#whumptober no one left behind

[wrathkitty]

Short Debts Make Long Friends - Snippet from Chapter Eleven

He is only slightly less frantic than he was when Grogu was kidnapped. Why, then, is he fighting that same compulsion to lay waste to everyone in his path as he searches for you? You are an adult and can talk and are probably not a high-value target of the Empire, at least as far as he knows. 

But unlike when Grogu was kidnapped, when he had a team and a plan and a known destination, his only form of backup now is a mouthy droid that he can’t understand and is fairly sure blames him for your disappearance – logic that he can’t argue with, because none of this would have happened if he had listened to his own instincts and taken your hand the moment the transport docked. 

What was it you had told him last night? You’re overthinking this.

He had more than overthought it, he had been fucking paralyzed. He addressed his confusion by doing nothing, and now you are gone, and with every passing minute, the truth becomes harder and harder to ignore: 

Loving Grogu had taught him that being a loner and being lonely were not two sides of the same coin, and he is too old to fool himself into thinking that he isn’t attracted to you. 

Short Debts Make Long Friends - Stories of Mando and Reader. Or, an overeducated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure.

@last-of-cheese @mandindjarin @littlemisspascal @caffiend-queen @nildespirandum @teehee-47 @leithatnight @eddiedjarin @mildlyhopeless @reileth @mareebird @coffeebeforewater @mariwinns16 @lunawants @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis @ezrasleftarm @jbarness @phishyie @essence-stealer @quicksilvermad @cecilyjmorgenstern @ineedtogetoutofhere @minky77 @bludella

[breezy-cheezy]

Whumptober Day 26: NO ONE LEFT BEHIND 

Separated | Rope Burns | “Why did you save me?”

More from my Genshin Daemon AU that I haven’t even written yet X”’’D Ft. That One Meme

It’s silly but it still counts right? Right.

Please don’t tag with ships! Thanks!!

[serickswrites]

Why

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort, caretaker and whumpee

“Why did you save me?” Whumpee shrieked at Caretaker. 

Caretaker knew that Whumpee would be different, would be changed after all that they endured at the hands of Whumper. What they had not known was how angry Whumpee would be when they woke up in safety. 

“How could I not, love?”

“LOVE? YOU STILL DARE TO CALL ME THAT?” Whumpee’s face contorted with rage. “YOU LEFT ME WITH WHUMPER. FOR WEEKS. WEEKS OF PAIN AND SUFFERING. AND I WAS ABOUT TO BE FREE. BUT YOU BROUGHT ME BACK. HOW COULD YOU.”

“Love, you were dying. I couldn’t let you die. Please, love.” Caretaker couldn’t finish. They couldn’t tell Whumpee how afraid they were that they wouldn’t be able to save Whumpee. That Whumper had finally done enough to kill them. 

“YOU SHOULD HAVE. I WAS BETTER OFF DEAD.”

“Love, you don’t mean that. You can’t mean that. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Whumpee gave a bark of mirthless laughter. “Oh, but I do, Caretaker. I do. Whumper wouldn’t have let me live after everything they did to me. They were offering mercy. I am broken. Ruined.”

“But you are alive,” Caretaker whispered. 

“And at what fucking cost?”

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #26

xxx no one left behind

“Geralt?”

He thinks he’s imagined it at first; he’s been down here for days, in this stinking labyrinth. There’s no way anyone could’ve found him, least of all the bard.

And then the voice comes again, a little closer. “Geralt!”

Relief mixes with annoyance, though the former is present in far greater measure. Not that he’d ever admit it. 

“Here, Jaskier.” His voice is hoarse. He swallows to try and moisten his dry throat, and as he does his Adam’s apple rubs against the rope around his neck. 

“Geralt! I’m coming!” Jaskier rounds the corner a second later, wide-eyed and panting, a triumphant smile on his face. It quickly fades into a frown. “What have they done to you?”

“How the hell did you find me?” Geralt asks, ignoring the question. 

“That,” Jaskier says, digging into his pocket and producing a leather pouch, “is a very long story. Hang on, I’ll have you out of there in no time.”

Geralt watches with vage interest as Jaskier unrolls the pouch, eyeing the contents thoughtfully for a moment before taking out two long, thin pieces of metal. He can’t help but raise an eyebrow as the bard sets to work on the lock.

“You’ve been busy since last I saw you.”

“Yes, well, when one is lacking in athleticism and large…sculpted muscles, it pays to be cunning and light of finger. I’ve always been good at getting into trouble, Geralt, I need to be able to get out of it…Ah, there we go.”

There’s a solid thunk as the lock turns, followed by a loud grinding creak that sends daggers through Geralt’s skull, an unfriendly reminder of the nasty blow to the head he’d taken…He’s not sure how long ago, exactly. Not long enough that it’s stopped hurting.

“You okay?” Jaskier asks, and now that he’s close Geralt can see a still-healing bruise over his right eye. “That gash on your forehead looks nasty.”

“Just cut me free. My shoulders have been stuck like this for days.”

Jaskier pulls a knife from a sheath at his ankle and moves around the pillar, out of Geralt’s line of sight, and a second later his hands are jostled as Jaskier starts sawing. Geralt expects the bard to start talking any moment, to fill the silence that he usually loathes, but he doesn’t say a word, just cuts at the ropes. Something (or somethings) must have happened to cause such a change. Geralt can’t imagine that any of them were good.

The witcher feels a pang of something in his gut, and he quickly shoves it down. 

It takes another second before Geralt hears the ropes start to snap, and he can feel the tension on his shoulders ease, just a little. And then the ropes fall away from his wrists. Geralt’s aching shoulders scream as he moves his arms. He can’t stop the groan that escapes his tightly closed lips.

“Nearly there,” Jaskier says, moving to cut the rope that’s around Geralt’s neck. Geralt can see his face clearly now; there’s a bruise on his jaw, too, and a bit of swelling. 

“What happened to your face?” 

Jaskier doesn’t look up from his task, but he breaks into a broad grin. “I did tell you it was a very long story. It may have involved a brawl, which I won. More than just cunning fingers.” He says it proudly. “It also may have involved sexual favors.”

Geralt makes a noise in the back of his throat, glaring up at the bard.

“Only joking! I did see a goblin naked, though.” He shudders. “Nasty creature.”

When the corner of Geralt’s mouth lifts up, it’s entirely against his will. “I’ve seen worse.”

“‘I’ve seen worse,’” Jaskier mocks. “I nearly forgot that you’re a witcher!” He finishes cutting through the last strands. “Maybe next time I’ll leave--” His voice catches as the rope falls away, his eyes glued to Geralt’s neck. 

The skin is raw and burning from where he’d strained against the rope. Judging by Jaskier’s reaction, it looks at least as bad as it feels. 

“I’m fine,” Geralt says. Jaskier reaches forward, hands hovering near Geralt’s neck.

“That looks painful.”

“It’ll heal.”

“There’s a salve in my bag that can help with the pain, and you really should clean--”

“Jaskier!” Geralt reaches up and closes his hands around Jaskier’s. The bard looks up at him in surprise, tearing his gaze away from Geralt’s neck. “It will heal.”

“Most things heal, Geralt,” Jaskier says. “That doesn’t mean that they don’t hurt. Or that they shouldn’t be tended to.”

“And you’re going to tend to it, are you?”

Jaskier pulls his hands out of Geralt’s and straightens up, rubbing at the back of his head with one hand. “We should get going while the route is still fresh in my mind.”

Geralt stands, too, though he moves a bit slower, stretching his aching unused joints as he goes. His knees and back crack with the movement. He twists his head back and forth and his neck does the same. 

“Are you quite done?” Jaskier asks. Geralt just lifts an eyebrow at him. The bard shakes his head and starts walking, Geralt trailing behind. 

They’ve been walking a few minutes when Geralt ventures, “Is there enough of that salve for my wrists?”

He can hear the smile in Jaskier’s voice when he answers. “I think so.”

“And…Do you think there’s enough for a giant pain in my ass?”

“Next time I am leaving you!” Jaskier declares loudly.

Geralt just hums in response, grateful that Jaskier can’t see his mouth trying desperately to turn up into a smile.

xxx 

[riflewounds]

Whumptober, day 26 | No One Left Behind ("Why did you save me?")

He'd been left alone here. No food or water for a second day in a row and the pain gnawing at his legs and twisting his gut only grew with each passing hour. The ground was cold, too, but he was thankful he wasn't forced to keep sitting on that god-awful chair.

He barely slept at night. Shallow and short stays in the warm darkness, only about two hours at a time. He woke up - repeatedly - at boots passing by the door. 

Rabid hounds of war, doing what their masters wanted of them, to rip and tear and torture.

Soft thumps down the hall. Muffled screams. Gunshots. Durant perked up, as much as his broken body would allow.

Many boots racing down the hall, hushed words speaking of an intruder, some lanky man with a gun.

Wait, is it--

"Left side, left side," came a muffled yell from the hall.

Durant counted two shots right after. Followed by a nice little burst from the two men close by the door. Three more shots. From further away. At least one hit because there was a piercing scream just outside the door. Followed by more panicked words he couldn't quite make out through the haze of pain.

Another shot, quick retaliation of several three-round bursts, and two more single shots from a different gun.

A rifle clattered to the ground. Faint gurgles just in the hallway.

Deathly silence. No barks of gunfire, just the buzzing in his head and some disgusting sinking feeling.

Could it be his boss? Maybe, but this didn't sound like him Precise, yes, maybe a little too much for the man himself. Did he hire someone? To soften up those contractor fuckers, so he can then sweep in and claim all the glory? 

He would've laughed if not for the piercing pain in his ribs. Fuchs had the resources, he had people, it wouldn't be unlike him to hire some extra help for the job.

He could afford the extra bodies.

And he could afford to find a different loyal gun, puppy.

Different gunman to fill his place. Take over his role of the loyal bodyguard willing to sacrifice limb and life. 

Even if the guy was a dick.

Durant couldn't hear a single sound aside from his quick ragged breaths. He'd grown a little accustomed to the pain, but his legs felt full of red-hot knives slicing away at his flesh. 

He stilled once he heard those footsteps in the hallway. Light, so vastly different from the steel-toed boots that ran through the hall only minutes ago. No, these were loafers, a light blend of leather and vulcanized rubber. Tap, tap, tap, the sound was closing in, until the door handle moved and Durant stilled completely.

Either it's Fuchs, or someone else. 

He blinked as the door swung open. Silver glint of a Beretta. Muzzle trained right at him, before it wavered and pointed towards the ground as the man's hands fell. 

"Durant?" 

He... came back for him...

"H-Hey," he rasped, breaking into a little cough at the sudden motion. Too deep of an exhale. His ribs still ached, stabbing pain clawing at his lung with every cough.

Broken ribs had nothing on two shattered femurs...

Fuchs slipped his gun away for the moment, taking long, hasty strides towards his gunman. "We don't have much time before the rest of those jack-booted fucks come down here."

Durant estimated they had ten minutes at most. Realistically, it's less. A lot less.

More like five minutes. 

Fuchs kneeled beside him, took a pair of wire cutters to the zip ties binding the gunman's wrists. "Let's get out of here."

Two snips, and the pressure at his wrist was gone. Durant flexed his hands, splayed his palm, curled his fingers into a tight fist before he loosened them. But just as quickly as the pressure was relieved, Fuchs was already hooking his arm around the gunman, about to lift him up.

"No no no, wait, wa--"

Then the bones in his leg shifted and he screamed loud enough to wake the dead. That piercing, blood-curdling wail--

"Shut up!" 

--he screamed until his lungs seized with lack of air.

"For fuck's sake just shut up!" 

Followed by desperate lungfuls of that precious, precious air, cut shallow by his broken battered ribs, fingers curling against the floor and nails scratching away at whatever was under his hands.

Please god make it stop, make it stop, make it stop--

"Oh shit--" 

Darkness blotted out his sight, drowned out every sound, his body was sagging into that painless warm void, but he was plucked out of those deep dark waters only moments later. Sweaty. Back against the bumpy ground, his entire body ached and throbbed and his guts were twisting into tight knots under the strain.

"Fuchs..."

Moist eyes, dry throat. He could only croak as he twisted on the ground. 

His boss fell quiet, just looking at his gunman, unsure what to do next. Barely touching him, just lightly resting two fingers on Durant's shoulder.

"I took a couple guys with me, they're waiting outside." Fuchs spoke, considerably more gentle than only minutes ago, "I need you to stay quiet."

Quiet, huh? Durant wasn't sure it was even possible. "Then gimme drugs. Or knock me out. Please."

Desperate words, quiet urgency. This would go a lot smoother if he wasn't screaming with every little movement. Even now, even when he was lying completely still, Durant was only hairs away from screaming his lungs out. Words didn't come to him as easily as they usually did either, they came mangled and incoherent through the haze of pain. "My legs are fucked. Broken. Fuckers broke my legs."

"Yeah, I figured."

Then he could've-- he could've stopped sooner!

"And since you can't stand up, I'm gonna have to drag you."

Fine, fucking fine, "Just get on with it," Durant grumbled. Impatient, frustrated, anxious. Conflicting feelings mixing into some horrible painful mess. "You gonna give me something, or we goin' raw?" 

"Raw."

God-- he swallowed. Every little bit of motion of his legs plunged him into throes of agony so intense he could no longer keep conscious.

Fuchs produced a single tie, he folded it in half twice, and brought it down to the gunman's chin. "Here, bite this."

And he did. Fuchs positioned it between Durant's teeth, and he bit down on it. It'd help, even if just a little. 

"Alright."

White and orange hues of pain. It felt as if legs were being torn apart, pulled off his body like he was some insect. 

Paralyzed. Eyes blown wide open, he was stiff as a board and his body tried to screech, yet breath halted in his throat, it wouldn't budge, nerves overloaded with this unspeakable agony. 

He couldn't take it. Couldn't do it. As if rigor mortis had set in while he was still alive.

Durant could hear a word, quiet and mangled in the haze, a single "Finally" as the gunman slipped under.

[i-love-you-all]

Whumptober 2022 Day 26

lightningstorm (neon/jett) can be read as just friends too up to you. But either way they’re there for each other.

~800 words, rope burns, tied up, escape

Neon was no longer sure if the stinging feeling from her arms was from the initial scrapes she took while sliding to get away, or if they were from the rope tied around her shoulders and torso. Her legs were bound as well, which had thwarted any escape attempts up until now, but at least the rope couldn’t rub away at her pants, so she was now just awkwardly hopping along in this dark hall without any sense of direction or where to go, and with the dull pain of her raw skin bumping and rubbing more against the rope constantly on her mind.

Shit.

The last time she saw a friend, she had been pushing Jett through a trapdoor, trying to get her and her injured leg up and through the ceiling so she could follow. Just as she got Jett through, she felt a cold hand wrap around her ankle and in one yank, she was falling from the ladder they had used to get up. Then she remembered running through this darkness, periodically running into walls and door frames in a desperate attempt to escape. But the screeching and growls of whatever was chasing her were stuck in her memory. Then, she remembered the floor tiles slipping out from under her and the pain from the unexpected slide she took just before slamming into a wall.

Yeah ok, so that collision explained why her knees still felt so sore, but it didn’t give her any clues on where she was, or where Jett was either. God, she hoped she made it to the portal in time.

In the distance, she heard the haunting growls of some of the creatures that had chased her at first. She ducked into a side hallway as she watched the shadowy creatures with red eyes floated by her, scanning and searching the hallway. She held her breath and willed it to move on. There was no one here. No one to sense, no one to capture. Calm footsteps followed. Neon watched as Fade, the newest agent to the protocol, took calm steps down the hall, casually following the creature while controlling its motions with a slight twist of her wrist. She had never truly met Fade or learned what she could do on the battlefield, so this was all new.

She had soo many questions for when they got back.

Slowly, so she didn’t trip and fall flat on her face, Neon continued to hop down the dark halls, trying to regain her senses on where she could possibly be. That was when it caught her eye. The unfinished tiling. A few of the white and teal squares were still scattered about from where she slipped on them and went careening into the wall. She carefully hopped towards the mess. Yes…. Yes!

She remembered this hallway. She remembered the turn and that room, and the window she leapt through. This was all coming back. And Fade was behind her. The path was clear! She was free!

Closer and closer, she hopped with more and more vigour until she felt someone slam into her side. Immediately, her arms felt like they lit on fire. One side of her took the brunt of her fall and both sides were pressed hard against the rope, reaggravating the rope burns that she had just started to keep out of her mind. But more than the pain, there was dread.

People who showed that they were capable of escaping weren’t often offered a jail cell twice. That’s what she heard Brimstone saying to Sova one day. When she asked Raze about it later, the older woman just gave her a sad look and explained. If you could get out of a cell once, you could do it again. So, most people would just…

“Neon! Are you ok?”

She opened her eyes and saw Jett staring back at her. “What are you doing here? I got you out!”

Jett looked around, and Neon remembered that they were not in a safe place right now. She lowered her voice again and asked, “What happened?”

“I… I couldn’t just leave. I couldn’t just leave you behind.”

“Why…” Neon squeezed her eyes closed “Why did you save me? That’s… it’s such a stupid thing to do.”

They sat in silence, which then got broken up by a few giggles from Jett. “You should’ve seen yourself jumping around. Let’s get you out of the rope and run.”

Neon waited patiently as she felt the knife poke around at the rope, trying to find a good point to dig in and slice at the binds. Bit by bit, she could feel it loosen, then fall apart completely. With her arms free, she gingerly prodded at her own skin, trying to assess the damage left behind by the rope. And, yep. It definitely hurt. But there would be time to worry about that later. Jett was pulling her onto her feet and started to lead her away.

“If we get out,” Jett whispered over her shoulder. “It’ll be together. Follow me.”

[faofinn]

No. 26 NO ONE LEFT BEHIND

@whumptober

@whumptober-archive

Separated | Rope Burns | “Why did you save me?”

Steve had been by Harrison’s side as soon as he'd been brought back to the UK. The drive up had been a nightmare, Steve's driving more than a little reckless - but his life had been turned upside down. He was terrified Harrison wouldn't make it, but he was terrified for the future if he did.

His own medical discharge had led to his questionable alcohol habits, and Harrison already struggled. Losing Marcus would ruin him more than anything - after Fao's accident, he was surprised he'd stayed sober and on the straight and narrow. There was no chance he'd make it through this sober, Steve was all too aware of it. Of course, Harrison's injuries were extensive too, his son already having had several operations just to save his life. He’d lost the lower part of his leg, and the rest of his limbs were in various casts and states of repair. He was littered with bruises, his normally tanned skin marred with shades of purple and green. One eye was swollen shut, though Steve didn’t suppose Harrison cared - or even realised.

It was rare for Harrison to have any lucid moments, mainly just unintelligible shouts and groans. They’d increase his pain relief when it started to break through, and he’d soon settle again, returning to mutter to himself. He'd not long returned from his latest surgery, an attempt to repair the damage to his right arm. A mix of determination, stubbornness and ignorance had him semi rolled onto his side. The bed was mainly blankets, a mix of hospital and ones from his own bed, from home. 

Eyes still shut, he managed a groan, almost a ‘Steve’. He wasn’t 100% sure if he was still there, but he was sure he didn’t have anywhere else to go to. He tried again, forcing his eyes open.

"Steve." He rasped, his voice rough.

Steve looked up. “I’m here, Harrison.”

"Here?" He struggled, trying to stick his arm out.

Steve reached out to take Harrison’s hand. “Here.”

His hand slowly gripped Steve’s, and he managed a smile. "It all 'urts."

“I know.” He murmured. 

"He didn't make it, did he?" He asked after a while.

Steve sighed. “I’m sorry.”

He swallowed thickly. He'd expected it, from the way they'd acted around him when they'd picked him up, from the way he'd screamed for him and only heard silence. His heart broke all over again, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m really sorry, Hars.” Steve said softly. 

He shook his head. "You didn't do it."

“I know how much he meant to you.”

"I loved him."

“Of course.” Steve said. “Of course you loved him, and he loved you.”

Harrison lapsed back into silence, almost drifting off. He shuffled to get comfortable, letting the drugs pull on him. "Steve?"

“Yeah?”

"Why did you save me?" He asked eventually.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

"When I was younger."

He shrugged. “Because I did. I don’t know, really. I saw a smart kid who had been dealt a shit hand and figured I could make a difference. And that night you came to stay, you were so scared… I realised I had to help you, because seeing you that scared nearly killed me.”

"I was terrified." He admitted. "Not of you."

“I couldn’t see you like that again.” Steve said, his voice soft. “And I could see how well you’d do if someone just helped you out.”

"You helped me."

“I did my best.”

Harrison nodded, drifting again. He was quiet for a good half hour, happily dozing. With a quiet groan he looked to Steve, squinting against the bright hospital room. "Thank you."

“Anything for you, Harrison. Anything.”

[0nelittlebirdtoldme]

Harkula Whumptober Day 26 🔥🕳️

Belly of the Beast NO ONE LEFT BEHIND Separated | Rope Burns | “Why did you save me?” | + Day 12 Prompt: Cave In Content: M, Claustrophobia

Heavily inspired by this amazing drawing by the wonderful @mitsukatsu! I just love the dark, brooding atmosphere in this one! Such a great work!

[carrion-carry-on]

Whumptober No. 26

No one left behind - Separated & “Why did you save me?”

I decided to try combining the prompts for this one, mainly because it fit very well with the story I wanted to tell. This takes place after my short consecutive story following The Bad Batch after Tech nearly got whacked. The squad is trying to repay Rexyl, and they have a bit of help in the form of a banged up clone deserter named Shift and a reformatted R2 unit R2-CZ (or Zee/Zeta). This first part is mainly told from Shift’s perspective.

To get the gist, Shift lost his squad and was rescued/repaired by Rexyl a while ago. His injuries required poking around in his head, during which point Rexyl identified a foreign object (the chip) and removed it without thinking too hard about it. Zee is Shift’s friend - he bought and repaired her himself, adding to the number of upgrades over time. She has a vocalizer and speaks using something similar to TTS (think Soundwave from original G1 Transformers cartoon).

Sorry for the info dump lol. Here’s the fic/

AO3 Link

In the time that Shift has spent in the underworld, he’s had to learn a few things. Some of them through unpleasant lessons. One thing he’d been taught early on was that no one cared about you. No one could afford to. You’re on your own. And the people you trust can and might make you wish you didn’t.

It’s nothing like his old life. Back when he’d had his brothers to count on. When he’d had a family to feel at peace with. When he’d had friends to talk to. He doesn’t have that, and he thought he’d never again feel the same.

In recent times, he’s come to rely on and trust Zee more than anyone else. She’s a droid, yes, but at least he knows where her motives lie. Most of the time anyway. She has her moments when he thinks she may be hiding something. But he hides things from her, too. Just like any other person.

This is different. Shift is working with a squad again. A strange squad - one that didn’t fit regulation, and all of them deserters like himself (though theirs is more recent). They are working together, because they apparently owe Rexyl, just like he does.

They’d come to this planet - Shift had not bothered to remember its name - to fetch something for their mutual creditor. This situation was about par for the course when working on one of Rexyl’s hunts. It didn’t matter how much info had been provided. Something would go wrong, usually the result of the crazy Feeorin forgetting to mention vital information (venom, traveled in packs, etc.). Then Shift would be stuck running for his life. He’d tried to say as much to this squad. They were still underprepared when it happened.

The engineer - Tech his brothers called him - had pulled up all available information on the creature they’d been sent for. Located on a backwater planet’s moon in the Outer Rim making a home out of swamp and marshland; the bolwog. They were big reptomammals, with tough scaled hides and a sprout of fur along their backs and tail. Their diet consisted of native flora, particularly underwater tube-roots. Each of their four limbs ended in heavy-set four-fingered paws, one swipe held enough power to separate head from body. And their horns, dual set and blunted, were known to impale predators and rivals alike. Equally renowned was a wounded bolwog’s fight for vengeance. And a slight against these animals turned into a one against the herd.

Knowing all of this Hunter, their sergeant (thereby Shift’s de facto leader as well as the squad’s), set about a plan to separate one from the herd. They had spent the previous day mapping out the land and gaining local insight to herd patterns. The best time for them to hunt was at night when the animals were slowest and could not see as well. They’d have to stalk the herd, and, when in position, spook them enough to send them running. Once they had an individual picked out and separate, they could use headlamps to flash-blind it and take it down.

Tech was in charge of scaring the herd. Using recordings of local speak, then a predator’s hounding call, the bolwogs were stirred up enough to start running. Shift had been put alongside Hunter and Echo (a “regular” clone fitted with a large number of cybernetics) chasing their quarry, eventually succeeding in separating it from the rest. Zee flashed the lights. Wrecker, burly beast that he was, waited to finish the job. That was the plan at least.

Their ad’ika, or the one whom they treated as such, Omega, was eager to help. She was a bright-eyed, hardy young girl who voiced her many, many questions without hesitancy. Shift hadn’t been sure what to make of her. Knowing how dangerous this job was to be, he didn’t think taking her along was what classified as a “good idea.” But the others seemed confident in her, and a bit protective.

Omega had been placed with Wrecker and Zee. They all agreed it was one of the safer places. They hadn’t been wrong. Nothing had bothered the three of them when it came down to the wire. Their bolwog went down. And then they had the herd to deal with.

Tech and Echo were nearest each other the last Shift had seen. And he was with Hunter. Omega had shouted - and that was nearly all the warning they received. Then Hunter was moving, dragging Shift along and nearly out of the way of the swinging horn. It would have easily gored him through his cuirass if not for the save. That didn’t spare the fact Shift didn’t quite make it away.

The pain is intense. It’s bleeding all through his side, tearing up one arm. The wound is hot and it feels like there’s a weight on him suddenly. He struggles to move. He is no stranger to pain. But that was always blaster fire, electric volts, or flames, not blunt piercing trauma.

Hunter still has his hands on Shift’s armor. He struggles to move, to help Hunter move him. They’re scrambling to one of the few trees that manage to grow from the choking water and weeds. Every footstep arcs more electric, hot pain up Shift’s spine. Every pulse from his rapidly beating heart forces new blood out from the wounds and into the world. Hunter half-shoves, half-drags Shift up the tree.

They’re alone for now. Alone, but not really alone. The bolwogs that followed them are milling around at the base of their tree. Shift might chuckle if he had the energy. All that stands between them and annihilation, their final bastion - a rickety tree. He can’t see where the rest of Hunter’s squad is. Hopefully they found cover.

“You saved me,” Shift says, trying to keep his voice even despite the pain. It’s not a question.

Hunter grunts in reply. Shift can tell something’s bothering him.

“What is it?”

“Should’ve heard it coming,” the sergeant whispers.

Shift vaguely remembers Omega explaining it to him. Hunter has superior senses, it’s part of his enhancements. She was so proud as she spoke, puffing her chest slightly - her brothers are the most amazing, most brilliant. He could reason that, with so many lifeforms around, and so much going on, even the best of senses could be confused.

He waves a hand, dismissive, and says, “You still got me out... Thank you for that.”

Hunter is huffing again, then stops and says, “You’re welcome. Now, let’s see what we can do ‘bout that scrape.”

[whumptober]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year's playlist can be found here.

And the Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt post can be found here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2024 Prompt List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

Event Info & Rules

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:

#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)

#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Frequently Asked Questions

Please read this before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!

[unorthodoxsavvy]

Whumptober Day 26: No One Left Behind

Malcolm strapped on his bulletproof NYPD vest in silence. Beside him Gil and JT did the same.

They were standing outside the NYPD SWAT van which had been parked outside an abandoned building. Inside was their killer- and Dani.

Malcolm looked up at the old derelict house that was quite literally rotting away and knew that it was a trap in more than one way.

"Alright, we're going in, Gil said into his radio.

"Rodger that."

They started to head over towards the doorway.

Malcolm had told Gil that hostage negotiation wouldn't work with this killer. It would be best just to go in as quickly as quietly as they could. The NYPD had fought Malcolm on this: going in guns blazing was supposed to be the last resort- but since it was one of their own, and Gil trusted Malcolm to a fault, they had made an exception.

That was why, now, the three of them were sneaking in through a side door.

Even with his FBI training and experience Malcolm was still the weakest link. which is why Gil headed up the front while JT took the rear, leaving Malcolm in the middle; but this was far from any sitcom: this was as serious as it got in a job like this.

Together, the three of them headed up the stairs, Gil watching in front of them, JT behind them, and Malcolm covering any angle in between that he could.

There was a long hallway with a balcony area which was where they entered from the staircase. Once they reached the top, they had the option to go left or right. Gil headed towards the left while Malcolm and JT headed down the right wing of the dark hallway.

Malcolm cringed at every creak and moan knowing that one wrong move would give them away. Painstakingly they crept down the hallway, opening every door slowly yet quickly, knowing danger potentially lurked behind any one of them.

The last door stood directly in front of them and an eerie feeling washed over Malcolm. Somehow he knew they had come to the right door. Malcolm wanted to give JT some sort of sign, but he didn't want to startle the bigger man. Besides, JT was trained for this. He knew what he was doing.

Like every other door Malcolm stood behind it with one hand on the knob and one hand clutching his gun, and at a nod from JT he whipped the door open and followed his teammate inside, gun drawn. Malcolm heard a gunshot that left his ears ringing and forced his eyes closed, and when he opened them he saw the killer lying on the ground. JT kept his gun trained on the man even though he was clearly dead as Malcolm ran over to untie Dani from the chair.

"Thanks," Dani gasped as her wrists were suddenly released from the pressure they'd been under.

"Don't mention it," Malcolm shot back. "Nobody left behind."

[kira-angel24]

Whumptober 2022 Day 26

No One Left Behind

       Kiran landed a few leagues from the shed. "Yeah, that's them. Looks like Fritz beat them up pretty bad," she stood next to Nick and Insanity. She walked quietly up to the lodge. She placed her hand on the door and glanced back at the two. Their figures were just out of sight and watching her back. Kiran turned around and slammed her shoulder into the wooden door. It flung open, the light poured in. Pittoo turned, her eyes locked on Kiran. "Hey there Pittoo, let's get you guys out of here." She walked forward towards the girl when she stopped. Her ears twitched as the steps grew closer and louder. Kiran gasped as she felt something in her shoulder. She grimaced as it tore through her chest and down to her stomach.

      "You're new," he ripped his sword out of her stomach. "New prey it seems."

      "Ngh," light poured out from her body like blood. A small beam leaked from her mouth as her form flickered a bit before settling down. "You're... Fritz... heh, heard a lot about you from my friends."

      "Friends? Oh, I see. You're friends with them. I see. Well, it will be a pleasure to have your head with them."

      "I'm not a god, but I am immortal. I'm an archangel, and I'm here to rescue them." Kiran's six wings emerged and her halo glowed as it appeared behind her head.

       "Ah, I've dealt with your kind before. I'll gladly do it again," he lunged forward and stabbed her in the throat. Kiran stood firm. Light growing in her hands as her hair started to float.

       "Best reconsider who you're dealing with." The ball of light burst in her hand as the projectiles raced towards Fritz. He dodged it with ease, grabbing her arm and breaking it, then putting cuffs on her.

        "Keep still you dumb archangel." Insanity leaned into the shed, his pupils red and eyes darkened as he jumped in quickly, Fritz almost having no time to react and getting stabbed in the thigh. "Tch, another one. And it doesn't look like he's going to calm down..." he thought to himself and honed his focus. Kiran kicked him and her tail whipped him across the face. "Tch. Not even giving me time to thin-" Insanity rammed into the side of him. "Ngh... You son of a bitch." He grabbed him by his hair and tossed him across the room. Pittoo screamed under her gag. Kiran kneed him in the stomach, sending him backwards. Her eyes glaring daggers at Fritz. "You don't want to get me pissed off you bitch," he used white eyes and grabbed her neck, sending her into a window, getting stuck in large shards of glass, unable to move. Insanity didn't give him time and immediately tackled him, then started slamming his fists into his jaw. Kiran picked the lock on the cuffs easily and threw them out the window, she stood back and waited for an opening. Fritz used white eyes again, Insanity slamming his fists into the ground and breaking the floor. "I'm not about to just let you ruin all the work I've had to do... you scumbags...."

      "I'm not leaving anyone behind!" She threw a javelin of light as it landed near the door. It grazed Fritz's ankle.

       "Tch. And I'm part of that equation it seems... but unfortunately for you. White eyes don't care," he used it and left, running and grabbing Nick. "You'll do just fine." He continued and was out of range for anyone to see. Kiran growled as she fell to her knees. She slammed her fist on the ground.

        "This isn't over."

[spiltcandycoatedpunkblood]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Adventures of Tintin (2011) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Ivan Ivanovitch Sakharine/Tintin Characters: Tintin (Tintin), Ivan Ivanovitch Sakharine Additional Tags: Rape, Vaginal Sex, Doggy Style, Missionary Position, Restraints, Major Character Injury, Power Imbalance, Panic, Dirty Talk, Multiple Orgasms, Blood, Begging, Broken Bones, Knives, Pain, Rough Sex, Agony, Panic Attacks, Moaning, Possessive Behavior, Trans Male Character, Trans Character, Sequel, Shame, Guilt, Whump, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Whumptober, Whumptober 2022, no.26 prompt, No One Left Behind, rope burns, no.27 prompt, Pushed to the limit, Stumbling, Fear, Victim Blaming, Slut Shaming Series: Part 19 of tintin whumptober 2022 prompts babeyyyy Summary: the continuation of the no.18 prompt and also the ending to the previously referenced prompts with this storyline during whumptober, we get this ultimate display of sexual control as sakharine explicitly possesses tintin in this fashion to get him to fully submit and listen to him, if this is what it has to take to do so.

[eliza-fernway-art]

The fear of falling apart

[stormxpadme]

​Whumptober 2022 No. 26 - No one left behind & Separated

2002

"Wait, we'll come with you."

With Ororo immediately bringing the alarming message to Scott's and Katja's apartment, of unexpected guests having arrived less than 10 minutes before they'd returned from the waste of time that had been this pedagogy fair, Katja decided to just take Saskia with them downstairs instead of giving her right back to her babysitter. Her daughter's current teething phase had kept Theresa up all night as it was, and almost a whole weekend without their kid had definitely been too long for Scott's and Katja's taste. Especially since the person they'd mostly driven to that damn event upstate for had never shown up there. Before the next crisis would possibly make it necessary to leave again right away, Katja wanted to have her little one close for a while.

  Saskia was cranky from too little sleep herself though and wriggled reluctantly once Katja had slipped her small body into her carrier, far too restless just like her mother, as so often, to hold still for long. No soothing murmur, not even a few words gently sung into her ear which usually did the trick, could get her to calm down, her shrill crying making it hard for Ororo to explain what was going on.

  Only when they entered the elevator and Scott stepped into Katja's space, tenderly wiping Saskia's tears away with his good hand, the crying turned to an unhappy whimper. When Saskia cranked her head to be able to look at her father better and reached up with her still quite uncoordinated movements, Scott straightened up again with an instinct ingrained in years before she could grab his glasses strap, a sharp crease between his brows, too deep lines around the corners of his mouth that Katja would have tried to kiss away immediately if there wasn't some kind of trouble on the horizon. This necessary caution, needed in every minute, even with Scott's own kid, to make sure he wouldn't hurt anyone with his gift by accident, was one thing. That this other, temporary handicap impairing his life for almost a year now, prevented him from something as mundane as having his little girl in his arms when she was crying, because one functioning arm might not suffice to stop Saskia from tugging the shield over his deadly optical blasts off his eyes, was another one of these painful reminders of how much the last two years had cost them all. This emergency, whatever it was, right on a sunny Sunday morning that Scott and Katja had actually planned to have breakfast in bed on, with their little one, and prepare things for her first birthday, was another depressing sign that things in their lives were apparently not calming down anytime soon.

  Before Scott could back away, Katja pulled him down again with his tie wrapped around two fingertips and breathed at least a quick kiss to his lips before turning to her side right against him so Saskia could see them both. Her hand was on the baby's arm, without any pressure that would only have punished Saskia for something she couldn't understand yet, but ready to stop those curious movements when necessary. "It's alright, Hobbit. Look, Daddy's right here. He's not going anywhere, neither of us is."

  Ororo in the other corner of the elevator murmuring something about making no promises they might not be able to keep didn't exactly lighten the mood.

  "What's the play?" After a grateful kiss to Katja's temple, Scott forced himself to aim his attention on his work, never taking his sight off his daughter though. How crazy those two were about each other never failed to make Katja's heart swell. At least this part of their fucked up life in this mansion of cast-outs was as normal as it could get for people like them. Just like her, Scott dedicated every second he didn't need to be doing one of his many duties alone to this happiness of theirs, giving Saskia everything he'd been robbed of himself at the age of 12.

  Seeing their little one always seeking out his closeness just as much as Katja's made up for a lot of all that shit that had happened since Katja had found her way to this house for the first time. They'd not got a lot right since then, but that whole parent thing they were acing so far. On days when the safety of their kind or possibly the whole planet was once more on the line, that was a most necessary anchor of normalcy.

  Ororo knew that of course and didn't even try to protest about a baby being in the part of the Institute dedicated mostly to war though the restless way she punched the elevator button and kept on looking at her watch made it clear, there would indeed no cuddles in bed today. "It's Hydra."

  Only now, Scott looked up from distracting Saskia from trying to touch her own reflection in the red of his glasses with the help of her favorite rattle. The rhythm he had on was that one Shakira song they'd been listening to in the car, Katja found, amused, a beautifully catchy Samba she knew had her partner working on some spectacular choreography to match it already, for the time when Scott's damaged right shoulder would actually allow them to pick up athletic dancing training again. Which would take months still. Just like Scott's return to the active field which was weighing down on her partner just as much, but in this case, Katja doubted he was horribly unhappy about having to sit a confrontation out. Soberly seen, they'd had enough of those since Alkali Lake, without trying to do someone else's job on top. "Hydra is Rogers' problem, not ours."

  Ororo narrowed her eyes, similarly unnerved as Katja was from this latent dick-measuring contest between a certain guy in a flag costume and Scott that mostly boiled down to the fact that neither of those two realized how similar their way of thinking and leading their people was. "You might want to reconsider that." She left the elevator too fast, as soon as the doors were but half open, to ask what she'd meant and they didn't need to as their friend headed straight for the sick bay instead of the hangar.

  Logan was already sitting by the side of one of three occupied beds with his arms stiffly crossed over his legs, his cheeks under his wild beard pale. His eyes were fixed on someone unconscious, wearing a violet, skin-tight costume. That was … bad. Katja rarely saw this man freak out over someone taking a hit in battle … Then again, it hadn't happened to one of the few people before who'd been able to return to Logan at least small parts of his life from before 17 years back, most of which his amnesia had robbed him off. "About time, Slim."

  "If someone had bothered calling to tell us we have an aerial approach, I could have stepped on it, Claws." The exchange was missing most of its teeth. Mostly because Ontario Lake had robbed the former competitors on Katja's team of their strength to argue over bullshit. But also because Scott was, just like her, trying to swallow the shock of seeing people in such a state without whom the X-Men would not have made it back from the Scapels moon crisis in one piece at the time.

  "They didn't fly," Hank informed them absently, his white coat swishing behind him from how hectically he was hurrying back and forth between his patients. One second, he was checking the eyes behind Kit's broad black mask with a thin flashlight, the other, he was treating excessive burns on the massive upper body of the man in the next bed with sterile cloths, disinfectant and cooling gel while having one eye on some monitor in the corner, waiting for the images of the mobile x-ray he'd placed above his third patient's body, right where the man's red uniform was hanging from his chest and right arm in pieces. "Almost crashed through our gate with their jeep instead, because our dear Captain here thought driving half unconscious is a brilliant idea."

  "Yeah, I left a couple of scratches on some of the cars in your parking lot, Summers. Bad habit when I'm visiting you guys. I swear I'm not doing it on purpose." Flash's grin was pretty shaky thanks to the pain from where his shoulder and arm showed cuts, bruises, and deformations. There was a trembling in his body, in his too-shallow breathing that almost might have bordered on shock if Katja hadn't got to know this guy with nerves made of steel. His green eyes were blazing with limitless anger not directed at anyone in this room.

  "Gordon, what the hell ...?" Scott stayed by the door for now just like Katja, knowing how much Hank hated not having the necessary room to work, no matter how much he might feel like helping the patients himself, somehow, do something. Especially for the guy who'd been one of his idols ever since the two of them had been teenagers.

  "Breathe, Summers. As you can see, we still are." It sounded composed enough indeed but just like Ororo, Flash could hardly take his eyes on the time display projected on the wall opposite his bed. "My ship's parts though. A rocket hit our base straight, blowing the landing pad to pieces. They've managed to hide its signature somehow. Radar never saw it coming before it was too late. We made it out before the damn ceiling could fall on our heads, but we got separated on the way to the car." His Adam's apple moving quickly, Flash's usually so deep, roaring voice sounded too thick for a moment. "I could only just pull those two out of there in time. We were outnumbered within minutes. Ever since Hydra figured out that the four of us are involved in intergalactic relations, they've been trying to pin us down for information and tech. This time, they were prepared. No idea how these people found us or how they knew we'd be planetside this week. But that's the second shuttle in two years. I'm taking that personally. I hope Hydra's loaded."

  That half-hearted joke, too, fell flat in the shadow of a certain elephant in the room that was causing Katja's heart to clench more with every second. The worst consequence of this attack out of nowhere was the one they couldn't see yet. "Captain, what happened to Mandrake?"

  In his ongoing distraught only now apparently realizing she was present as well, Flash's bruised face lit up for a moment when he spotted that Katja had another visitor strapped to her body. An answer though, never came. Much like Logan, Flash wasn't too hot on questions that needed no answering. "Mind if I take a look at the peanut while Hank patches us up enough to get our man back? Speaking of it, Summers? Want to give me some of the good stuff from that cabinet behind you? I would get it myself, but McCoy decided to code lock its hatch for some reason."

  "I wonder why." Hank eyed his patient sharply through the narrow glasses on his nose. "Hands off. Not before I even know if we need surgery or Shi’ar tissue mending for you, or if you need to ask the Empress for a prosthesis. You should know from experience you'll only be stuck here even longer if you don't let me do my job."

  "Maybe a little distraction helps." With all those injuries on Flash's right side that Hank was now inspecting on dozens of images on the med computer, Katja couldn't just give her little one to the Captain to hold but thanks to the bitter routine of her husband having the same problem, that wasn't exactly an obstacle. She just sat on the bedside where the patient had his good hand, with Saskia snuggled close to her chest who was still tired enough to be half-dozing, blissfully unaware of all the pain and the fear in the room, just blinking up at the blond stranger dozily, a yawn on her lips.

  "Good job there, Summers, as usual." Flash tickled the little one's nose with a careful fingertip when Saskia grimaced, obviously trying to decide what to make of that strange face above her. There was a kind of yearning on his slightly absent expression for a moment that Katja remembered from the time when this group of courageous people had recovered here from all they'd suffered at the hand of Dark Phoenix themselves. A couple of days had been enough for Katja to get to appreciate them just as much as her teammates before her. That they were all carrying a huge bag of secrets, especially regarding their private life couldn't change that. In the light of what had happened today, Flash and the others were in fact well-advised to hide from as many people as possible where- and whoever they were going home to when their space travels actually allowed them to. "She's perfect, you two. You're going to keep a good eye on her and the other children in this house, right? We might be rid of Phoenix, but going's still damn rough out there."

  "It's our own fault." When Lothar suddenly spoke up, not only Katja startled who hadn't even heard the warrior talk much in those few days last year. With huge parts of his dark skin, from collarbones to navel, covered in blisters, no one had really expected him to have air for words right now either. For someone who couldn't be hurt by any weapon made by men and whose pain tolerance was probably accordingly low, suddenly dealing with injuries like that had to be hell. Only it didn't seem to be those low noises of pain he was trying to keep in so hard there but a forcefully reigned-in storm of absolute wrath shining in his wide-open eyes. "We were too careless with our identities when Phoenix happened. For me, that didn’t matter because outside my tribes, hardly anyone knows who I am. And Kit always knew the necessity of cover better than any of us anyway. But Mandrake was in public long before he and I joined this team. And not smiling with a rifle from the same army magazines as Flash. This base today … It's one of his former country houses. Somehow they knew. They think he's the easiest target."

  "Why would they?" While Katja suddenly had a hard time controlling her own brewing anger, Ororo stepped closer to Lothar with a confused frown. "He's an equal member of your group, your secondary leader ..."

  "No powers." Flash's square jaw was grinding in an irritation that didn't feel like it was only aimed at their enemies. "I don't have them either but me, they usually don't dare touch because, after 20 years, they still have the hope they can get to my value and intel through the corrupted parts of our government. I'm Washington's favorite poster boy, whether I like that or not. Killing me off would make too many waves even for Hydra. So they're trying to wear me down by targeting my people." Targeting someone who was expendable. He didn't need to say it for the silence, broken only by the monotonous beep of a couple of scanners, to feel even more suffocating.

  Lothar buried his face in his hands, growling his aggression into his palms, his whole mighty posture shaking. "I should never have lost sight of him in the garage. I'm sorry, Flash. This doesn’t happen. We don’t leave anyone behind."

  "Not your fault," Flash admonished him, harsher than Katja knew it from her teammates when they were once more trying to stop her perpetual self-blame. Realizing in embarrassment once more how unnerving and time-consuming such a guilt complex could be for the people around you was a damn good motivator for working on that flaw. "We're lucky we weren't shot off the road when we left. Sometimes you have to retreat if you want to come back strong enough to save someone. We just need enough Shi’ar med to look alive, and a way to get to where the tracker I managed to slam on their helicopter says they are now. Usually, I'd go to Washington for that but when Hydra is involved, you can never be sure who's listening in on a conversation. I can't risk that as long they have one of my people."

  "Have you called Rogers?" Scott ignored the increasingly exasperated looks both Katja and Ororo were giving him. "We'll provide you with whatever we can, you know that. But Rogers' team is the one who knows what we're dealing with here."

  "The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. have been a little nosy lately." Flash grimaced which was probably not only thanks to Hank sitting down by his other side and starting to feel down that ruin that was his arm once more. "Since Charles is no longer around for the occasional mental manipulation when someone does see something they're not supposed to, it's become harder to keep all extraterrestrial secrets that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s not supposed to be involved in. Lilandra doesn't trust our local governments a lot, as you know. And frankly, with Hydra bouncing back every time to re-infiltrate it whenever we think we're rid of them for good, she shouldn't."

  "That's not how this works though, Gordon." Ororo who'd also held back so far looked increasingly irritated herself. "Rogers has his issues, yes – save it, Scott –, but show me anyone in this room who doesn't, infants excluded. This is his playground. How is this even a question? One reason why Dark Phoenix could ever happen was that we didn't talk to each other enough. Who knows how much of New York we could have saved if the Avengers hadn't been on the other side of the world that day? I'm tired of losing sleep over these kinds of questions. If everyone tasked with protecting this damn planet would start trusting each other a little more instead of less, we'd have far fewer problems. There's been enough silence and secrets with Charles in charge."

  "And I can't change everything within a week. God knows I've tried." Katja didn't think Scott even realized how he was rubbing over his damaged shoulder in moments like this, with that defeated, hopeless kind hunch in his posture haunting him since Ontario Lake whenever the load of all his old mentor had left him with, without as much as a word of goodbye, was weighing down on him. "And certainly not today. Most of Rogers' team has been in Singapore all week. Yes, Ororo, I check their network logs, believe it or not. They’ve gone stealth, they won't answer their phones. For now, we're on our own. The rest, we can talk about when we got your guy back, Gordon. You can have all the manpower, you need. We still owe you, you know."

  "You saved the universe a couple of times too often for that." Flash put him off, wincing when he almost used the wrong hand for it. "McCoy, will that take much longer? I could really use my shooting arm right now. They're out on some aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. International waters, not even a damn island to use as a base anywhere in sight. We need to be fast when we get there."

  "Not happening before next month." Hank's gentle but unrelenting grip on Flash's ruined shoulder put an end to these delusional plans. "Unless you never want to use it again, that is. Ask your young friend over there about taking unnecessary risks like that. He's well practiced at this point."

  While Scott threw Hank an extremely unamused look, Flash closed his eyes for a moment and let out a curse that Katja was pretty sure was in the language of the Shi’ar. "One of us has to go. If we want to get there unseen, the Blackbird will need to borrow Mandrake's mirror cloaking device. We can use the one from our jeep but if we don't want to waste any more time, we'll have to install it on the way there. And with Kit down … Hank?"

  "Not going anywhere with a traumatic brain injury, no. Thanks for at least asking this time." Hank's always slightly dramatic ranting regarding unreasonable patients turned into real grief for a moment when he went back to the patient in question to check on his vital signs once more, and to rest his hand on Logan's shoulder, with a squeeze that fortunately looked encouraging. "I got him stabilized for the moment but we're off to the operating theater as soon as the computer is ready preparing everything, so I can make sure he'll recover entirely. Which also means, Gordon, that I hope you have the authorization to tell me, I can take off that stupid mask. I can't drill his skull open when I can't see half of what I'm doing."

  "I do not," Flash gave back with clear discomfort. "But his kids can't exactly be reached by phone in the middle of the jungle. I think in this case, the twins would agree though that you're trustworthy enough to see the face of The Ghost Who Walks. Just wait until everyone but Lothar and I have left please."

  "If you think you can keep me here, you have another think coming," his partner growled at him unexpectedly. "I'll be fine, shut up. You got some of the good stuff here, Howlett? Mix me a double one with a Tylenol topping and give me something to fly, that's enough."

  "I'm flying," Scott announced, similarly delusional, not giving Hank time to get in any kind of protest either. "If you want to come, you'll to let us keep on treating you on the way, just so we're clear. I'm not attacking Hydra with a team full of invalids."

  "Good thing you're not leaving without me then." A little calmer, now that Hank had assured him that his friend would be alright, Logan finally got up and cracked his neck. Under Hank's furious glance, he indeed dug out some flask from his shirt pocket and thrust it into Lothar's hand. "Buckle up."

  "We talked about this, Logan." Scott didn't sound like he wanted to start another fight about people trying to enter missions before he'd even got a chance to give orders. But so soon after Ontario Lake, and with what was now left of Weapon X certainly always monitoring the mansion, while Scott and Logan both kept in it the most precious, helpless, vulnerable thing in their lives, all of them spontaneously leaving had become a lot more complicated. "With Marie and Remy still in Europe ..."

  Logan showed a surprisingly indifferent shrug. How much of his energy to annoy Scott just for the sake of it had really left him was, ironically, one of the most hurtful changes Ontario Lake had brought. "You can stay."

  "And you'll fly the Blackbird through an air attack?" Still no provocation, no complaining, not even a stupid nickname.

  No matter how much it hurt, how they had got to this point, and why, Katja suddenly couldn't help but be proud of those two idiots.

  "Will you?" Logan just raised a brow at Scott's brace.

  "Let me answer that for you: No, you won't."

  "Not helping, Hank." Of course, Katja wouldn't let her husband take a single step out of this sickbay if he didn't get clear in his head again real soon, but that determined, sober tone in his voice, that resurging strength of a leader forced far too often to make the hard choice was soothing at that moment, too. It was proof that after many months of standing still in grief, they all could still work like they had to when it was necessary. "With the right co-pilot, I can navigate with one and a half hands. I did it before. Mix me one of those Kree-Ale cocktails too, then I'll be fine. You don’t have the practice, Logan. The moment they know we're there, you'll have dozens of jets on your ass. There need to be two of us who know what they're doing to deal with that." Scott's short glance at Ororo wasn't even a question and hardly got more than an impatient wave as an answer; their teammate busy for minutes already checking their target location on one of the sick bay's network access terminals.

  "There will be two." Katja finally got up from Flash's bed and started unbuckling the harness of Saskia's carrier on her back and neck, keeping her daughter safely to her chest with one arm, before cautiously laying her down on one of the stretchers, miraculously without waking her. Yeah, that had definitely been a short night yesterday. And today wouldn’t be any more fun for the little one with one parent gone once more, but sometimes, not only Scott needed to make the hard choice. "Hank, can you keep an eye on her for a minute? I'll have Theresa bring her stroller."

  Scott stared at Katja, speechless in a way reserved for those moments when she reminded him that while she never questioned his authority, his experience, his skill on this team, she did happen to be a member of it too, and had a voice on her own.

  Logan, Scott hadn't even tried to stop after the first obligatory protest, understanding his thirst for revenge for a friend even though he couldn't approve of it. Logan had lost far too much in his life since coming to live in this house. He could use a chance to blow off some steam.

  Unlike him, Katja, admittedly, hadn't had a lot of time to do the same since the Inferno, though she'd been training for it like a madwoman once more ever since giving birth. That was a reason to go on this mission, not an obstacle. So she just nodded darkly when Scott asked her, quiet enough only for Hank and Logan to hear, if she was sure. The question as of why though demanded a bit of self-restraint and gritted teeth not to remind him, this was her fucking job. Much as that was true, Scott knew her too well to not be able to tell, that wasn't the only thing going on in her head right now. "Because I know what it is like to be targeted as the weakest link. And because Mandrake was kind to me the day you left for the Shi’ar. I want him to be alright."

  When Scott came to stand beside her where she was making sure, Saskia wouldn't unexpectedly turn in her sleep and fall from that too-high mattress, for a firm hug, a tender kiss, that hurt in Katja's heart about being overlooked so much a second ago left as quickly as it had come. He didn't like it, of course, he didn't, but that wasn't different the other way round whenever they left for a mission, especially without each other. They'd never have made it as far as this point in their relationship if they hadn't accepted that maybe hardest part of this life from the start. "Just … be careful. There'll be a lot of them."

  "And we're enough. Sit your ass down and keep that broken wing of yours where it is, Slim. We're gonna need it again someday." For an almost invisibly brief moment, Logan rested one knuckle on the sweat-covered forehead of his unconscious friend and then visibly straightened up, marching towards the exit. "Get a move on it, Windrider. You too, kitten. Save the victory sex for the return."

  "Logan, I swear to God, one day I'm gonna …"

  "No, you won't." Katja cut Scott off with another brief kiss. "Keep an eye on the short stuffs while I go show some assholes that underdogs have a really nasty bite. Victory sex after," she couldn't help but add just to annoy Logan a little, loud enough for him to hear before he stepped out in the hallway.

  Chuckling, Scott reached down to give her behind a cheeky squeeze. "Go give them hell."

          With said mirror technique that had already helped stop Magneto from getting his hands on Katja in Washington back then, the initial attack turned out to be surprisingly smooth. They found a nice little secluded spot on the carrier's stern to park the Blackbird, without their enemies sounding as much as an alarm, and could get below deck through a hatch right below the jet, still without even having to show their faces. Logan's senses, sharper trained to pre-amnesia levels by the month, led them past any possible soldier or staff member through the empty, sterile halls of a vehicle the only purpose of which was housing dozens of deadly jets for the next planned invasions. Things were almost starting to look a little too easy, and easy was always an alarm signal on a mission.

  So Katja was almost relieved when they'd made it to the prison cells on the lowest deck at last, and at their hasty run along the aisle, once Logan's claws had taken care of a couple of cameras on the ceiling, they found every single one of them empty.

  Hopefully, no ambush from behind to be expected then. No trap prepared by Hydra to get the rest of the Defenders here and possibly some of the X-Men on top, for these sick kinds of experiments that these people liked to get up to, similar to what Weapon X also had once tortured people with. Their enemies were probably just too busy trying to get their prisoner to talk right now to be attentive enough. Which was not exactly good news but it meant, they had a chance of getting their friend out of there without ending up in one of those cells themselves.

  On their way back to the stairs, Katja spotted something in one of these broom-closet-sized, windowless rooms that had her pause. Following a spontaneous instinct, she got the black top hat from under an unused-looking bed and tucked it away under her cape, ignoring Logan disapprovingly shaking his head at her for wasting time with sentimentalities. It was only a hint of memory that had whispered to her that one second more or less on their search wouldn't hurt. And that there had to be a reason why of all things, she was remembering right now the worst day of living in Westchester so far. A moment of dread, of the certainty that the world was about to end, and of uttermost hopelessness, she'd never before felt in her life. Somehow she doubted, someone like Logan who never seemed to run out of strength to push on – physically alone – would have appreciated hearing about how Katja had been standing on the roof of their home the moment Dark Phoenix had come back to Earth to rip it into pieces, wanting nothing but that crazy alien bitch to find her first. Just so the pain of being a hundred percent sure Scott was dead would be over.

  Only Emma's intervention at that moment had ended that hysterical wish for a final escape, once her former mentor had finally tracked her down … not least thanks to the help of two little colorful creatures that Mandrake had left in Katja's care before they'd all left for the Shi’ar. Two cheerful, simple-minded but loyal companions who occasionally lived in this very stupid hat. Today, they were nowhere to be seen, sadly. From all Katja knew about the fascist psycho assholes on this ship, they had probably grilled the birds for lunch just to fuck with their prisoner.

  If she didn't want them to do the same to the charming magician next, there could be no more lingering in melancholy.

  Luckily, once they reached the right deck, right below the surface, Logan's nose could pick up on the scent they were looking for. With the hateful growls coming from his lips when they followed it, with how his hands were hard fists, the tips of his claws just waiting under the surface to break through, it wasn't hard to guess, he was also hearing something he didn't like one bit. "Too many." One single look into the mess hall where a few bastards in camouflage were busy with their prisoner for the entertainment of the whole ship, by the looks of it, was enough to convince Logan, they couldn't just waltz in there. The guns and knives, he didn't have to be afraid of, and the ceiling was part glass, so Katja could have helped him out with a couple of flashes to cut his way through until the other part of their team would arrive here, after sabotaging the enemies' jets …

  But there was no way in hell they could get to the middle of the room in time where these bastards had tied their half-naked victim to a metal rack right above some artificial pool that judging by the thick clouds of steam rising from it was having a boiling temperature. After each of their questions that were only answered with silence, the guy who had the remote for that improvised lift in his hand, gleefully pressed a button, lowering the device further towards the deadly trap. There was little doubt what the asshole would do the moment Logan and Katja would get busted. These people weren't exactly squeamish about their prisoner getting damaged, seeing as the people standing around the disgusting scene were throwing something heavy like a pan or a vase into that pool every now and then to make the water squirt up, splashing through the rack's bars onto far too much exposed skin, leaving gruesome burns where they hit.

  Katja couldn't hear Mandrake make a single noise.

  "Restraints are rope, not metal," Logan judged after another look over the counter they were hiding behind, in a flat, informative tone of observation Katja knew and appreciated in her own partner in emotionally burdening situations like this. "Can you get to him from above? Drop, cut him loose, then get him out of there while I keep them busy."

  Katja quickly let her gaze wander over a naked web of pipes under the ceiling, running through the whole room until she found a vent exit at the side wall not far off from where two of those motherfuckers were busy yelling questions at the restrained man in their midst, obviously not even waiting for an answer anymore at this point before that rack inched another bit down. "That supposed to be a challenge?" She wished she could feel as confident as she was trying to sound though. Far too many things could go wrong with this, and all of them were going through her head when she entered said vent shaft unseen in an empty room next door. Starting with one of these assholes getting bored enough with that performance to look up at the wrong moment, or Katja not being fast enough with removing these ropes before her friend and her would both end up as the lobsters on tonight's menu … But a twinge of that fear that had been an occasional guest at her first missions for her team, she was looking for in her soul in vain. After one of her best friends had been almost forced to rip the whole universe into pieces, a few primitive drooling wannabe Nazis with a couple of toys too much couldn't scare her anymore. Only when she shoved away the plating of the vent exit to get into the hall, she startled, because she was being expected there – then she smiled. "Knew you guys were somewhere around. Keep it down, you two, or they'll have chicken wings for starters."

  She could swear, the green budgie ranted at her with its fortunately very quiet chirp in offense before following his brother into their hideout under a certain hat when Katja lifted her cape. These little creatures weren't intelligent enough to really communicate with them, but they were extremely well trained, and one of those tricks, Mandrake had been nice enough to show Katja when they'd last met.

  Those amicable little lessons at the chimney might unexpectedly pay off today and buy the little ones' owner the few additional seconds they all needed. With a series of fast somersaults across those pipes, it was indeed easy enough to make her way to the room's center where the unpleasant heat from that steam was accumulating, warning Katja that time was even shorter than thought. Not thinking about it for another second, she pulled that hat out that she had with her and swung it through the air in a sharp semicircle, whereupon the two budgies in it immediately sped out and headed down towards their owner, flying above his sweat-covered, pained reddened face to get his attention, letting them know, he was no longer alone in this dangerous situation.

  Just for a moment, Katja thought to have those dark eyes resting right at her though she wasn't sure how much the man could really make out right now through the mist and in a state of almost unconsciousness. Then his attention turned to his torturers who had started to swat at the annoying winged visitors with gun barrels and batons but couldn't quite get close enough on the platform of the pool, with the air getting increasingly torturously hot. "Fine."

  "Oh, it talks." One of the men reached out to thrust the tip of his baton into his victim's ribs just for good measure, visibly enjoying Mandrake's pained hiss but stood back then and signaled the cheering crowd to shut up. "Last chance, pussy. The access code of your people's mainframe. Now."

  For a moment, Katja feared she had come too late after all when there did indeed come a string of numbers from Mandrake's lips, and she hurried to conjure one of those strong breezes of her gift with her thoughts, easily called upon today thanks to that chaos of almost-relief, new worry and anger on these assholes down there in her soul. Letting herself fall into it, she swung down towards that rack with two quick flips.

  Only now she realized, it had gotten even quieter in the room and how monotonous, in an almost sung, beautiful deep cadence, those numbers were spoken Of course. While Katja had heard those rumors that Mandrake could hypnotize people with just a few words, it was the first time for her to actually witness it, and it took a lot of ignorance and focus on her own powers to ignore the effect of that chant herself.

  Somehow she managed to safely land on that damn rack anyway that had got so hot by now that she was burning her own knees and elbow even through the leather of her uniform just from leaning down to cut the ropes around Mandrake's wrists and ankles. Just in time. When she hoisted the weakened man into her arms, ripping them both from his almost-deathbed into the air with another strong gust, an ominous loud clicking in the walls around them let her know, this time, she had been seen by some camera and whoever was in the control room was obviously not happy about her stealing their prisoner right from under their nose.

  Almost at the same moment, the brief power of spell broke and the enemies around them screamed out in anger and aggression, several of them jumping towards them immediately, trying to reach up to where Katja was trying to get a far heavier and almost unresponsive body back to that vent which always proved a challenge even with the practice of daily lifting.

  No one made it to them before a wall of muscles and claws and growls rammed into the soldiers, cutting and slashing, never stopping for a second, not even when the first bullets bounced off his Adamantium skeleton and several deep cuts ripped his uniform and flesh open.

  Just when Katja finally had her passenger save in that fortunately quite broad opening in the wall, the shrill splintering noise of the ceiling giving in sounded through the room as two bodies in white leather and sturdy trekking clothes respectively broke through it, and with that, the battle was as good as won. Soon enough, the hall's ground was littered with blood and limbs and bodies with their heads bashed in or their skin burnt to the level of crisp from lightning. Either from Ororo's attacks or from where Katja occasionally snatched a bolt from her friend to use it herself, staying in her safe position right under the ceiling the whole time as she'd been trained to.

  Then it was over, just like that; no more reinforcements pouring in through the mess hall's double doors, only the alarm signals blaring their monotonous sounds and deep red lights through the hallways left. Whoever might still be left on that boat was obviously not in the mood to sacrifice any more manpower and weapons. Or maybe they were very confident that they could get their revenge the moment, the X-Men and their partners today would try to get away from their base.

  But they would be unlucky in that regard too, Ororo assured Katja with a proud smile when they made their way back to the Blackbird, guarded on two sides from possible further attacks by Logan's and Lothar's far broader shapes. "Those jets aren't going anywhere, don't worry. That was some damn good work, Flashwind."

  "Thanks to you two. That was close." But Katja couldn't deny that she did feel a little more confident, finally, about her job in this team after this day.

  Mandrake's still painfully bloodshot eyes were resting on their partners as well, especially on the man he'd been so close friends with for decades. "You came."

  "We leave no one behind," Lothar gave back as briefly as was his way, but the supportive grip of his around his friend's shaking body became firmer for a moment while his attentive big eyes just like Logan's never stopped taking in the almost eerily quiet environment between sharp-edged deadly flying vehicles and a dozen loaded barrels that could be aimed at them right now.

  No more shots were fired but it was hard to overlook how much exactly that worry had been torturing Mandrake, that his friends would be sharing his fate and everything they'd been trying to protect for so many years would get out in the open, plunging the world into chaos. "If they'd got you too …"

  "They didn’t. I knew I had proper help." Already losing his patience again with too much conversation, Lothar signaled his friend to shut up and helped him into the jet through the bottom hatch first, to lay down on one of the stretchers in the passenger area, on his stomach, because his back was a similar ruin of burns as Lothar's chest showed it. "Rest. The furball at Westchester can't wait to get his hands on you."

  "I bet." But instead of closing his eyes immediately, Mandrake turned to Katja when she passed him by to hurry to the co-pilot seat. "Say, why did they keep you at home again when we went for Dark Phoenix' throat?"

  "You know, someone pretty smart taught me a while ago, you always save one trick for emergencies." It didn't come as light-hearted as intended. Katja couldn't entirely bite back a bitter grin though it was aimed at no one in particular in the jet. In the others' place, she'd probably not have thought of herself as the most suited member of this team herself, with her limited power set and her bad track record. But that didn't mean she couldn't get the job done when it came to it. "Sometimes it helps, being underestimated."

  Mandrake reached out to squeeze her lower arm in a gesture of deep mutual understanding. "Well, if you ever get tired of sitting on the bench, we can always use fellow travelers we know we can trust. Now more than ever."

  Logan who was already busy starting the jet together with Ororo, staying on the stick for the moment since Scott wasn't around to protest, threw a short but very irritated look over his shoulder. "Hey, Harry Potter! Right under my nose, really?"

  "If I needed someone to make decisions for me, I'd try to call Charles." Katja gave him a well-natured but unmistakable look that Scott knew from her quite well too from his rare mild touches of paternalism. Trusting her teammate not to fly the damn jet right into the ocean, she sat down next to the bench, leaving it to Lothar to get a bag with first aid equipment for more disinfectant and burn cream to use on this day. "No offense, but husband and 1-year-old kid at home say no." Her grin growing immediately, she nodded at the budgies who'd found their way into the jet as well and had sat down on the opposite bench as if they didn't want to leave their owner out of sight now that they'd almost lost him. "Send me a tweet though when you need help next time."

  "That offer goes both ways, young lady." Mandrake pulled her hand close for a slightly old-fashioned but very charming kiss to her knuckles before giving in to the exhaustion finally that the torture had left.

  They both knew that would probably never happen. Their worlds were simply too different for that. But especially on days like this, it was a soothing feeling, knowing that in cases when the whole team might be in trouble one day, if they did call out for support, someone would answer.

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@whumptober | @whumptober-archive​

[xnicowritesx]

Strong Like a Family, Strong as I Wanna Be

Fandom(s): The Mentalist

Relationship(s): N/A

Archive Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply

Series: Nico's Whumptober 2022

Summary: Jane accidentally sees the culprit doing something suspicious. The culprit tries to kill him.