There’s a note with it telling us to call Dick.”

Damian’s eyes widen. As he’s chiding himself for not noticing such a vital piece of information in his concern for Richard, Tim makes his way to this room and frowns at the three of them. “Has someone died?”

He’s joking, Damian knows that, but it’s ill-timed and he can’t stop himself from practically snarling at the other boy. “Enough of your useless jokes, Drake. Richard is hurt and missing.”

Tim mutters an apology but Damian’s attention has already shifted to his phone - he may or may not also apologise for being rude later because Dick would want him to - and he calls Dick’s number before he can second-guess himself.

“I really didn’t think it would be the little one calling,” someone says as they answer.

Damian puts the phone on speaker and tosses it on his bed so he doesn’t crush the phone in his hands. “Where is he?” he demands, since it’s his phone and there’s no point making whoever it is on the other end suspicious by having one of the others speak.

“Did you think it would be the little one calling?” the voice asks, but it’s clearly addressed to someone else, leaving them with the uncanny feeling of unwillingly eavesdropping.

“Answer me!” The order is followed by a hiss of pain that logic dictates is Dick.  

“Don’t touch him!” Damian shouts as Tim frantically starts tracking Dick’s phone through his tablet.

The unfamiliar voice laughs. “You Waynes are so stupidly protective of each other. All I’m asking is for you to direct a little of your funding to my charity and then you'll get your precious brother back.”

Damian wants to laugh at the audacity of this woman to request something so obviously uncharitable. He doesn’t, though, because she’s managed to get a hold of Dick and get a package past their security with ease and that makes her dangerous.

“Return my brother and then we’ll talk,” Damian says through gritted teeth.

Another laugh. “That would be rather foolish of me, wouldn’t it? Though I can prove to you that he’s still alive if that’s what you want.”

Bruce reads between the lines first. “No!”

But it’s too late.

Dick’s scream rings through the phone. It’s unclear whether he cuts himself off or whether someone else forces him to quieten, but it’s undeniably his scream that abruptly starts and stops.

“Is that enough proof for you to meet my demands now?” the woman asks innocently; Damian wants to eviscerate her.

Since he can’t do that - not yet, anyway - he focuses on the sound of Dick breathing in the background. His breath sounds shaky but not uneven enough for any serious damage, which is a small silver lining but doesn’t do much to reassure him.

“We’ll consider it if you return him unharmed,” Bruce says coolly.

The woman clicks her tongue at them. “You’re just not getting it. Haven’t you all dealt with ransoms before?”

There are two long seconds of silence before Dick screams again. This time, there’s nothing stopping him from being loud and the four of them are forced to listen as his scream fades into a low and jagged moan that has them all wincing.

“We get it,” Tim mutters as he holds up a map on his tablet, having narrowed the location down to, surprisingly, somewhere in Gotham itself. Bruce nods at him gratefully and gestures between Damian and the phone before swiftly leaving, promptly followed by Tim.

As much as Damian wants to go with them, someone has to stay on the phone.

“So what have you decided?” the woman asks smugly.

Clenching his fists, Damian sighs dramatically. “Look, we just want Richard back. You can have whatever funding you need for this charity of yours.”

“Oh, good! It took you far too long to make a decision though.”

Alfred’s breath hitches as Damian’s eyes widen. “No, wait!”

She doesn’t.

For the third time, Dick screams. And it's so, so much worse than before because his voice breaks horribly before fizzing out, replaced by weak and poorly stifled sobs. It’s possible he’s exaggerating his pain because he’s acting as a mere civilian but unfortunately, it’s also possible that he’s genuinely hurting enough to cry.

"You're going to regret that," Damian vows through gritted teeth, his nails digging into his palms. He's too focused on Dick's crying to think about how much he hates the sound of her laughter but he must have accidentally let a little murderous intent show on his face because Alfred places a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezes, pulling him back to the present.

"Please, don't hurt him any further," Alfred says eventually. Dick makes an odd sound in the background, something weak and unsteady that might be Damian’s name, and Damian bites his lip to stop himself from indignantly yelling in frustration.

The call goes quiet for a moment and Damian is beginning to think something has gone terribly wrong when sirens echo through the phone. He holds his breath as Dick goes silent, only exhaling again when he hears Bruce’s deep voice murmuring reassurances.

He forces his muscles to relax as Dick sniffles and closes his eyes, wishing the box had actually been a gift instead of a bizarre random note. Speaking of, he makes a mental note to clean the police badge before returning it. Or perhaps he'll hold onto it for now and use it as an excuse to see Dick again another time.

"He's okay, Damian," Tim says, interrupting his thoughts, "but I need to hang up now. We'll be there soon, I promise."

"Alright," Damian mumbles as the screen goes dark.

-

and then dick gets back and cuddles damian for like a whole 24 hours bc he deserves nice things <3

-

thanks for reading !! masterlist | dc sideblog: @batfamvibes

[mangoofthesea]

Whumptober Day 4 - Trust Fall/'do you trust me?'/pushed with Dabihawks

Ao3

There were a lot more alarms blaring than Keigo had been expecting.

He had anticipated some obviously, he was stealing confidential files from the hero commission, even if it had been planned which ones he would be stealing to improve his position in the league. That other alarm which had started blaring was probably down to him taking the opportunity in the file room of the commission to steal maybe one or two extra files that he had hoped the commission either wouldn’t notice or think he had taken accidentally and it would have been a simple matter of ‘oopsie daisy, you mean I shouldn’t have taken the files detailing your experiments on child soldiers? Sorry, I thought they were the ones on the task forces you were about to disband anyway, my bad’.

Keigo is well aware he would probably have to come up with a better excuse than that eventually, but that was a problem for future Hawks. Once he has escaped the hero commission with the information for the league, and for his own personal reading. Hopefully before Dabi got too mad at the alarms and set something/someone on fire. Well, actually there would definitely be something on fire, so it was more a matter of getting out of here without any murder.

He had left the fire user in an adjoining corridor to the one leading to the records room he was in now, the one where they keep all the stuff too confidential to be safely kept on databases and that works better to keep in traditional archives that require someone physically breaking into one of the most secure buildings in Japan. Dabi was going after whatever was on the computers while he went for the papers, not trusting sparky in a room full of kindling and a lot of reason to turn it into a bonfire which would not be useful for either the commission or the league. But mostly would be very not useful for him which is the part he’s focused on.

He double checks that he has everything he needs (and wants), not yet regretting that the second cabinet he opened to get it had set off the far more irritating alarm that had a greater chance of getting them caught.

Files secured inside his jacket and cameras “deactivated”, or at least they were when the commission had given him the go ahead to take selected files during his little heist with Dabi for his cover. Thus why he had let Dabi flamethrower the cameras as they came in to prevent the possibility of the cameras coming back on when he tripped the extra alarm.

Now the goal is to get out of here, preferably with Dabi.

Keigo opens the door of the file room and strolls calmly but with a little more speed than normal to the mail offices Dabi was going to raid. He’s not entirely sure for what but decided he wouldn’t ask. The commission could do with a bit of redecorating in places, so really he’s doing them a favour.

He finds Dabi by following a train of destruction in the form of a few damaged walls and peeking into offices to find certain bits of them on fire. Oh look, an on fire garbage can.

Keigo nods to himself at the sight and follows the traces of fire to where Dabi is at a computer in one of the offices only minimally decimated and tries to put a bit more concern into his voice. He is feeling the effect of some fear over the state of their situation but he’s not sure whether it's exactly for himself and therefore will be ignoring it.

“Dabi, c’mon we gotta go, I set off a couple alarms I maybe shouldn’t have and we need to get out of here. It was already gonna be a pain but now we might have some problems.”

Dabi looks up at him unimpressed, like he’s debating whether he should include Keigo in his path of destruction out of here. Thankfully, he seems to decide to be content with rolling his eyes under his scowl. “You’re fucking useless aren’t you, bird.”

Keigo is about to reply something perfectly inflammatory (ha) to annoy the villain when he hears a shout from far closer than he anticipated at this point and his head snaps around. When he speaks he doesn’t take his eyes off of the closest bet he has for the source of the noise which is the far end of the corridor he just came down. Which also happened to be their exit strategy.

He braces a hand on the door frame bouncing on his toes. “Not kidding now, Dabs,” he says firmly. “Finish whatever you’re doing and move cos we’ve got company.”

Dabi looks up at him over the top of the computer sharply, the tone shift clearly getting through to him but he still goes back to the computer. “Getting worried?”

Keigo pushes down the urge to roll his eyes and ignore the rising panic. The commission gave him the go ahead for this mission but they also included that if he got caught they wouldn’t be able to bail him out, at least not all the way. They don’t care who they lose in the field as long as they get the job done and he would have to turn on Dabi when the guards showed up and risk losing his in with the league if Dabi got out again, and also as much as he wouldn’t admit it he also doesn’t want to turn on him for his own personal reasons such as developing a certain fondness for the wanted criminal. He acknowledges in the privacy of his head how much of a disaster that is and that’s exactly why he’s ignoring it.

The other option would be to stand with Dabi and keep his league connection, but there would be too many people seeing them together for it to be easily covered up and the commission could chose to leave him in the lurch or he would be punished for fucking up so badly that they either had to pay off or get rid of a whole batch of well trained and incredibly secretive guards to get new ones, neither of this would be in any way cheap.

So he weighs up his options and goes for getting them the fuck out of here before he has to choose either.

“There’s no fucking window in here, and we’re in the middle of the floor because we were here for the secret well protected records room? Remember that part, crispy?”

Dabi looks mutinous but Keigo knows that under his crazy bluster the villain has some modicum of sense that didn’t get burnt off with his skin.

So instead he clenches his jaw and pushes out from the desk harshly, ripping a memory stick from the computer as he goes before setting fire to the entire desk, desktop and all going up with it.

He stalks up to Keigo and stands in front of him with an eyebrow cocked.

Even with the danger they’re in, Keigo can’t help but make a joke.

“Little dramatic wouldn’t you say?”

“What were you saying about getting out of here, feathers?”

Keigo bounces his eyebrows in challenge as he meets the other’s eyes in challenge through his visor but spins on his heel and starts down the hallway in the opposite direction of their original exit strategy. “Hold up, where do you think you’re going?”

“There’s gonna be extra guards coming here like now, so we’re going out my way,” Keigo jerks a thumb down the hallway.

Dabi scoffs as he lights up one of his palms, holding it up in front of him and makes eye contact with Keigo over the top of the dancing blue flames. The glow in the dim hallway catches his eyes as well as emphasizing the ghoulishness of his features “You think I can’t handle a few guards?”

Keigo gulps and tells himself to not find the villain attractive. It doesn’t work. But still he manages to put himself together enough to grab the hand and pull it down to his side. “You can’t kill them you fucking murderous bastard! Do you have any idea how many more problems that will cause? Not to mention the amount of guards you’ll have to get through to go out that way?” Keigo jerks his head towards the hallway they’ve just come from. “Either you’re gonna have to kill every back up guard in this building or you’re gonna kill enough to fuck up whatever’s left of your skin and get captured for your trouble. So shut up, and follow me.”

Dabi uses his small height advantage to look down his nose and glare at him. “So the chicken can crow.”

Keigo turns on his heel and stomps off down the hallway, petty enough to just leave Dabi but not wanting to. Thankfully he hears the sound of footsteps following him the same moment that the shouts from earlier finally reach the edge of the hallway behind them. Keigo takes off into a run using an extra burst of speed from his wings and Dabi follows. There’s only a few seconds before they’re around the last corner that will bring them into sight. He uses his wings to throw himself fully into the air in the limited space and uses them to carry himself around the corner. Dabi is left to get to the end of the corridor under his own speed and he knows the guards have spotted him because there’s sudden exclamations and the general sound of their voices gaining volume. Keigo curses himself for forgetting in his haste to hide his own presence.

“Where the fuck are you leading us?” Dabi snaps where he’s caught up to him but is only managing under what appears great strain to keep up with Keigo’s speed. He sends off a couple small feathers that should go unnoticed to reduce the air resistance by giving Dabi a small shove and hopes he doesn’t notice. It’s unendingly irritating knowing that even if he offers help to Dabi when they’re doing league work there’s a 70-30 chance that he will just tell him to go fuck himself. He thinks it's maybe because he is still not convinced Keigo isn’t going to betray him and the league. To be fair, his distrust is warranted but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.

“There’s an elevator down this corridor, we can climb the shaft up to the roof. Or you can climb, I can fly.”

“How are you planning on us getting down from the fucking roof?” Dabi asks, but he’s still keeping pace with him so Keigo thinks that’s a good sign.

“Flying of course.” He pulls up sharply as the elevator comes into view on their left and he drags one of his larger feathers from his wings and uses it to pry the doors apart.

The shaft isn’t deep, only covering the top half of the building due to there being another one for the first twenty floors for security precautions; to prevent someone getting in on the ground and getting all the way to the top offices. Now it’s an advantage for them because it means the additional guards will be stuck taking the longer route to reach them where they’re already on the thirtieth floor.

“C’mon, sparky, only ten more floors to the roof.” he looks over his shoulder with a half grin, bright gold meeting cold blue eyes. “Race ya.”

Keigo pushes off and into the elevator shaft, using his wings to propel himself upwards. He hears the loud clang that he presumes is Dabi jumping into the shaft after him and the following sounds as he climbs. Even now he slows his speed enough for Dabi to at least mostly keep up without making it too obvious he’s doing so.

They move fast, Dabi is scrabbly, and seems to climb well, and Keigo thinks he’s using his fire to melt better handholds when he needs to. At least that’s what the sounds of creaking and the heat that is building in the shaft suggests.

They get to the top floor and race through the dark offices to the final doors Keigo knows leads to the roof with Dabi cursing up a storm behind him as he pants with exertion. The guards will have been banging their way up the staircases and using the lift for its intended purpose behind them so all of them should be on top of them in moments. They’ve got maybe two minutes to get the hell out of here.

The door slams open and the cold wind whips his hair around his face, visor keeping it out of his eyes as he surveys empty open space of the roof.

“Wasn’t there...some kind of...balcony we could have gone over further down?” Dabi says through harsh pants.

Keigo looks back and finds him bracing his weight on the other side of the now closed roof door. He shakes his head. “Not for a commission building. Too much of a security risk.”

He turns his head and sweeps his eyes over the skyline, grateful to see there’s no helicopters out that could cause them further problems.

“Oh and getting out of here via the top of the building is the best option because of that?”

Keigo doesn’t look back as he responds, choosing instead to feel the wind ruffling his feathers after so long inside. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I can fly, so yeah, it is.”

“I’m not letting you fly me anywhere.”

Keigo looks back and gapes at him. “What- then how are you planning to escape?”

Dabi shrugs, mouth set in a stubborn line and voice no longer breathless when he speaks. “I’ll fight those idiots coming up behind us if I have to or go down the side.”

“We’re forty stories up you - no, fuck you! I wouldn’t put it past you to get caught just so you could rat me out to working with you.”

Dabi shrugs like that idea isn’t important enough to give a response.

“Dabi, there will be heroes incoming to this location in minutes, not to mention the horde of security guards coming up behind us.” The commission had told him how much time they would allow him for his fake double mission and he is fast going over that allowance. “If you want to get out of this you’re gonna have to trust me.”

“Fuck no, you feathery bastard!”

Keigo waves a hand out in exasperation. “You followed me up this far! Oh but now,” he punctuates the word by throwing both his hands up and looking to the sky as if for guidance, “you’ve got a problem with letting me fly us out of here!”

Dabi ignores him in favour of turning to face the door that has the noise of footsteps and shouting slowly growing louder beyond it. There’s a flash of blue as Dabi puts his hand to the door’s handle and melts it along with the edge of the frame. It warps enough that it will be hard to bust, but won’t hold for long in the face of the guys coming after them.

“Do you trust me?”

Dabi looks at him sharply through the black hair being whipped back and forth in front of his face and scoffs. “The fuck do you think birdy?”

Keigo sighs. “Well you’re gonna have to just this once. You’re my in with the league, I’m not going to kill you. I’m also not getting caught stealing confidential files so fuck you and jump off the roof already!” Keigo shouts and points at the edge of the roof.

Dabi pauses telling him to fuck off long enough for Keigo to be at least mostly sure he won’t be immediately fried for what he’s about to do. Then a loud bang hits the door as shouting increases sharply which distracts Dabi. Without waiting another moment Keigo darts forward and grabs one of his scarred arms and then uses his wings to throw his weight backwards sharply, wings catching on the high force winds to act like a sail and suddenly they’re off the top of the building and descending.

“Oh you fucking feathery bastard-!” The rest of Dabi’s enraged screech is lost to the wind and Keigo can’t help but laugh, a short sound that he then muffles and tightens his grip on Dabi. His other hand had come up to either grasp or claw at Keigo, maybe to set him on fire and send them both to a fiery plummeting death, but he merely grasps the other and and Dabi actually holds on until they’re flying, both gripping the other’s forearms as Keigo flies out of the bright lights of the main streets towards where it’s darker and more secluded. The tightness of Dabi’s grip doesn’t waver and he doesn't ask to be put down immediately either, possibly afraid that Keigo will just drop him if he does.

They finally land and Dabi stumbles away from him into the wall of the alley and digs his fingers into the rough brickwork.

“See, no big deal crisp-” Keigo’s voice cuts off with a short birdlike screech as a blue fireball comes flying at the side of his head which he ducks. “Is that any way to treat your rescuer!”

“You ever do that again and I will fucking torch those ridiculous fucking wings into dust.” The amount of vitriol in his voice takes Keigo back a moment before he recovers.

“Fucking fine. It was just a bit of flying. I’m sorry I sprung it on you like that, alright, but we needed to get out of there and you were being absurd. You scared of heights or something or what?”

“It’s not absurd to be scared of getting dropped from the top of a skyscraper by an idiot feathered hero who decided he wanted to have a go at being a villain on a fucking whim!”

Keigo rolls his eyes. “You had trusted me that far just fine.”

“Following the guy who supposedly knows the way out of that stupid labrinth of a building with your fucking reinforced windows is differnent to jumping off a building!” Dabi snarls.

“If it hadn’t been for you using using the break in to get whatever information you needed for your own personal fucking vendetta against heros we wouldn’t have been still there when they caught up to us in the first place!” Keigo knows their raised voices might start drawing attention and they definitely need to move locations but hopefully with the nature of this neighbourhood people will be hesitant to investigate.

Dabi scoffs and turns to stalk away from him down the alleyway, making the decision for them to leave.

Keigo has no option to follow, at least for now. When he’s far enough away he can start flying again and maybe clock in on patrol for a bit of an extra alibi just in case. For now all he can do is stare at the back of the head walking in front of him and hate the fact whatever fragile friendship he felt had started to form might be back to square one.

Dabi then speaks, only loud enough to carry over his shoulder to him and says with a sullen tone that has something else to it Keigo can’t quite place.

“I could have got out of there without your fucking bird antics, hero.”

Keigo grins into the darkness that’s starting to swallow them as they move further away from the dimly lit street.

Maybe not all the way back to square one then.

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Gunpoint AU (part 5)

(continuation of a fic started during the Whumptober2019 challenge)

(PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3)  (PART 4)

.

Summary: Arthur gets in trouble while on a case with Vivi (set before Ghost). 

.

This time, the dark of unconsciousness isn’t quite so all-encompassing. His mind floats about as sound and stimulus come in and out like waves. In his dazed state, he struggles to focus on the conversation which drifts over and around him.

“What’s got you all mopey?"  The sharp voice, perpetually amused, pieces the haze over Arthur’s mind. "You’re about to finish your unfinished business. That’s like, end-game stuff for you wraiths.”

He is suddenly very aware of the dirt pressing against his cheek and the uncomfortable strain on his back. Oh right, he has been kidnapped by a psychopath in what was probably the worst case of mistaken identity in the history of ever. Everything hurts, from the new burn on his chest to his growing headache. He misses the unawareness of being unconscious already.

“…soon you’ll be free to hop on off to the afterlife or wherever it is you people go. Last I checked, that’s a good thing.”

The is a long pause and Arthur strains to hear the next sentence. He doesn’t dare open his eyes. The less attention focused on him the better. He pulls subtly at his wrists but they’re still cuffed together. If only his mechanical arm had a quick-release lever, then he’d be able to detach it and get his hands free that way.

“He was terrified.”  

Even when he’s barley lucid, hearing and knowing that the angry spirit is nearby causes his heart to race. Arthur fights his instinct to try and crawl as fast and as far away as possible.

“Uh…Duh. That was your goal. To scare the shit out of him then kill him? What did you think would happen?”

“If he doesn’t remember then what’s the point.”

“Haha…” The laugh is unpleasant, “I wouldn’t worry so much my anger prone friend.”

There is a low ominous rumble and the more threatening sounds of fire crackling. “DON’T call me that. I don’t have friends. Not anymore.”

Another laugh.  “Sure, whatever, acquaintances then….”  Arthur hears the sound of footsteps draw near to his head and he tries to relax and maintain the illusion of unconsciousness.  “You’re just getting caught up on the semantics.… He’s still the same guy. He’s just a guy who not only killed you but didn’t even have the guts to remember it.”

He’s dead, Arthur thinks dully. The green-eyed looney is going to get him killed and he can’t do a thing about it. He’s got this wraith creature convinced that Arthur was involved in its murder. It’s a lie. He hadn’t killed anyone…He would remember something like that…right?

“All this time you’ve been out here, alone and in pain, and he’s been living it up, not even a shred of guilt.  Doesn’t that just piss you off?” 

The footsteps stop right next to his ear. Arthur jerks to the sensation of cold water getting splashed over his face. He sputters as the water runs up his nose, recoiling so he bumps into the car’s tyres.  The sudden movement reminds him of the growing collection of bruises and painful grazes running down his back. When the water stops, he cracks an eye to squint up at his crazy kidnaper, who was now crouched in front of him holding a plastic bottle and waving a greeting.

“Congratulations. You’re not dead.”  

Arthur coughs to clear his lungs of water. Quickly, his eyes dart around, searching out the ominous silhouette of the wraith floating several feet behind the crazy man. The ghost-monster is glaring at him, eyes narrowed with undisguised anger.

The man moves to block Arthur’s vision. “Not dead yet…we'll put a pin in that moral dilemma for the moment.”

Up this close, Arthur can see the laughter threatening to split the twisted man’s face. The freak was enjoying everything way too much for anything to be accidental.  A hand roughly grips his shoulder, hauling him upright so he is leaning with his back against one of the car’s tyres. Even the small change in posture has his head swimming. A result of one too many hits to the skull. The crazy man examines the burn on his chest, prodding at it.   “This looks painful.”  Arthur winces, trying to lean away.

“You really don’t remember?” The question is growled at him, interrupting crazy man.

Arthur swallows, squinting upwards. The fire wraith has moved closer, drifting to loom over the two of them. He can already feel the air heating around him.

“I…No…” His mouth suddenly goes dry. What can he say to convince this creature that he’s innocent? “I don’t …”

SLAM. The wraith slams a fist into the hood of the car which buckles under its strength. Fire spreads across its arm, leaping into the air. Okay. Not the response the wraith was looking for. Arthur clamps his mouth shut and hunches down so he’s less of a target. The crazy man sniggers, standing and forcing the wraith backwards, making an exaggerated calming motion.

“Hey! I’ve got an idea. After you finish helping me sort out my side of the bargain like you promised, I’ll see what I can do about his memory loss free of charge. I may or may not have a few additional tricks up my sleeve.”

“What do you think?”

The wraith maintains its glare, moving its focus off Arthur for a moment. While the two appear to be working together it’s obviously not out of friendship.  Arthur takes their laps in attention as a chance to pull at the cuffs again, testing both his wrists and ankles with more urgency.  Twisting his neck, he subtly eyes the trees and foliage around the clearing. His best chance would be to follow the road back the way they’d come in. Maybe, he could break his metal wrist and slip out of the cuffs securing his hands.  Unfortunately, that’s not a strategy he can use on his ankles.

“Fine…” The wraith finally snaps, its angry tone drawing Arthur’s attention back to the conversation.  “But if you hurt Vivi…” The threat is left open.

Arthur freezes and his stomach flips uncomfortably. How did this wraith know Vivi?

“Relax. I’m not going to hurt your girlfriend. Cross my heart and hope to die.  All I want is the dog.”

Girlfriend? Vivi hadn’t been in a relationship since…since…No. Arthur shakes his head not liking where that logical train of thought is taking him. If these kidnappers knew about him then they definitely knew about Vivi as well. This had to be part of the set up somehow. It was designed to mess with him. But, if that’s the case, then why does something feel wrong. There is something off about all of this beyond his kidnapping that Arthur’ is just not getting…Why is just thinking so hard all of a sudden?

The ghost wavers, still angry but apparently content for the time being. Now it is deliberately not looking at Arthur, turning to drift away. Instead, two of those small pink spirit blobs appear and proceed to glare at him in the wraith’s place.

Arthur wishes he could massage his head because it feels like his brain is on fire.  

. 

Note: A random whumptober continuation. also going to be crossposting this on ao3

[theundercovermarvelfan]

Whumptober 2020 - Day Four

Whumtober Challenge  @whumptober2020

Running Out of Time Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

The warehouse had been cleared and all the hostiles were either captured or eliminated. Tony’s scanners had confirmed that there was no life left within the enemy compound. 

The Avengers had won for all intents and purposes. All that was left was tying up a few loose ends. They were still trying to track down the blueprints that had been stolen from Stark Industries months ago, which in the wrong hands could be disastrous. They had split up to do one last sweep to see if they could find anything. 

Simple, right? 

“Anybody find anything?” Steve asked over the comms. 

Various versions of “no” or “nothing” floated over the line. Clint was clicking on his flashlight and moving into a dark office as he articulated his own confirmation that he hadn’t come across anything interesting. He swung the light around as he took stock of what was in the room. 

“I think if there was anything to find, we would have found it by now,” Natasha pointed out. 

“I think you’re right,” Steve agreed. “Let’s finish up the area you’re currently in, and then I think we can head home.”

“That sounds good,” Clint agreed as he shifted through the papers on the desk in the room. 

It had been a long day and Clint hadn’t been too enthusiastic when after a hard fought battle, Steve insisted that they do this extra sweep when there was no evidence that the blueprints were ever here. Grudgingly, Clint did realize it was the right call, but after an hour of fruitless searching that thought wasn’t terribly comforting to his aching feet and sore muscles at the moment.  

Clint was turning and heading back out of the room, when suddenly he stumbled. For a split second he thought that maybe he had been more tired than he thought and his legs were giving out. But then there was another sudden jolt as the floor shifted under his feet.

“Did anyone else feel that?” Clint asked uneasily into this comm. 

“Tony, can your sensors pick up any kind of booby traps in the compound?” Steve asked quickly. 

“Sensors are all still quiet,” Tony said unsurely just as Clint felt the ground shifting again, this time a little more insistently. “But hold on… I’m picking up some seismic act--”

Anything else Tony was going to say was lost as suddenly the floor jerked violently, sending Clint flying off his feet and smashing hard onto the floor.

“Earthquake!” Clint yelled on instinct, unsure if anyone could hear him over the sudden roar of the ground rearranging itself. 

A quick scan of the room told Clint that he was in the worst possible spot, near a large floor to ceiling cabinet with glass doors. He went scrambling across the room just as the cabinet tipped, only barely able to throw himself out of the way to avoid getting pinned. His instincts wanted him to get to the desk in order to shelter under it, but the tremors were so violent that it went sliding across the floor toward the shattered cabinet. Clint needed something, anything to hold onto in order to stabilize himself, but everything in the room was shifting violently. There was a loud crash as a tree smashed through a large nearby window, sending razor sharp shards raining down on him as Clint ducked and covered his head as best he could. Among the deafening crashing, Clint could have sworn he heard someone cry out in pain, his head automatically jerking in the direction of the noise…

And then suddenly the floor underneath him dipped sharply inward, sending Clint careening downward toward the middle of the building. Clint scrambled desperately trying to slow his descent, knowing that moving further inward was the worst possible scenario, but debris was raining down on him, pushing him deeper into the chaos. Then what started off as an uncontrollable slide, suddenly turned into a free fall and then…

Nothing.

Blackness. Silence. Stillness. Like the world had suddenly blinked out of existence. 

Clint had no idea how much time had passed before the pain began to bring him back around. It felt like he had been put through a meat grinder, and for a long moment he couldn’t pinpoint any part of himself that felt any worse than the rest. He heaved in thick air that burned down his throat and into his lungs, which spasmed painfully at the intrusion. As he blinked his eyes open, trying to get a sense of his surroundings, he pulled the collar of his shirt up and over his nose and mouth in an attempt to filter out at least the larger debris in the air as he continued to wheeze desperately for precious oxygen. 

By some stroke of luck, Clint realized that his heavy duty flashlight had followed his descent, and though it was cracked, by some miracle it was still shining brightly just a few feet away. He went to reach out for it… and screamed in pain as it felt as if a white hot poker had been jammed and then twisted viciously into his shoulder. 

He gasped and coughed painfully as he struggled through the pain, thankful when it dulled as he remained still. Very carefully, he shifted to get a look at his shoulder, fully expecting to see something horribly grotesque. He was confused when he didn’t immediately see a reason for the pain outside of the cuts that covered the rest of his body as well. Then he realized his shoulder was sitting lower than it should. It was dislocated. He let out a shaky breath, feeling relief wash over him. It was bad, but it was fixable.

Of course, that was assuming that he was able to make it out of here. 

He methodically took stock of himself before he attempted to move again. All the glass that was around him seemed to have done the bulk of the damage, all his exposed skin had been practically cut to ribbons. Thankfully it didn’t seem like the cuts were very deep… until he found the deep gash where something had sliced through his thick uniform just above his hip. Blood was already beginning to pool underneath him. 

He reached out his good hand and as he stretched out painfully, he was just able to reach his fingertips to the flashlight and roll it closer to him so that he could grab it. He took a shaky breath as he shined the light around in order to get an idea of his surroundings. The building had obviously collapsed in on itself during the earthquake, and Clint was beyond lucky to have landed in a small gap between slabs of what used to be either a floor or ceiling, it was hard to tell. 

“Can any…” he had to pause to cough and wheeze, “...’nyone hear me?”

He wasn’t surprised when there was nothing but silence from his comm. He couldn’t bank on being rescued. They had all still been in the building when the earthquake had hit and there was no guarantee that any of the others had made it out. He shined the flashlight around the space, trying to see if there were any gaps he might be able to climb through…

“S’anyone ‘ere?”

Clint’s eyes snapped to the sound. It hadn’t come from his comm., but rather seemed to float to him from somewhere beyond his little space. Had he really heard it though? Or was his desperate mind imagining things?

“Hello?” Clint tried, coughing hard at the effort it took to raise his voice. 

He strained his ears when he heard some kind of muffled response. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but it was undeniable that there was another person down here with him. He shined his light in the general direction he had heard the voice. There was a small gap in that direction that he might just barely be able to fit through. With an effort and several groans of pain, Clint used the forearm of his good arm -- good being a relative term at this point -- in order to drag himself toward the gap. 

“Hey,” Clint gasped as he moved. “Can you--” cough cough, “...you ‘ere me?” More muffled mumbling. Clint finally got close enough to shine his light through the gap, having to squint when it glared off something metallic. It took him a beat longer than it should have for him to realize what he was looking at. “Tony!” 

Tony was still mostly in his Iron-Man suit; the faceplate had been removed and lay to one side. The suit, along with Tony, was pinned from the chest down under a large slab on concrete. Clint felt adrenaline honing his senses as he focused on the way that Tony’s features were pulled in pain, in the way that he gasped weakly… and finally saw that the midsection of Tony’s metal suit was bent inward. 

“Shit, Tony,” Clint mumbled, suddenly realizing how serious the situation was. 

The gap between the area where Clint had been and where Tony lay was a tight squeeze for Clint to drag his broken body through, gritting his teeth so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if they cracked. But once he got through he found that this area was at least bigger and gave him more room to work with. 

“Hang on, jus--” cough, cough, wheeze, cough, wheeze, “h’ng on.” 

In the larger space he was able to get up on his knees and crawl his way over to Tony. The man was pale and his breath came in quiet, raspy gasps. His eyes locked on Clint as he approached, wide and terrified but also relieved that he had been found. Clint eyed the predicament, feeling a sinking in his chest. There wasn’t going to be a good way to do this, but judging by Tony’s inability to breath well enough to even try to speak at this point, they didn’t have any time to waste. 

Stoically ignoring his own protesting injuries, Clint shifted himself next to where Tony lay and carefully positioned himself so that his intact shoulder was wedged under the piece of concrete. 

“Ge’ ready,” Clint warned as he wheezed in a few steadying breaths. 

Looking back, he honestly wouldn’t be able to really understand how he did it. All the laws of physics were against him. Later, Tony would tease him about being like one of those mothers with a baby trapped under a car. All Clint knew was that despite everything, as he strained every single muscle in his beaten body, little by little that slab of concrete began to move. Somehow he managed to lift it just far enough that there were a few precious centimeters between the slab and Tony’s suit, giving him just barely enough space to pull himself out from under it. 

As Clint let the slab crash back into the ground he let out a raw cry of pain as his injuries screamed at him for being ignored. He slumped over, his limbs shaking and his throat raw and burning with every breath. He knew the task was only half done though. 

He blinked away the dark patches at the edges of his vision as he pushed himself over to where Tony now lay. The mechanic was scrabbling at the side of his armor, but his fingers were too bulky and uncoordinated with the suit dead in the water like it clearly was. Clint was suddenly glad they had drilled this so many times as he was easily able to find the small hatch in the side of the armor, reaching in and pulling a small lever that served as an emergency release for Tony’s suit in case of just this kind of situation. 

Tony gasped desperately as he clawed the now loose pieces of armor laying on his chest. Clint let out a sigh, letting himself slump over once again against the concrete slab, thankful that Tony was able to shed his own armor. 

“Shi’...” Tony breathed between coughing and wheezing as he rolled off of the pieces of his suit that were underneath him. He gasped and yelped at the motion, and Clint imagined that he had to have some severely bruised ribs, possibly even some broken ones. 

He should be moving toward Tony. He should be checking him over, seeing if he was really okay. But for some reason, his muscles would not move. He felt heavy and suddenly everything around him had a strange floating quality to it. 

“Barton?” 

Was the air around him getting thicker? Was Tony suddenly further away? No, as Clint blinked he saw that Tony had actually crawled closer to him. So why did he suddenly sound further away?

“Clint?” 

Clint suddenly noticed the blood that covered the ground, a thick trail of it smeared across the ground leading back to where he had come from. Even so, he was slow to realize that that blood was coming from him. He had been bleeding… from where? He suddenly couldn’t remember as large, black splotches suddenly moved across his vision. 

“Hold on, Clint. I think I c--” cough, “c’n rig a beacon. You just gotta--” cough, cough, cough, “you gotta…”

That’s all Clint would remember. He would wake up in the hospital several days later. He woke in a panic, only able to calm down when Steve left and came back pushing Tony in a wheelchair from his own recovery room. Tony had managed to hook up a small part of his suit directly to the arc reactor in his chest in order to send out a distress signal. Bruce -- who had been saved from being trapped in that building by the Hulk -- had been scanning for signals using the Quinjet. As soon as he found the signal he was able to direct Steve, Natasha and Thor -- who had been on the other side of the building that hadn’t sustained as much damage, leaving them relatively unscathed -- to where Tony and Clint had been trapped. 

It was a miracle that they had all made it out alive. This time it wasn’t a conscious enemy that almost got them, but a natural disaster that didn’t care who’s side you were on. 

[aelaer]

Whumptober 10: Unconscious

This scenario has been written before and written better than this (a story by phierie immediately comes to mind) but I figured that people like two cakes more than one; even if this cake is subpar in comparison, it's still cake. And it fills three prompt fills for me, so hah. Let the people eat cake. For Whumptober Day 10, @badthingshappenbingo Outnumbered in a Fight, and @stephenstrangebingo Power With a Price. Cards at the end.

Not Endgame compliant because the year thing always screws me up. And too many dead heroes.

Fandom: MCU / Doctor Strange Characters: Stephen, Wong, Tony, Sam, Scott, Hope, and a guy from the tie-in comic book who's totally played by Rupert Graves here. Warnings: Nothing beyond your usual magical battlefield shenanigans.

——— 

It was during Stephen's first months in Kamar-Taj when he learned that if a being gave their word while in the presence of a certain sigil, they were bound by their oath. If they broke it, it genuinely would mean their destruction.

At the time, he knew the sigil worked with demonic entities, but had no idea if it worked with dimension-eaters composed of pure energy like Dormammu. Still, it became one of many spells that he practiced thousands of times while stuck in the time loop. After all, if he was going to make a bargain with the ruler of the Dark Dimension, he might as well try everything in his power to make it stick.

Luckily for him, the sigil seemed to work quite well with Dormammu, and the Dark Dimension remained away from their reality.

At least, until today.

The multiverse was a funny thing. For reasons that still remained unknown to Kamar-Taj, small rifts in the fabric of reality naturally appeared across the universe all the time. In the vacuum of space they repaired themselves all but instantly. On planets or moons with any sort of atmosphere, they lingered a bit longer; and on planets that had the same nitrogen- and oxygen-based atmosphere that supported carbon-based lifeforms, they could linger long enough to cause an issue.

According to a sorcerer about three hundred years ago that was especially fond of numbers, statistics, and probability, it was about a two percent chance of a naturally-occurring rift to grow large enough to need a sorcerer to manually close it. Of this two percent, there was a half-percent chance of a sentient being coming through the rift, and another ten percent of that half percent of that two percent that said sentient being would be hostile.

And that was just the type of day Stephen was having.

It turned out that one of Earth's natural rifts, located in The Middle of Nowhere, New Hampshire, had exploded in size overnight. It also turned out that it just so happened to be a rift to the Dark Dimension. If it weren't so obviously a natural rift, Stephen would suspect Dormammu's hand in its creation.

But Dormammu kept his part of the bargain and was nowhere near the rift. Unfortunately, it seemed he may have possibly found a loophole in the binding oath that kept him to its literal word, but allowed him to toe about its intended spirit.

After his first (and hopefully only) encounter with Dormammu, Stephen had taken the time to read more about what was known about the Dark Dimension; that's when he first heard about the Mindless Ones. Whether they were originally beings of a universe Dormammu had consumed or natural denizens of his dimension was unknown, but it turned out that they managed to survive in the Dark Dimension in a way that most life did not, to the point that they were potentially a nuisance to its lord. 

These Mindless Ones were named for what they were: from Earth's last encounter with them over four hundred years ago, they were described as golem-like creatures made of hard stone, about nine feet tall, lacking true sentience, seeming impervious to pain, and fully focused on destroying anything within their path. They were also described as having the ability to break a sorcerer's usual spells for shields and restraints, making them near impossible to contain and necessitating their destruction when they last came to Earth.

With how rapidly this rift had opened, Stephen suspected that while Dormammu had no hand in its creation, he very likely had drawn these Mindless Ones to it so that they might tear at it until they could slip through.

And Stephen was sure Dormammu was monitoring their progress from afar. Bastard.

With a dimensional rift such as this one, they could not conceal the battle within the Mirror Dimension, leaving them in the open fields of New Hampshire doing their best to cull the tide while making some headway into sealing the rift.

And their efforts weren't cutting it.

"We need to close the rift to have any hope of surviving this!" one of the masters shouted over the noise of battle.

"What do you think we're trying to do?" Master Grem of the London Sanctum shouted back. "We keep getting interrupted!"

Stephen had tried floating high above the Mindless Ones to work solely on sealing the rift, but it turned out that they had no issue tearing into the ground and throwing it up at him, both interrupting him and causing dangerous conditions for the other sorcerers present. So for now he worked painstakingly slow with Grem in between attacks their way even as the others did what they could to shield them when their usual shields were all but useless.

"Looks like we have reinforcements," Wong said.

Stephen looked up and he saw Iron Man and the Falcon fly in. He quickly took out the communicator the Avengers had given him a while back and jammed it into his ear. "Who's here?"

"Me, Wilson, Lang, van Dyne," Tony cited as he blasted one of creatures. It faltered, but remained upright.

"What are these things?" Scott asked.

"Mindless Ones," Stephen managed before he needed to fully concentrate to repel two of them so they did not end up smashing him into the ground. When he caught a break, he could see the four of them already in the thick of it. "Not from around here."

"Figured out that much, Doc!" Sam retorted through the earpiece.

"We don't want them getting beyond us," the sorcerer added as he avoided another one. "And they're getting harder to contain."

"I'll scout the perimeter, make sure none of them got loose," Hope said.

Even with the addition of the four Avengers, which helped cull their numbers to keep the fight manageable, the rift was ever growing and both he and Grem were unable to concentrate long enough to get any sort of meaningful process with closing it. And with every passing minute it grew larger and the number of Mindless Ones coming at a time steadily grew.

This needed to end, now. And he had a theory as how to accomplish that, but it was not something he had ever had the chance to try before.

Now was as good a time as any.

"Tony, Sam, I need you to cover me," he said as he began to ascend.

"Copy," Sam answered.

"Got it," said Tony. "Do they have projectiles?" The two of them were entirely too fast for the Mindless Ones to properly see in the sky, never mind throw things at.

Stephen, however, would be a sitting duck. He flew up to the largest part of the rift, answering, "If the ground counts as one, then yes." He then blocked out the rest of the world about him and concentrated.

Sorcerers gained their powers from other realities and planes of existence within the multiverse. These powers varied in both the strength they gave the sorcerer and the strain they placed upon their body, but generally speaking, the greater the source of power, the more it demanded upon the physical form. This cosmic balancing act made it so only those with the most determination and willpower could draw upon the most powerful of magics.

And Stephen was as stubborn as they came.

Drawing power from the Dark Dimension was considered foolhardy at its best and breaking natural law at its worst due to both what it did to the human body in the long term and the very dangerous possibility of giving Dormammu a gateway into their dimension. The Ancient One was powerful enough to block any of his attempts, while Kaecilius and his followers were, of course, attempting to prop the gates wide open. Neither of them, however, had ever considered one-time use directly from the source.

And he had the source staring right back at him. So he set himself to gather power from the multidimensional energy about them and began to pull from the direction of the rift.

At first, it didn't hurt; it was rather uncomfortable, if he had to place a word on it, like putting on clothing one or two sizes too small. More importantly, as he began to weave the energies of the Dark Dimension upon the edges of the rift to close it, it held much longer than their attempts before. But in order to close it fast enough against the Mindless Ones' constant damage, he had to increase the rate he drew in power and quicken his spell by threefold, at the least.

So he did. And as he continued to draw in more and more energy, he completely lost sight of the world about him. The uncomfortable feeling turned into a tighter and more painful sensation, but Stephen was well used to pain and knew how to endure it for necessity's sake. He pressed on, keeping a tight hold of the spell and refusing to let go as he kept the flow of energy continuous.

He started drawing upon the Cloak's innate magic as his began to falter; they were nearing the largest part of the rift and the Mindless Ones were tearing at its walls and fighting back. This was not a fight that could be won via endurance, not against their endless numbers; it had to be closed now. With that thought, Stephen drew upon the depths of his own inner power, supported by the Cloak's magic, and sucked the multidimensional energy out of the air in one last great spell to seal the rift in one swift move, to seal it more like a zipper than the stitching he was performing before.

The pain was excruciating. Stephen's vision went dark and he felt the rush of air about him as he passed out.

———— 

"What the hell is Strange doing?" Grem asked after destroying another Mindless One. There seemed to be no end to them.

Wong frowned. "Likely something ill-advised. It seems he at least has some cover from the Avengers." They could not dedicate a sorcerer to just serve a helping shield for Stephen; there were still too many on the ground and not enough sorcerers to defend someone in that position.

"I guess that's an improvement for him!" the other master retorted, then threw himself back into the fray.

Above, Tony blasted a projectile of rocky ground into smithereens before it could hit Stephen. He frowned at the sorcerer who, from what he could see, wasn't actually doing anything but a few gestures. "Whatever you're trying to do, you better hurry it up," he mumbled to himself.

A few minutes later, Scott said over the comm, "I think the rift's shrinking!"

Tony turned to look and he was too close to get a good eye on it. "What do you think, Sam?"

"I think Scott's right; it's starting to get smaller."

"It needs to shrink a bit faster if we want to stop these things!" Hope said, and Tony couldn't help but agree as he blasted another two of them several times until they finally crumbled. These guys were tough and even he was starting to lose firepower. And from what he could see, the people on the ground could only last for so long.

Another couple minutes of fighting passed before something that sounded like the world's loudest suction cup echoed through the area. As the sound ended, the only Mindless Ones in sight were the ones still on Earth's ground; the rift to the Dark Dimension was sealed closed.

And Stephen was falling from the sky.

"Shit!" Tony said as he raced towards him, but he was too far— 

Sam swooped in and caught him at about fifty feet. He grunted over the comm, but managed a, "Got him."

"Is he okay?" Scott asked.

"He's breathing. No idea what's up with the cloak, though."

"Less talking, more finishing these things off!" Hope interrupted them, and she was right; there were still plenty of these alien rock things on the ground that needed to be killed, so Tony covered Sam and Stephen as he blasted the so-called Mindless Ones from his place in the air.

Some fifteen minutes later, the last of the Mindless Ones were dead and Tony descended with Sam, Stephen still unconscious within his arms. He carefully set the sorcerer down as several of the other sorcerers either hurried or outright portalled across the battlefield to them.

"He's alive," Sam said to them. "I didn't see anything hit him, so I'm not sure why he's out."

"That's what happens when you draw in too much power at once," Wong said as he kneeled beside Stephen, quickly writing a few runes over him. "It takes its toll upon the body. And for this one he drew from both his own body and the Cloak's magic to harness great dimensional power."

Scott's brow furrowed. "Is he gonna be okay?"

The sorcerers did not immediately answer, instead watching the symbols over his body as they slowly changed shape, but eventually one of the shifts in the symbols made Grem sigh in clear relief.

Wong's expression didn't change, but his shoulders relaxed. "It appears so. He's just exhausted himself. I don't expect him to wake up for a few hours."

"The cloak, too?" Hope asked, eyeing the red garment with a not-very-well-hidden concern.

"The cloak will recover faster," he answered, and her own stance relaxed in relief.

Tony peered Stephen over. "Does he need any medical aid? Compound's not too far away, especially with the quinjet."

Wong shook his head. "As I said, he's just exhausted himself. Thank you for the offer, though. We'll take it from here."

"Thanks for the hand, too," Grem added. "The rest'll never admit it, but it helped." The Avengers looked amused at the comment.

"Glad we were in the neighborhood," Sam said. "And tell the Doc to take better care of himself. He's a doctor and supposed to be setting a good example."

Grem snorted. "Yeah, we'll see about that." He opened up a portal to Kamar-Taj and Wong floated Stephen's body through. By the time they had closed the portal behind them, the Avengers realized that the rest of the sorcerers around them had made very quick work of disposing of the remains of the Mindless Ones and had also departed, leaving the four of them alone. If it weren't for the upturned dirt and large holes in the ground, it would appear that nothing had even happened there.

"I don't really like magic," Sam said.

"Yeah, it sucks," Tony agreed.

Scott shook his head. "You guys are definitely just jealous of them."

"What?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Methinks the gentlemen do protest too much," Hope quipped.

"Absolutely ridiculous." They continued their good-natured banter as they made their way back to the quinjet.

————

((Ehhhhh definitely not my favorite piece I’ve ever written but three prompt fills so there ya go. Sadly was unable to fit in a pun about the other title the Mindless Ones have earned themselves in the comics, 'Black Hole Sons', into the story. You know, with the big hole in the sky. And also the song. Yeah. Oh well.

Also, this is my 15th fill for Stephen Strange Bingo and I still don’t have an actual bingo because my muses clearly hate me.))

[sassydefendorflower]

Whumptober Day 6: Dragged Away

Hi! Day 6 is here and I am still kicking!  This piece is more Tim Drake-centric with a side of Dick Grayson Angst.

Fandom: DC

Characters: Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson

Warning: Character Death (heavily alluded to), Suicidal Thoughts, Survivors Guilt

Masterlist 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

(Read on AO3)

They came for them one after the other. 

The first one they got was Bruce. Tim could still hear the horrible sound of fingers desperately clawing at rough stone. He could also still see the bloody furrows that Bruce left behind. 

The second one had been Jason. Tim thought he knew what curses were but with Jason yelling bloody murder, even he had learned a few new ones. Not that this was a situation in which Tim wanted to learn anything.

Tim wanted to survive. But that seemed more and more unrealistic with each day.

The third one they got was Damian. Tim still wasn’t sure what had been worse: Damian's screams of fury and rage (and desperation) or Dick's absolute devastation.

All he could say was that the noises that left both of their mouths still haunted his waking moments. 

(There was rarely a chance to sleep anymore. Not that he wanted to. There was no need to invite the nightmares in)

Barbara hadn’t been with them when they got taken and Steph got killed before they got a chance of torturing her. Tim didn’t know if he should be happy about it or not. 

It was probably better than the waiting he had to endure. 

There’re only three of them left. Cass, Dick and him. 

He knew that it was only a matter of time. 

He also knew that he didn’t want to be the last. Just imagining it hurt. He had been the last one once too often. 

A horrible part of him wished for Dick to stay for last. Not because of some feud or some past hurts but because Dick was not really here at all anymore.

Something got lost when they dragged Damian away. Something that made Dick Dick, Tims older brother, one of the most important people in his life. Now there was only a shell of a man left.

And Tim couldn’t even be mad at him. He kind of wished to break too. 

His eyes focused on Cass. Without a moment of hesitation hers met his. She wanted this to be over too. A death like this was probably not something she imagined when she joined Batman and became their sister.

But at least she had already known suffering when she got into the vigilante game. Tim had joined because Batman needed a Robin. Because he still believed in heroes and the goodness of human beings.

He scoffed. Five years later and all his friends were dead, most of his family now too, and death was once again (and again and again) a welcome sight. 

Tim Drake just wanted to catch a break. 

He was surprised when he felt a hand touching his, only to see that Cass had extended her arm, reaching out to him. Her grasp was tight. He squeezed back. 

When he teared his gaze away from their locked hands, he found Dick looking at them. The small smile combined with his lost eyes was unsettling, but Tim was happy to get any kind of reaction out of Dick. 

Maybe it was cruel. Hadn’t he proclaimed only moments earlier that he could deal with Dick being the last since he already lost his soul to the enemy? Maybe that was still true. But Tim was only human. And human Tim was happy to see that his big brother still existed. 

He wanted to say something. Ask if everything was alright (it obviously wasn’t) and what would happen next (one of them would inevitably get taken) but he didn’t. They punished any kind of spoken language except during the extractions. 

Tim was pretty sure they only allowed it then because it added to the mental torture of waiting and knowing your loved ones were dying. 

Cass’ hold on Tims hand hardend - right as Dick was staring to mouth something at them. 

No.

They were coming again.

Tim wasn’t ready.

(Would he ever be?)

They came into the small alcove that had become their prison. They didn’t even look at Tim. Or Cass.

They took Dick and started dragging him away. His brother made no sound at all. And somehow his silence echoed in Tims head louder than any scream could.

All the way out of the alcove Dick never once broke eye contact with Tim or Cass. His gaze stayed firmly on them, the only sign of his distress the size of his brilliant blue eyes. 

Tears started running down Tim’s cheeks. Huh. He had thought himself to be dried up days ago. But when he looked at Cass, her cheeks were wet too.

Only barely glancing at the entry Cass signed “Hope is gone, at last”.

Tim didn’t know what to do with that either.

(So there were only two…)

The waiting was the worst, he decided. The mental torture that came with knowing that something would come but hadn’t yet. And the horror of surviving. Though that wasn’t a horror new to Tim. No, that horror became his reality gruesomely early in his life. 

Time became unreal after Dick. 

Cass was besides him. Looking after him, giving him comfort and space. Tim really wished he could say the same about himself but… he couldn’t.

Maybe he had finally broken, too.

If that was the case, it wasn’t as relieving as Dick had made it seem. A hateful part of Tim wanted to laugh at that. 

Sure, you idiot thought it would hurt less to be broken down. Hah.

At least he still had Cass. If one of them could survive this, it was her. No question asked. If he wanted for one of them to survive this, it was her. He no longer held any value in getting out of this alive. He had already lost too much. Again.

So, of course they took her too. 

He could see the fight coiled inside of her and yet she restrained herself. Her last words for him were spoken without any cadence:

“Brother. Live”

Why? He wanted to ask her. For what?

She was gone now too. Dragged away like his father and his brothers. His sister. Gone. The last one. Except him.

Of course it had to be him. 

Maybe if he closed his eyes everything would be over. Maybe he would be gone instead of Cass. Instead of Bruce. Instead of that little Demon that had only been twelve. 

And yet, he was still alive when he opened his eyes again. Such a scam. 

 He didn’t know how much later it was when sunlight suddenly started flooding the alcove, but all he could feel when saw the grief tainted figure of Superman in front of him was dread. 

Tim wasn’t ready to survive. 

Tim didn’t want to survive. 

Why was he the last one standing again and again and again?

“I am here to take you home”

What home? He wanted to ask. Why now? He wanted to scream. Why at all? He wanted to cry.

He went with Superman anyway.

If not for him then for Cass. And for Dick. And Bruce. And Jason. Damian. Steph. Kon. Bart. 

For everyone he lost.