#whumpuaryno7

[firapolemos05]

"As far as your family knows, you're dead. Executed as another lowly traitor. So no, there won't be anyone looking for you."

Whumpuary 2025

Day 7 "No one is coming."

Day 15 Handcuffed

Champion taglist: @thewhumpywitch , @ostensiblywhump , @scoundrelwithboba

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 13-14

Prompt: Bruises

Pairing: Daryl Dixon & Fem!Reader (pre-relationship)

Warnings: Injuries

A/N: Sorry for the early post and just the short drabble. Just trying to push through until I feel better.

“Okay, we can stop here.” You leaned slightly so Daryl could slide his arm from your shoulders and recline against a downed tree. He grunted at the movement but otherwise made no complaint. Placing his crossbow on the ground by his feet, you crouched beside him. “Let’s see the damage.”

His face was a mess of lacerations and swollen flesh, but his torso was worse. Littered with scattered burns and cuts and mottled with deep bruising along his right ribs. 

“Jesus, Daryl. What did they do to you?”

“Lil’ bit’a everythin’. Weren’t very creative though.” He chuckled but it broke off into a groan, his hand flying to his side to brace the obviously broken ribs. You clicked your tongue at him, digging through your bag for some disinfectant and butterfly sutures. “Didn’t tell ‘em nothin’ though.”

“I know you didn’t.” You smiled gently, dabbing at the worst of the cuts on his forehead. “It’d take a lot more than that to break the great Daryl Dixon.” He hissed at the sting and, before you could think better of it, you leaned in to blow gently over his skin. When you realized what you were doing, you sat back on your heels and opened a pack of sutures. Your face was beet red. 

When you went back to work, he was smirking at you, his lip splitting enough for fresh blood to well up from the wound. 

“Shut up.” You frowned at him, pulling together the skin to apply the suture, a little more roughly than intended. The archer pulled away from you with a deep scowl. “Sorry.” You batted your lashes at him. He mumbled something that you were pretty sure contained the word sadist but you’d let it slide. “Alright, that’s the best I can do for now. Need to get you back so Denise can take a look at those ribs. You won’t be going on any runs for a while.” You pulled his shirt up again, relieved for the millionth time that he was comfortable enough with you for his scars not to matter. Nothing below the deep purple skin appeared to be shifted. 

“Pft.” He huffed and groaned while you helped him to his feet. “Take more’an this to keep me down.” The color had drained from his face by the time you had him up and moving, albeit slowly. 

You shook your head with a warm smile. “I have no doubt.” 

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

Whumpuary #7: Unfair Fight

On a morning training exercise, Leo is ambushed and overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the Foot clan.

[chaotic-orphan]

Whumpuary No.7

Unfair fight // Insomnia // “no one is coming”

This was a long one, hoi boi🫡 but she’s done…

“Hero…” Second in command said softly. Hero didn’t reply. She just kept walking after their team across the rocky terrain to the shelter that Navigator spotted a few kilometres back. “Hero.”

“What?” Hero asked. There was nothing sharp about the question. She didn’t snap. She didn’t sigh or demand an answer. It was empty. A sound that carried no meaning behind it. She was tired. She was beyond tired. She just wanted… she just…

“We’ll get them back.” Second told her. Hero didn’t reply. She just kept going. That’s all she could do. Keep walking. Keep breathing. Keep going until they somehow managed to rescue Vigilante from Supervillain.

Nobody that Supervillain took had ever been seen again, nevermind… nevermind— she buried that thought under a hatch in her mind and padlocked it down. Getting emotional wouldn’t get Vigilante back after all… no… she just put one foot in front of the other. It was easy. It was quiet. It was…

She was…

Leader, Navigator and Medic had dropped their packs and started setting up a camp, rolling out their bedding on the smooth rock. Rogue and Youngest were already gone, to fetch some wood for a fire no doubt when Hero and Second arrived.

Hero disengaged from the group and went to the cliff edge outside the shelter and settled her back against the rock of the cave. She heard the usual routine happening behind her, without her.

Then he appeared like an apparition in front of her. Translucent but full formed, a shadow of Villain with his self-satisfied smirk and gleaming eyes. Hero didn’t say anything as he approached her.

“Hello darling. You’re looking worn, drained.” Hero looked through him, literally, as he crouched down and pressed a phantom hand to Hero’s cheek. She wished she couldn’t feel it. She knew he was able to not let her feel it, but he was a sadistic fucker. “My my, have you been sleeping, pet? Your bags have bags,” he noted, pulling down her eyelid.

Hero batted his hand away, but her hand went straight through his projection and she huffed out a breath and looked away as Villain laughed.

“You know damn well why I’m not sleeping.”

Villain released her and sat in front of her instead. He tilted his handsome head to the side. “Is it Vigilante, hmm? The guilt of knowing you could have saved them but didn’t.”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh shush. You know how much I enjoy our little chats, Hero,” he said, waving her insult away. “Besides,” his eyes sharpened. “We both know what else I could spend my time doing if you don’t feel like talk—“”

Hero lurched forward a hand out that went through Villain’s visage. “No! No! I— I wanna talk.”

Villain grabbed Hero’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His eyes danced with a gleeful satisfaction. “So desperate, Hero. So needy. But don’t worry. I’ll stay with you. We can talk all night long.”

Hero wanted to punch him. She wanted to cry and scream and wrap her hands around his throat because she didn’t know how much longer she could take this. The taunting, the teasing, every night, once the sun set, Villain would appear to her and force her to chat with him through the night so she couldn’t sleep. The first few days it was fine. She could catch an hour before and after Villain appeared, and she was fine. But they were travelling for two weeks now, and Hero had had to start sleeping by day to the annoyance of their teammates.

The worst part was she couldn’t even tell them about Villain, or Villain promised he’d make Vigilante pay and let Hero see all of the torture for herself.

How many times had she debated telling her team? How many times has she wanted to scream about it to somebody, anybody, but Villain somehow sensed that too after the fourth day.

He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back after she challenged him. “Maybe Vigilante’s life isn’t enough of a threat, hmm? You know… Youngest in your team seems quite—”

“No!” Hero screamed, struggling against a ghost.

Villain leaned down, craning Hero’s neck all the way back but she didn’t drop eye contact with him as he hissed: “then behave.”

Dinner came and went. Hero denied any food. She felt too sick to eat. Almost woozy from the insomnia, and when she did eat it was like she was pumped of adrenaline that only led her to crashing later.

“Hero… you should really eat. You’ll turn into skin and bones if you don’t,” Villain chided with a smile.

When it came time to sleep, Hero said she’d take first watch. Leader came out and stood above her. “Hero, no.”

“Oooh,” Villain cooed from behind Hero, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. “Your boss is so forceful Hero. But tell him you insist.”

Hero shivered as the phantom hand settled on the nape of her neck. “I- I insist,” she said quietly.

Medic came out after Leader.

“Hero, get inside. We need to cover a lot of ground tomorrow and we can’t have you dozing off when the sun comes up again! We’re losing time to save Vigilante.”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” Hero cried, hands flying to her hair and pulling. “I— I want to save Vigilante more than anything.”

“She’s right you know,” Villain purred, standing behind Medic. He started whispering in Medic’s ear, loud enough for Hero to hear. “She wants to save poor Vigilante more than her circadian rhythms demand.”

“Please!” Hero cried. “I— I- I need to stay awake.”

Villain’s violet eyes flashed at Hero over Medic’s shoulder. “That’s right. Good girl. You tell them.”

Hero swallowed hard. Leader frowned and looked over his shoulder to where Hero stared, almost as if in a trance. Medic found his gaze, erudite eyes coloured with concern.

Leader looked back at Hero.

“Alright.” Leader said. Hero relaxed, breathing out a sigh of relief that seemed to be the only thing holding her up. She swayed as the world spun around her and would have fallen if not for Leader catching her halfway to the ground.

“Please,” Hero said with a breath, not entirely sure she didn’t blackout for a second. “Please, trust me,” she pleaded.

Leader nodded and sat her back against the rock. “I trust you, Hero. I know losing Vigilante has been hard on you, but there’s some leftover food and you will eat some of it if you won’t sleep, do you understand?”

“I—” Hero protested. Leader spoke over her.

“Or I’ll have Rogue take watch and ask Medic to force—”

“Okay! Okay!” Hero rushed out, panic seizing her heart. Leader smiled and tucked her hair out of her face.

“Good. I’ll grab you a plate. And you will eat it all, Hero.”

Hero nodded stiffly. “Okay.”

The two disappeared back into the cave. Hero could hear Medic berating Leader as they retreated but she didn’t really care about what they said anyways. Villain walked back in front of her and plopped himself down in front of her. His eyes alight with a dangerous amusement.

“You’re so good at taking orders, Hero.” Villain purred. “So pliant and malleable like this,” he said. He propped his elbow on his knee and his head in his hand. “Oh, if only I thought of taking Vigilante sooner. Maybe the heroes wouldn’t have given us as much trouble when you’re distraught and sleep deprived.”

Hero didn’t answer. A hot tear dripped from her eye onto her cheek. Maybe that was answer enough. She was going mad, she knew. Villain was driving her mad, making her seem crazy, torturing her for his own cruel enjoyment.

“Oh Darling,” Villain cooed as Hero started to cry silently, her shoulders shaking up and down and letting out silent sobs that sounded only like gasps of breath. He moved towards her and pulled Hero into his arms, his legs on the outside of hers as he pushed her head into his shoulder. She didn’t move. “Darling, shush. Crying will waste so much of your energy.”

Hero continued to cry. “Oh you poor sweet angel. There, there. I know it’s hard,” he said, patting Hero’s back. “I know, pet. But you’re just so stubborn, hmm? This can all be over if you like.”

Hero stiffened in Villain’s arms. “W-what?” She asked wetly, mucus clogging her words.

Villain pulled Hero back and smiled down a kind smile at her, but his horrible eyes betrayed him. “Darling, have you had enough?”

Hero nodded. Villain softened. “Words, doll.”

“Y-yes,” Hero sniffed. Then she jumped a little and shook her head. “But— but I don’t! I don’t want you to hurt Vigilante, please!”

Villain crushed her into his chest again. “Oh I know you don’t. I know you’d do anything for them, wouldn’t you?”

Hero nodded against Villain’s chest. “Words,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I know, darling. So how about we make a deal?”

Hero pulled back a little and stared into the monsters violet eyes. “A- a deal?”

It was a bad idea. Even in her state she knew it was a bad idea, but what else could she do?

“Yes,” Villain said, phantom fingers wiping away Hero’s tears. “A deal. A trade. You for Vigilante.”

All warmth drained from Hero’s body. She didn’t recoil or so much as flinch, she just stared at Villain who sat drinking in every minuscule muscle twitch across her face.

“What?”

“I asked Supervillain already. He said he was fine with the trade, and would put you under my care just like Vigilante is. But I wouldn’t torture you, sweet thing. We would chat, and be like this,” he said, as he tucked a piece of Hero’s hair behind her ear. “Together. In person. You won’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll release Vigilante and you won’t have that guilt plaguing your mind either.”

Hero’s mouth went incredibly dry, like she was inhaling glass. “Will— will you l-let me… will—” Hero fretted, “I- I need to sleep.”

“As soon as you’re in my arms, darling, my real arms I’ll let you sleep, hmm? Would you like that?”

Hero nodded. Her cries turned into a sudden sob she couldn’t catch. “Pl-please… please. I- I would. Ple—”

“Shush, shush, shush. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll do the rest.”

This time, Hero recoiled. “N.. no. You can’t— my team is… my team is here and—”

“Okay,” Villain mused. “Then pick a spot you know, where you can slip away and I’ll come pick you up.”

“And let Vigilante go?” Hero asked, hope colouring every word. Villain shook his head. Hero deflated.

“Once I have you we can talk about Vigilante’s release. I don’t want any nasty surprises in case you try to ambush me with your team.”

God, Hero didn’t even think of that… she was drained. Wholly and completely, her body on autopilot and her mind switched off.

“Okay…” Hero murmured. “Okay… I can meet you by the ruins to the old church in the black valley.”

Villain nodded. “I think I know that area. Okay. I’ll be waiting.”

Hero stiffened. “I- I won’t be able to go until they’re asleep.”

Villain chuckled. A warm, hearty sound. “I know, sweet thing. It will just take me some time to get there so I’ll trust you and leave you to find your way.”

Hero sat out of Villain’s embrace, pulling her sleeve over her hand and wiping her cheeks. “O-okay.”

When Hero arrived at the old church a car was waiting for her. A silhouette of a figure she knew too well was waiting, perched against the passenger side door. Hero froze in place.

Oh god.

Oh god.

What was she doing?

This man had… he had tortured her psychologically over the last two weeks, playing dirty, fighting unfairly, depriving her of sleep just so he could pull something as horrid as this… something she would never have agreed to if she was of sound mind.

And… oh god. She hadn’t gotten used to the cold feel of his fingers and hands on her, everytime he touched her it was like a zap of electricity, or an icy shock to her system that made her gasp but seeing Villain in person now…

He looked very much real.

Strong too. Stronger than he appeared when he projected himself to her mind and even then he could overpower her.

“You know,” his velvet voice called over the short distance between them. It sounded smoother in person, like melted chocolate in her ears. Warm and soothing. Not the voice of a villain. “In your state, I could always catch you if you tried to run.”

Hero couldn’t move. Her body wouldn’t let her step closer. A cold hand settled on the small of her back and pushed her forward. “There you go, that’s a good girl. Do you still have your bow?”

Hero swallowed. Nodded. “Words, darling,” he purred. Hero trembled.

“Y-yes.”

She was so close now. She could make out some of the features on his face, his long hooked nose, his deep set eyes and his dark hair that fell a little over his eyes she could feel more than see were focused only on her.

“Good. I will need to take that off you for now, but if you behave I will give it back so you can train. Keep your skills up. Would you like that?”

Hero didn’t answer.

Five steps.

Four steps.

Three steps.

Two.

Her heart screamed at her to run, to flee, pumping adrenaline through her body to get her to escape.

But it was too late. Villain put his hand on her cheek. It was warm. Hero couldn’t suppress the flinch.

“Oh you are just an angel, aren’t you?” He whispered. Hero didn’t answer. His eyes went to the road Hero came from. She had the good sense to go around the church so he wouldn’t know which direction her team was. That wasn’t part of the deal. “And any teammates follow you?”

Hero began to shake her head, but stopped, looked at him. Words. “N-no… it’s just me… no— no one else is coming.”

Villain’s smile cut into his face, exposing his white teeth. “Excellent, Hero.”

He took her quiver and bow from her shoulders and opened the door for her to the passenger seat. Hero climbed in. Villain shut the door and walked to the boot, throwing her weapons into the trunk before he climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door.

He pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Hero bristled. “I… I won’t be any trouble, I swear,” she pleaded. “Please, I just… I just want to sleep.”

Villain smiled sympathetically at her. “I know, Hero. I just need to make sure you don’t get any ideas of escape while we drive back to base. Surely you understand?”

Hero’s bottom lip trembled. She bit it to stop from crying and nodded. Her eyelids threatened to drown her if she didn’t close her eyes soon. “Good girl. I’ll just cuff one hand, okay?”

Hero nodded again. Once she was secured and he was sure she couldn’t go anywhere, he nodded and started the engine. When they pulled off, out of the ruins and onto the main road he said: “okay, little Hero. You’ve been so good for me. And good behaviour gets rewarded.”

Hero’s eyes widened. “I can sleep now?”

“Yes darling,” Villain said with a smile in his voice. Hero settled back into her seat, resting her head against the soft, leather headrest.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Villain smiled into the darkness. “My pleasure.”

Hero was asleep before she heard the words, for the first time in two weeks, her mind, blissfully, switched off.

[ladylucksrogue]

Whumpuary:

Day 7: No One is Coming (Command Batch Cadets)

A training exercise goes horribly wrong.

Chapter warning: Near death, near drowning

The command batch are cadets in this, teenagers, somewhere between 12-14 (adjusted age) or so.

also posted here on A03

Their heads broke the surface one by one, gasping for air as they climbed onto the platform. The water was freezing, even through their fatigues and neoprene undersuits. The fabric was saturated after hours in the water, and the thermoregulation had all but given up. The saltwater stung their eyes, and their skin burned where their waterlogged gear had rubbed it raw.

They were still too young to be in full kit, but really, that was the point. No armor. No HUD. No heating systems. Nothing to help them. This exercise was about survival, about testing their limits and forcing them to rely on instinct, endurance, and teamwork.

Fox wiped the water from his face, blowing it from his nose as he tried to equalize the pressure in his ears. His chest heaved as he gulped air, the salt from the water leaving his lips cracked. Around him, the others were doing the same, pulling themselves together, but something felt… wrong.

He glanced at Bly first. His brother lay sprawled on the platform, breathing hard, drawing in huge gasps of air. The Trandoshan trainer was already eyeing him, a sneer curling across his scaled face. Cody and Ponds were crouched a little further away, muttering quietly to each other as they shrugged out of their gear, tense as they glanced toward the trainer.

Fox turned to check on his twin, wondering where the commentary was.  It wasn’t like him to be so quiet. Wolffe had been right behind him in the water. But Wolffe wasn’t there.

Fox’s stomach clenched as his eyes darted across the platform, counting his brothers in his head, over and over, hoping his brain was playing tricks on him. It wasn’t. Wolffe wasn’t anywhere.

“Where’s Wolffe?” Cody asked.

“He was right behind me,” Fox said, his voice cracking. His heart pounded in his chest as panic threatened. If he wasn’t there, it wasn’t good. They’d already been pushing the limits on that last stretch of tunnel.

Ponds was the first to move, pushing himself to his feet. “We’ll get him,” he said.

“The exercise is over,” the trainer snapped. “Time is up.”

Ponds froze, turning to face him. “One of us is still down there.”

“Not my concern,” the Trandoshan said coldly, disinterested as any of the longnecks. “If you can’t keep your team together, that’s on you.”

Cody stepped forward, his fists clenching. “We need to go back for him.”

The trainer’s gaze flicked over them, narrowing as he looked Cody over. “The team is here. CC-3636 failed to keep up.”

Fox couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. His twin had always been there, always. Since the moment they were decanted, the thought of him not being there wasn’t something he could comprehend.

“Fox—” Cody started, but Fox had already thrown his gear to the ground and dove back into the water. The cold hit him like a wall, stealing the breath from his lungs as he kicked hard, forcing himself downward. The salt burned his already raw eyes, but he didn’t care.

But he underestimated the air needed and had to surface, drawing deep gulps of air, trying to remember his training. Both Cody and Ponds had dropped their gear and, despite the trainer’s protests, were already diving in. Bly was nowhere to be seen, likely down in the water already.

Finally, Fox steadied his breathing, drawing in as much air as he could, and dove under the surface again.

Deeper and deeper, the pressure built in Fox’s ears as his lungs screamed for air. He saw movement ahead, Cody and Ponds, tugging at something.

His stomach dropped. Wolffe.

He was tangled in a wire net, floating limply. His skin was pale, almost gray. Fox swam harder, his lungs burning. No. No. No.

Ponds signaled Bly to surface for air. Fox reached them, clawing at the net and cutting his hands in the process. Cody gestured upward, shaking his head, he was already working on the net, cutting at it with a knife he’d apparently had on him.  He was right, cutting his hands open wasn’t bringing anything and as much as he wanted to help, he was low on air.

When Cody and Ponds finally surfaced with Wolffe between them, Bly was already there, hauling Wolffe onto the platform. Fox scrambled after them, his knees hitting the hard grating as he collapsed beside him.

“Wolffe…” Fox shouted, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “Wake up! Please, come on…don’t do this!”

Wolffe didn’t move.  He wasn’t breathing.  His head lolled to the side.  His skin was cold to the touch.  He didn’t look real, like an imitation of him.

Bly shoved Fox back. “Move, Fox. Shaking him isn’t helping.” Fox fell back, trying to breath himself, forcing himself to.  Bly seemed to remember their training despite the panic and began compressions. Cody paced behind them, while Ponds crouched at Bly’s side.

“Get a med droid!” Ponds snapped suddenly, as he turned to the trainer. “Please, sir, he needs help!”

The trainer folded his arms, his expression unmoved. “He needs to help himself. That’s what this is about. A soldier must be self-reliant.”

“He’ll die!” Ponds’ voice cracked. “He’s going to die if we don’t—”

“Enough,” the trainer cut him off, his tone biting. “Focus on the lesson here. You’re wasting time.”

Ponds sagged slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper as he turned back to Wolffe. “Come on, please.”

The seconds dragged on, feeling like hours. Bly didn’t stop, but his jaw was clenched, his face pale as water dripped off his face, mixed with tears. He wasn’t stopping, but Fox could see the fear in his eyes.

Ponds was shaking, his lips pressed tightly together. His hands clenched and unclenched as he whispered, “Come on, Wolffe. Come on. Don’t do this…”

Cody’s pacing grew more frantic, his hands rubbing at his face. “We should’ve gotten to him sooner.” His voice broke, choked off.

Fox sat frozen, his own breaths uneven as tears blurred his vision. He couldn’t take his eyes off Wolffe, couldn’t stop the memories crashing over him.

Wolffe hogging the blankets, sprawled across the bunk as Fox had to fight for space. Wolffe’s grin when he cracked a joke at the worst possible moment, dragging Fox into trouble with him. His impulsive little ideas, climbing something to show off, poking or prodding Fox out of boredom. Hanging all over him to read over his shoulder. So irritating.

And yet.

Wolffe pressing a ration bar into Fox’s hand when he’d forgotten to eat. Wolffe helping Cody patch his gear late into the night so he wouldn’t have to do it alone. Fussing over everyone’s things unnecessarily, but making sure they were prepared. Wolffe always noticed the little things, always took care of them before anyone realized something was wrong.

Fox pressed his forehead to Wolffe’s too-still shoulder, tears slipping free. “Please…” he whispered.

Then Wolffe jerked suddenly, his body convulsing as water spilled from his mouth. Bly rolled him to the side, keeping him from choking. Water, far too much of it, splashed over Fox, soaking him as Wolffe choked and sputtered and coughed, but he didn’t care. He pulled Wolffe into his arms, holding him tightly. “Breathe. You’re okay. Just breathe.”

Wolffe’s ragged breathing slowly evened out, but then his shoulders began to shake. Tears spilled down his face as he clutched at Fox, his sobs broken and hoarse and loud. “I thought—” His voice cracked. “I thought no one was coming.”

Fox tightened his hold. “We’d never leave you. Ever.”  The idea that Wolffe had thought that in that moment was horrifying.  That he’d be left all alone.  His own tears were spilling down his face.

Cody knelt beside them, as he rested a hand on Wolffe’s shoulder. His voice choked with emotion. “He’s right. Never.”

Bly’s hands shook as he wiped at his cheeks. He nodded. “You’re safe now.”

Ponds dropped down on Wolffe’s other side, shaking as he wrapped his arm around him. “We’ve got you.”

The trainer’s voice cut through the moment. “Tears, CC-3636?” His tone was scathing. “Why am I not surprised?”

Wolffe flinched, his breath hitching as his head dipped, pressing against Fox’s shoulder to hide it.  Fox’s arms tightened around him protectively, angry that even now, after he’d nearly died, they couldn’t leave him alone, but he didn’t answer, only glared up at the trainer.

The trainer shook his head in open disgust. “Look at all of you. Crying like a bunch of children. You are soldiers.  That’s what they told me anyway.”

None of them responded. The trainer huffed and turned sharply, his voice cold as he stormed off. “There will be consequences for this.”

None of them cared.

[val-creative]

Happy Whumpuary! Day 7 'unfair fight, insomnia, 'no one is coming'

Squid Game

For @whumpuary's Day 7 prompt "No one is coming"

Type: Fanfiction | Fandom: Squid Game (2021-) | Characters: Cho Hyun-ju, Park Gyeong-seok | Ships: Cho Hyun-ju/Gyeong-seok

Warnings & Triggers: Blood, Fear, Violence, Gun Violence, Mentions of Sickness/Injuries/Vomiting, Explicit Language.

SPOILERS FOR S2, E7.

---

It's been too long... Dae-ho should have been back by now.

Around her, debris of the pink-painted walls scatter and go airborne, as bullets fly rapidly, in and out. Her nostrils itch with the faint dust.

Hyun-ju's fingers clench tightly around her near-emptied MP5.

"What do we do!?" -- "Fuck! Oh fuck! I'm out!" -- "Me too!"

Through the hollers of Player 145 and Player 324, dodging down together, and the chimes of the PA system in the background, Hyun-ju's mind races frantically. Warm sick slicks deep in her throat.

Dae-ho...

No one is coming...

No one is coming, are they..?

The crumbly and dry gimbap, from an earlier meal, comes back up. Hyun-ju gulps loudly, bending over, pressing her face into a sleeve.

"Here, here," comes a familiar and reassuring voice. "It's alright."

Gyeong-seok slowly lowers the submachine gun in her hands, turning his own over his shoulder. He coaxes her to remain still, Gyeong-seok's fingers digging purposely into Hyun-ju's wrist.

"Take a breath. Release it. You're gonna feel dizzy for a moment."

Is... is it a pressure point? Hyun-ju does as she's told, getting lightheaded. Gyeong-seok's fingertips dig in again, then soften.

While they're still crouching, Hyun-ju fades out of the background noises. The immediate sense of danger. The failure and hopelessness building. "Are you okay, miss?" Gyeong-seok asks, focusing her in.

She shakes her head, then... nods. Truthfully, it is not as if Hyun-ju hasn't seen worse as a first class sergeant in ROTK Special Forces.

"Thank you... for whatever you did," Hyun-ju breathes, leaning in, glancing into his eyes. She half-expects him to avoid looking at and touching her again. Most people do. Most people don't know what to make of a woman like Hyun-ju, and she's accept that. But, Gyeong-seok's fingers linger like a comforting warmth before they're gone.

Gyeong-seok's lips twitch up. He stares back into her eyes fondly.

"My Na-yeon. My daughter. She has vomiting spells. This helps I'm glad it helped you, miss. You looked like you were going to be ill."

"I thought I would be," Hyun-ju admits, the surface of her cheeks hot.

More gunfire ricochets, drawing their attention as Player 324 yelps, his tracksuit blooming red. Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok duck at the same time, one of Hyun-ju's arms wrapping protectively around him.

A ragged exhale lands to her ear. Pleasant-feeling.

"We need those magazines, now," Hyun-ju says, turning her face, the adrenaline picking up. She picks up her MP5 unholstered. Gi-hun was right... this is their last chance to end these games for good.

Hyun-ju can't allow herself to fail again... not like when it was Young-mi being failed. Battling off the heightened emotion, she sniffs.

Unexpectedly, a large and warm hand cups the side of her face.

Gazing over, her tear-filled eyes widening from his kindness, Hyun-ju watches Gyeong-seok dropping a hand. "Forgive me," he whispers. "I only meant... that you should remember you've done your best."

Please don't apologize for touching me. Acknowledging me.

Those words hover on Hyun-ju's mouth, but she says, "I need to go."

"Go then. We'll be here."

She hunches out of the blood-soaked corridor, suppressing a sob.

Please don't leave me alone.

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 7

7. (Jan 13-14) "I didn't know where else to go" / Bruises / Drugged 

cw blood/injury, betrayal, villain whumpee, hero caretaker 

"What happened?” Hero demanded as they helped Villain to the couch. Their nemesis all but collapsed onto it, breathing strained.  

“They fuckin’ ditched me,” Villain gritted out. “My team. Used me for the mission and then left me for dead.” 

Hero swallowed hard and tried to suppress their anger as they took in Villain’s black eye and the bruise forming on their jaw. They didn’t care that they were supposed to be enemies. They didn’t care that Villain was bleeding all over their nice couch or that they shouldn’t have even known where Hero lived in the first place. All they cared about was making this right. “Superhero did this to you?” 

Villain nodded weakly. They tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but the movement caused them to groan in pain and clutch at their side. “Yeah,” they said. “I’m sorry, I know you hate me but I—I didn’t know where else to go.” 

Hero sighed. “I don’t hate you. And I definitely don’t want you bleeding out in an alley somewhere, so...I’m glad you came here. Even though I’m kind of freaked out that you know where I live.” 

Villain managed to laugh at that. “What kind of nemesis would I be if I didn’t keep tabs on you?” 

“Right.” Hero rolled their eyes. “Just hang tight, okay? I’m gonna grab the first aid kit.” 

When they returned, they knelt in front of Villain and went to work cutting away the torn remains of their suit, which was soaked with blood (the halfhearted “At least buy me dinner first” went unacknowledged.) Hero drew in a shaky breath when they were able to see the extent of Villain’s injuries—bruises covered their skin along with dozens of smaller cuts and a few gashes that looked sickeningly deep. 

“Shit,” Hero muttered, nauseated at the sight. “I can’t believe Superhero would do this. I’m going to kill them.” 

“I think one of my ribs is broken.” Their voice had dropped to a whisper. “Feels like it’s stabbing my lung.” 

Hero reached up a hand to cup Villain’s cheek. It was supposed to be comforting, but their trembling fingers smeared blood on Villain’s face. “You're gonna be okay. I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” 

Villain looked down before shutting their eyes quickly and letting out a small whimper. “Fuck, that looks bad. Oh my god.” 

“Do not pass out on me,” Hero ordered. “I’m going to clean and stitch these, and you’ll be fine. Then you can rest while I hunt down Superhero and knock their teeth out.” 

[librathefangirl]

Whumpuary 2025 Day 7: unfair fight

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary 2025 7

Prompt: Choking

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Choking on food; Heimlich maneuver

It was meant to be a peaceful evening. You had prepared spaghetti and venison meatballs for dinner. You were so excited to present it to Daryl after his two day trip beyond the walls with Aaron. You had seen how eagerly he had eaten the meal without meatballs at his recruiting partner’s home, not that he ever ate a meal without gusto. 

“This, uh—wow, looks really good.” He said as he sat down across from you at the table. He was showered and in some comfortable clothes you had found for him in the last run. It had taken quite a bit of convincing to get him to actually wear them, always on alert and ready to run as he was. Regardless, he had finally given in and appeased you. 

“I’m glad you think so.” You smiled, water glass nearly at your lips. Retrieving your fork first, you watched as he did the same, twirling the pasta around the utensil before shoveling the large serving into his mouth. Though he said nothing, his eyes lit up, his fork already moving through the entrée once again. “Slow down!” You chuckled just as you took your first bite. 

Daryl huffed, popping a meatball into his mouth. Shaking your head, you took another sip of water and focused on your own meal. The spaghetti was perfect if you did say so yourself, the spices you had added to the meatballs and sauce giving it a special something. It was delicious. 

“Wow, this is great! I did good, huh?” Fork halfway to your mouth, you paused, gaze on the man across from you. There was something in his eyes that you didn’t recognize. His hands were planted on the table, the fork pressed into the wood beneath his right palm. “Daryl? Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer, but his mouth was moving. No sound passed over his lips, and after a heartbeat, you realized that included breath. 

He was choking. 

“Daryl, oh my god!” Abandoning your fork to clatter onto the floor, you leaped to your feet and ran to him, palm colliding with the area between his shoulder blades. His left hand had come up to claw at his throat, his face red with the veins and tendons bulging. “Come on, damnit!” 

When the hard strikes failed, you curled your fists into the back of his t-shirt and yanked him to his feet. He staggered, his eyes wide and lips turning a violent shade of purple. 

Did you even remember the maneuver? It had been years even before the apocalypse when you had been trained for a babysitting job. You had never actually used it. Even with the spotty recollection, you had to try. 

Curling your fingers into a fist, you placed your hand just above his navel and folded your other hand over it. With a quick upward thrust, you felt him lift onto his toes and nearly tumble back on top of you. The second thrust was when you felt his heft begin to pull you down. 

“No, no, no! Stay with me!” A third thrust and his arms went limp, swaying loosely with the fourth attempt. “Goddamnit, Daryl!” The fifth try proved fruitful, the meatball dislodging and flying from his mouth and onto the floor. You had never been so relieved to hear a wheeze of air, though he finally crumbled to the floor and took you with him. “Are you okay? Talk to me.” You pleaded, your own breathing erratic. 

There was a pause, his gaze unfocused and his hand on his chest as if he needed to feel it rise and fall to believe it himself. Daryl jerkily nodded with a weak yeah and he struggled to sit up, only succeeding with your assistance. “Yeah, m’okay.” His voice was gravely and strained. 

Dragging him into a hug, you sobbed against his neck. “You scared the hell outta me!”

“Scared—the hell outta me.” He gulped and coughed, rubbing his throat as you pulled away. “Christ.” And there the two of you sat, Daryl in a daze and you coming down from the adrenaline rush. 

“I think I’ll make broth next time.” Your eyes slid over to him, finding his wide in disbelief. After a moment, though, he smiled and shook his head as he lowered it. 

“Might drown.” 

You barked a laugh, the pair of you still sitting on the floor. “Daryl Dixon, did you just make a joke?” The corner of his mouth was still ticking upward even as he angled his head in an attempt to hide it from you. 

“Ain’t no joke.” He snorted. “Your cookin’s deadly.”

[evilwriter37]

Whumpuary 2025 Day 7

Wings Will Only Get You So Far

Prompt: unfair fight

Rated: teen

Warnings: blood, broken bones

Relationships: N/A

Word Count: 1,267

Summary: Whumpuary Day 7. Hiccup has been captured by Krogan and Johann, who are suspecting that the Dragon Riders have been given special powers by the gods. Hiccup tries to escape.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whumpuary 2024 No. 7

"I didn't have anywhere else to go" | Bruises | Drugged

Whumpuary Prompt List

TW: kidnapping mention, bruises, drugged whumpee, exhaustion, fight mention, experiment mention

Whumpee stumbled through the city during the pre-dawn hours of the day, their progress severely hindered by strange exhaustion and bolstered by a panicked desire to keep moving. Nobody else was around, which was… good?

It was good. Other people would try to call the police.

The last thing Whumpee wanted to do was to get the police involved.

Because… because Whumper… Whumper would find them. That’s right, Whumper would find them. Whumpee didn’t want that.

Their thoughts moved slowly through their head as if swimming through honey. So it took them a few seconds to realize how silly it was that they had to remind themselves of what they did and didn’t want.

A spike of fear lodged in Whumpee’s stomach, prompting them to pick up their pace. They had to get to safety. 

They had to get to Caretaker.

As the thought crossed their mind in slow motion, it came bearing the sly bonds of doubt. What if Caretaker didn’t want to see them? That was the last thing Whumpee had said to Caretaker when they’d left after their fight. If I see you again, it will be too soon!

Whumpee paused, leaning on a nearby lamp post to catch their breath. Their face reddened with shame at the memory. They couldn’t remember what had sparked the argument, but it had escalated until Caretaker had said something… something unforgivable. Whumpee almost berated themself for not being able to remember before realizing that that was probably a good thing.

The fight was in the past.

How long in the past, Whumpee didn’t know. They weren’t sure how long they’d been held captive; their sense of time had been warped significantly by Whumper’s experiments. Whumpee groaned softly and pressed a hand to the side of their forehead. The bruise, put there by a furious Whumper at Whumpee’s lack of obedience, ached at their touch. 

I can’t have been held more than a couple days, they mused sullenly, but I have no way of knowing.

And right now, it didn’t matter. Whumpee needed someplace to hide, and Caretaker was the only person they could reach.

Motivation sparked, and Whumpee began walking again. Or tried walking. It ended up being more of a drunken stagger than actual steps being taken. Whumpee stumbled over an uneven patch of stone but caught themself on a convenient bench. If they fell, they suspected they wouldn’t be able to get themself to their feet again.

And then Whumper would find them.

And they would have to start all over.

No.

There would be no starting over.

Whumper would make certain Whumpee couldn’t escape again.

Whumpee quickened their pace. They needed to get to Caretaker before it was too late. Thankfully, the building where Caretaker lived was only another block away. Whumpee pressed the button for Caretaker’s apartment.

The ancient speaker above the list of tenants and buttons crackled. “It’s two a.m., asshole!” Caretaker snapped blearily. “You got the wrong place.”

“Caretaker?” Whumpee mumbled, leaning heavily against the wall.

A beat of silence. “Whumpee?!” Caretaker shouted, the cry immediately followed by a thump. The speaker crackled again. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

Whumpee couldn’t tell if they were angry or joyful. “I…” they hesitated for a heartbeat before shoving past their doubts. “I need your help. I… I didn’t… I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

The door clicked as it unlocked. “I’llberightdowndon’tgoanywhereplease!” Caretaker instructed, words moving so quickly that Whumpee barely understood them. The speaker crackled again before turning off. They stared at it before easing open the door and slipping into the lobby.

It was only sheer force of will that kept Whumpee upright at all. They would’ve collapsed long ago otherwise. But as they waited for Caretaker, their energy drained away like water in a leaky bucket, and they couldn’t stand any longer.

Caretaker rushed down the last flight of stairs to find them collapsed to the ground, still conscious but rapidly fading. “Oh hell,” they muttered before sprinting to Whumpee’s side. “What the hell happened to you? We—we need to get you an ambulance!”

“N—no…” Whumpee mumbled. They were… so tired. Their eyelids were as heavy as rocks. “You… you can’t… call the hos…hospital. They’ll… they’ll find me… and take me away….”

Caretaker’s eyes widened in horror. “What?!” 

“Please…” Whumpee begged, the edges of their vision darkening, “please… don’t let them… please….”

If Caretaker responded, they weren’t conscious long enough to hear it.

[lassofics]

I’m Fine

Word count: 977

Timeline: Post Season 3

Warnings: None

Summary: Roy is not fine. Keeley and Jamie both try to coax him into opening up.

Notes: This fic was created and is being published as a part of #Whumpuary2025 !! However, I used the alternate prompt “I’m fine” instead of the regular Day 7 prompts!

There’s been a very noticeable change in Roy Kent’s attitude.

Sure, he’s always been a grumpy old stubborn bastard. But things have taken a noticeable turn for the worse after Ted’s departure.

No one — not even Roy himself — had realized how close they’d been. But now, without him here, and with the pressures of being head coach on top of his normal life stressors, he’s really fucking struggling. But he’ll never admit that — not out loud and not to himself.

Everybody had noticed his suddenly worse-than-normal temper, his seemingly permanent scowl that never seemed to go away (even after a successful match), the way his jaw was always clenched and his muscles always seemed taut with tension, but nobody had dared to say anything. Until today.

“Babe?”

Keeley’s voice echoes from the kitchen as she slowly approaches Roy. Jamie, holding her hand, trails behind her.

Roy’s scowl deepens slightly, and he doesn’t even look up from the paperwork. “I’m busy.”

“I know,” Keeley says gently, then puts a hand on his shoulder that makes Roy flinch as if he’d just been slapped. But she doesn’t back down. “Me and Jamie just want a few minutes of your time, yeah? And then we’ll leave you alone.”

Her tone, sweet and soft, makes Roy sigh deeply as he finally looks up from the papers. He crosses his arms, looking between his partners skeptically.

“Make it quick.”

Jamie steps forward, his gaze much more softened than usual. “We just wanna make sure you’re okay, is all.”

Roy deadpans, his eyes narrowing. “Why wouldn’t I be fucking okay?”

“We’re just… worried about you, babes,” Keeley admits, gently squeezing Roy’s shoulder. “I mean… you’re always working, and-”

“‘Cause I’m fucking busy,” Roy all but snaps back, though he immediately feels guilty for it.

Seeing that Keeley’s gentle approach isn’t working, Jamie steps in. “You don’t have to be such a prick about it, though.”

Roy scowls deeper, shooting daggers at the other man. “Says the prince prick of all pricks.”

“Okay- guys, please.” Keeley lets out a frustrated sigh, then just turns to Roy, her heart aching slightly as she sees the stress on his face. “We’re not trying to upset you, and if you need space, we can give you space. But… bloody hell, Roy. You hardly even come to bed with us anymore.”

Roy scoffs and throws his hands up. “Well, maybe I’m not in the fucking mood for sex, Keeley!”

Keeley’s eyes widen slightly. “Oi. That is not what I meant.”

Jamie, unable to stop himself, chimes in with a sheepish expression. “Though, it would be nice if-”

“Jamie!” Keeley gives him a harsh nudge with her elbow, causing him to wince slightly and shut up immediately.

Roy just rolls his eyes and turns back to his paperwork. Jamie, ready to give up, just silently flips Roy off behind his back, a gesture that Roy doesn’t see. Keeley, however, spots this and elbows Jamie again, this time a little harder.

“Roy,” she says quietly. “We’re your partners. We’re not just gonna watch you keep… self-destructing.”

Roy clenched his jaw. “I’m fine.”

“You’re really fuckin’ not, mate,” Jamie points out, crossing his arms and giving Roy a downright dirty look. “Better give yourself a break before you get an ulcer, old man.”

“Jamie!” Keeley hisses again, but Jamie just chuckles.

Roy, on the other hand, does not. Instead, he just lifts his head, now yelling at Jamie. “I’m FINE! I’m fucking fine!”

Jamie, used to Roy’s raised voice by now, raises his own in turn. “No, you’re not! And you’re takin’ it out on us, and that’s poopy!”

By some miracle, Keeley somehow manages to stifle a laugh at Jamie’s word choice, maintaining her serious expression. “He’s right, Roy. We’re just here to help. You can’t keep pushing us away. It’s not good for you.”

Roy grits his teeth, narrowing his eyes. He stays silent for a few more seconds, almost revealing some vulnerability, but then he quickly steels his gaze, looking between the two of them.

He loves these two so much… but he can’t open up to them. He’s not built for it. The weight on his chest is his to bear — his and his alone. Maybe if Ted was still here, he’d get some help from the fucking Diamond Dogs… but it’s just not the same without the leader of the pack. The true leader.

“I need space,” he finally replies through gritted teeth, this time sounding a little less aggressive and a little more… exhausted.

Keeley’s expression softens. “Babe…”

But Jamie just scoffs. “Bullshit, Roy. You’re just too bloody scared to open up to us. Which is fuckin’ ironic, ‘cause both Keeley and me self have opened up to you.”

Roy clenches his fists, choosing to ignore Jamie, and stares directly at Keeley. “You said if I needed space, you’d give me space. And I need fucking space.”

Jamie opens his mouth again, but Roy sharply yells at him again. “I’m not fucking talking to you, Tartt!”

Keeley, sensing the tension, quickly grabs Jamie’s hand and puts her free hand over his chest in an attempt to calm him down. She’s just as frustrated, but she knows better than to argue with Roy — especially right now, when he’s under so much pressure.

“Okay,” she says softly, though there’s a definite worry in her voice. “We, uh… we’ll give you as much space as you need. But… you’re not alone, Roy.”

Roy wants to fucking scream.

I promise you that there is something worse than being sad, and that’s being alone and being sad. Ain’t no one in this room is alone.

He grits his teeth, suddenly feeling a lump in his throat.

Keeley turns away, still holding Jamie’s hand, and the two of them walk off, leaving Roy alone and sad.

[sorinethemastermind]

Whumpuary 2025 | Prompt: Unfair Fight | Pt. 1 of 3

 When Soren was sixteen, he’d sworn an oath.

 An oath to his kingdom. 

 An oath to his king.

 An oath to himself.

 That oath had gotten himself through some of the darkest times in his life. It had been strong enough for him to stand before King Ezran and plunge the blade of his sword through his father’s chest and out the other side. Even if it had only been an illusion in the end. Because he had sworn to do the right thing.

 To protect.

 To serve. 

 To die.

 Rayla had told him, one time, that when Moonshadow Elves set out on a mission, they swore a part of themselves. Their eyes for truth, their blood for justice, some other icky body part for some value they held dear. Rayla had told him she’d pledged her heart for Xadia. Since then, Soren had sort of thought he’d done the same.

 His heart for Katolis.

 His life for his kingdom.

 For his king.

 So when insurgents take the castle, Soren knows what he has to do. It’s not even really a choice. Not one he has to make in the moment, anyway. But one he made a long time ago.

 He doesn’t understand how so many of them got into the castle until he sees some of the guards helping them. The guards who had sworn loyalty to King Ezran. Clearly they don’t understand what an oath means. He plans to teach them a lesson.

 If they survive this.

 He burst into the king’s chambers to find him already awake and thankfully unharmed; sitting up in bed and glancing around worriedly. Bait is glowing a bright anxious purple and pacing back and forth before Ezran on the bed. He lets out a worried growl as Soren orders the guards inside the room out, telling them to hold the door. He doesn’t trust anyone, anymore. 

 Except maybe Corvus. Where the fuck is Corvus?

 He asks Ezran, “Where’s Corvus?”

 He's out of breath, glancing wildly around the room for something to slide in front of the doors. In the end Soren just piles a bunch of stuff there; a suit of armor, a cabinet, the empty birdcage still sitting before the fire.

 Ezran throws the blankets off, dropping to the ground in his pajamas and socks. “Soren, what’s going on?”

 “I need to know whe-” Soren cuts himself off. This is the king he's talking to, not just some kid. “Sorry. Insurgents have taken the castle. I don’t know who we can trust. Do you know where Corvus is?”

 “I asked him to go and find Callum.”

 “Find?” Soren’s eyes widen in alarm.

 “He wandered off again. I think to look for Rayla.”

 Soren let out a heavy sigh, all the frustration he has time for. Of all the nights. Of all the fucking nights.

 “Okay,” he pauses for a moment, glancing around the room before gesturing for Ezran to follow him. “Come here.”

 “Soren, what are you doing?” Ezran asks, following him around the room as Soren begins going along the wall, yanking on every picture hanging there and at every book on the shelves. “I need to be out there. I need to talk to them.”

 “Oh, no.” Soren shakes his head, “You can’t talk to these people. And I’m not letting you get yourself hurt.”

 “I’m king now. Aren’t these my people? Don’t I need to talk to them?”

 “Like I said,” Soren glanced back over his shoulder at Ezran behind him. “You can’t. They’re angry. Real angry. About all this elf stuff.”

 “Elf stuff?”

 Soren waves a hand absently, using the other to knock all the books off the shelves. He knows it's around here somewhere. “Elf stuff,” he confirms. “And dragon stuff. Just… Xadia stuff.”

 “But why?” Ezran exclaims, “Aren’t they happy we have peace?”

 “You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Soren pauses before the fireplace, staring at the bricks and rubbing his chin. There's a small layer of stubble on it, now. He was trying to see what would happen if he grew it out a bit. His hair, too. 

 Funny how yesterday what Corvus thought of his beard was the biggest concern he had. His eyes widen. 

 “Aha!” Soren reaches out, pressing one of the bricks. It recedes into the wall a bit and there's a grinding sound as the back of the fireplace begins to lever up, dust and soot flying everywhere. 

 He and Ezran cough, waving hands in front of their faces in an attempt to ward off the worst of the airborne detritus. When the opening has gotten as big as it's going to get, Soren gestures to it, nudging Ezran along.

 “Alright, in you go. And don’t come out until I say so. Not that you even can, it opens from this side.”

 “No, Soren, I can’t.” Ezran digs his feet into the carpet as Soren tries to push him towards it. “These are my people.”

 “Yeah. And they’re here trying to kill you.” Soren says, “Look, it’s really sweet that you want to reason with them. But they’re just not reasonable. Let me handle this.”

 “But-”

 “You’re not going to help anyone by getting yourself killed.” Soren reasons, placing a hand on Ez’s shoulder. “You trust me, right?”

 The kid stares up at him with those big eyes of his. They have bags under them, like he hasn't been sleeping well. Soren can't blame him. “Yes.”

 “Then get in the hole.”

 Ezran sighs, scooping Bait up in his arms and ducking into the fireplace. He stares out at Soren from the little nook, soot smeared on his face and clothes.

 “You’ll let me out as soon as it’s safe, right?”

 “Of course. It’ll be no time at all.” Soren assures him, “Trust me. I’m a Crownguard, this is my whole job.”

 “Okay. I do trust you, Soren.”

 He gives his king a smile, "Thanks, King Ezran."

 Then Soren shoves the brick into the wall again, watching as it springs back out and into place. There's another grinding sound, and Ezran presses back against the wall as the fake back of the fireplace slides back into place, sending another plume of dust and ash into the room. Soren coughs, covering his mouth. 

 He can hear them now, fighting outside the door, and unsheaths his sword, settling into the familiar defensive stance and holding his blade out before him. 

 It starts with the sound of metal on metal, the occasional cry or grunt from the other side of the door. Then the pounding begins, and he knows the guards must have either fallen or not put up much of a fight (he didn’t know which one is the right one to hope for, loyalty or life). Eventually the wood begins to splinter and he can see the stuff he’d stacked before the door beginning to shake as the hinges start to give way.

 The insurgents spill into the room all at once, in a wave, stumbling forward as their accumulated weight makes the door give way. Soren takes advantage of it as best he can, using their lack of balance to knock a few to the ground, his blade making short work of another. But there are more behind them who are ready, rushing forward with their weapons already raised. 

 Most of them are makeshift; civilians armed with homemade cudgels and farming equipment. But the guards had handed out as many real weapons as they could, and every guard they’d felled on their way here had meant another sword entering their hands. Anyway, cudgels and pitchforks hurt, too. 

 Soren tries to stand against them as best he can. He's the youngest Crownguard in the history of Katolis, after all. And the first Head Crownguard of King Ezran’s reign. He has a lot to prove. A lot to live up to. 

 And he had sworn an oath.

 So it happens gradually, in little victories and smaller losses. A traitorous soldier felled, but a cudgel to the back of the leg, making him stumble. A civilian disarmed, but a slash across the shoulder, making it sting with every swing of his sword. 

 Soren starts to lose ground, backing towards the balcony. (The same one he’d ended up on the last time people came for the king, though under very different circumstances). He kicks the doors open, spinning back around just in time to block a blow from a face he recognizes.

 They’d trained together when they were younger, joined the guard together, fought side by side against the assassins when they came to take King Harrow’s life. 

 Soren plants his feet on the ground, digging in and putting all his weight behind the blade as he holds them off. He can see his foe beginning to slide back and leans into it more.

 “Traitor!” he hisses, knocking Caspian to the ground. He rolls out of the way as Soren plunges his sword down at where he'd been, the metal sparking against the stone floor.

 Caspian leaps to his feet, sword at the ready again, “At least I’m not a fool.” 

 He swings at Soren again, more people coming to join him, still spilling through the doors. Soren is forced backwards, stumbling out onto the balcony under the onslaught, blade moving in a blur to parry every blow. Still some of them slip through; a shallow slash across his right cheek, a cut on his thigh, a blow to his ribs.

 He staggers, catching himself on the railing and pushing off to roll out of the way of an incoming cudgel. The blow sends little chunks of masonry falling into the courtyard below and Soren pushes himself to his feet quickly, ducking under another swiping blade.

 “Just tell us where the king is!” Caspian shouts, standing a few steps behind the others. 

 “Over my dead body!” Soren replies, knocking one of his assailants over the railing. They disappear over the side with a sharp cry.

 Caspian shakes his head. “A very poor choice of words.” 

 “Or-” Soren kicks another traitorous guard in the chest, sending them staggering backwards before bringing up his blade to block another sword, “-a very pointed one.” He twirls his blade through the air, leaving a slash across one of his attacker’s chests and another’s arm. “I would die for this kingdom. That’s an oath we both swore. I just intend-” he ducks out of the way of an incoming blow, “-on keeping mine!”

 Caspian snarls, stepping forward to meet Soren’s blade with his own. “I swore an oath to this kingdom. To protect it from monsters like the ones your king now welcomes freely into our lands. You are the traitor, not I.”

 Soren knees him in the stomach.

 Caspian doubles over, coughing, but before Soren can finish him off a cudgel comes flying out of the darkness to smash across the side of his face. He stumbles, steadying himself on the railing, vision spinning. Another blow hits him in the back of the shin and his leg buckles, sending him crashing to the cold stone.

 Still he fights, ears ringing, as they begin to close in around him, stabbing at whatever he can reach. A thigh, a shin, a foot (that person is very unhappy with him). But there are too many, and they're too close, not giving him enough space to get back on his feet. A blade swings towards Soren’s face and he blocks it too last minute, his grip on his sword wrong. He watches as the blade flies from his hands and away, clattering to the ground somewhere far below in the courtyard.

 Caspian steps forward, blood smeared across his face, a gash on his arm (Soren smiles at that, a little smirk at the traitorous guard’s expense).

 “It didn’t have to go this way,” he says, staring down at Soren.

 “Yeah. You’re right. You didn’t have to be such a traitorous sack of shit.”

 Caspian scowls, “Bring him inside.”

 Soren struggles as hands grab him, heaving him to his feet and pinning his hands behind his back. He throws his head backwards, feeling the impact reverberate through his skull as it collides with someone’s face. They cursed loudly, grip loosening on him just enough for-

 An elbow, hard and swift, to the face. And then blackness.

[galaxymagitech]

no one is coming (but I'm going to stay)

(Whumpuary 2025 - Day 7)

unfair fight | insomnia | "no one is coming"

For @kades-stuff, who requested Tim and Jason, comfort, and the prompts "insomnia" and "no one is coming." If you want to request a fic for another day feel free!

Summary:

After Jason reluctantly rescues Tim from torture by Two Face’s goons, Tim decides that he doesn’t want to be alone. The obvious solution? Move into his semi-murderous older brother’s apartment.

Jason is not amused, but grudgingly accepts his new roommate. He owes him one, after all.

Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Warnings: Implied Child Neglect, Referenced Torture

You can read it here or on AO3!

Jason opens the door to find Timothy Drake on his doorstep, head still bandaged from the kidnapping that Jason had (reluctantly) rescued him from just two days prior. And by the amount of blood the kid had been leaking by the time Jason got him away from Two-Face’s goons, Jason’s willing to bet there are a lot more bandages hiding beneath the kid’s overly large Superman sweatshirt. So, not only is Tim not supposed to be Jason’s problem, but he should be on bedrest.

And yet here he is, standing outside Jason’s apartment at 8 pm at night.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jason asks. Tim blinks at him. “I asked—”

“Can I stay?”

Huh? That takes Jason a moment to process and then he sees that the kid is carrying what appears to be a stuffed school backpack. Is he asking if he can have a…sleepover?

Yeah, no way is this for real. This has to be a hallucination or a trap or…or a practical joke. Yeah, maybe Tim’s taking a page out of Dick’s book.

Tim seems to take Jason’s silence for a refusal, rather than disbelief, because he starts rushing to reassure him. “You’ll barely notice I’m there! I can just sleep on the couch or the floor or whatever. I’ve got a sleeping bag. I’ll get my own food too—I won’t be a bother. And I’ll run comms for you if you want, or, like, I can pay you back or something. I—”

“Okay, stop,” Jason says, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. Tim immediately stops talking. This is…wrong. In the Tower, the little shit wouldn’t shut up. And he’s a Robin. Robins never follow orders. But here Tim is, quiet.

And, apparently, asking to stay with Jason.

Jason could ask why Tim wants to leave the Manor, but frankly? That sounds like too much of a bother. “Yeah, whatever,” he says. He figures he owes the kid that much, at least. If Tim wants a place to stay, he’s got it. And if it makes Jason feel like less of an asshole? Well, that’s a nice benefit. “You can take the couch. Just don’t touch any of my guns. Or grenades. Or bombs.”

“Trust me,” Tim says. “I have no interest in messing around with your booby-trapped weapons.”

“Good.”

Jason steps aside and watches as Tim enter the one-bedroom apartment. Tim places his bag carefully on the main room’s couch and then sits down, slumping against the back of the couch in exhaustion.

Okay, yeah. This is way beyond Jason’s paygrade (a paygrade which is currently nothing except a load of self-righteous bullshit from Batman—Jason refuses to accept any gear and steals it instead, because Bruce might think everything’s okay, but it’s not), but sue him. He’s curious. “Why exactly are you not at the Manor?”

Tim blinks at him again. Jason’s pretty sure Tim is concussed. How did the kid even get here? Why is he Jason’s problem.

Jason’s expecting something about Bruce being overbearing or benching Tim (not that Robin should be patrolling like this, but whatever, throw away all of Jason’s hard work, see if he cares). What he is not expecting is:

“Why would I be at the Manor?”

“Because you…live there?”

“I live with my uncle,” Tim says. Jason didn’t know Tim had an uncle, but whatever.

“Then why are you not with your uncle?” Jason shakes his head, not really waiting for an answer. Instead, he goes to the freezer to get started on his pre-patrol chicken nuggets.

Look. Jason knows how to cook. The truth is, though, he’s a full-time Crime Lord with a decaying empire. He doesn’t have time to actually do it. So, chicken nuggets. Everyone likes them anyway, except for maybe stuck-up trust fund brats. It’ll be funny to watch Tim internally debate over whether to turn his rich little nose up at the chicken nuggets or choke them down out of politeness to his host.

“I don’t know my uncle very well,” Tim answers. Which is ridiculous, because he doesn’t know Jason very well, either. And his uncle didn’t break into his baby superhero clubhouse to attack him. “And he’s out a lot. I mean, just.” He looks down at the floor, eyes fixating on a faint bloodstain that Jason hasn’t been able to get out. “When Two-Face’s guys had me, I didn’t have my tracker. I just kept thinking, ‘no one is coming.’ ‘No one is coming.’ And then you were there. But I forget that, sometimes, so I don’t want to be alone.”

Jason sighs and pops the chicken nuggets in the microwave. “And you didn’t think that maybe Dick or Bruce would be better company?”

“The Manor feels like it’s alone,” Tim says. “And if I tell Bruce my uncle’s gone a lot, he’ll get…weird.”

That is…interesting information that Jason does not care about. No, he’s not making conclusions and planning to investigate this mysterious uncle. Absolutely not. Letting the Replacement stay the night (multiple nights?) here is just because he still feels kind of bad about the Tower. Sure, Tim wasn’t hurt that much, but Jason can admit that beating up a younger, shorter, less-trained boy to prove that he was better was cruel. Bullying. Whatever you want to call it. So, yeah, Jason will let Tim stay here, but that’s about as far as his good will goes.

“Plus, Dick has enough on his plate without me.”

Yeah. Dick was in and out of the manor during the two weeks Jason spent there recovering from the explosion. During Jason’s encounters with him, Dick was all cheerful and loving and overjoyed that his ‘Little Wing’ was back. But when he didn’t know Jason was watching, Dick looked distracted and almost guilty. And Blüdhaven’s been having Deathstroke problems recently, so Dick is probably waist-deep in that mess too. “Okay,” Jason says. The microwave dings. He takes two plates and divides the chicken nuggets between them, handing Tim the smaller portion. Jason can always heat up more if Tim is still hungry.

“Oh,” Tim says. “You really don’t have to give me food.”

“What, not fancy enough?”

“No!” Tim grabs the plate and starts eating them. “I just meant you didn’t have to bother. I like chicken nuggets.” Did he even wash his hands? What the hell is wrong with this kid?

“Wash your hands, idiot.” Jason doesn’t care about Tim’s well-being. But if Tim gets sick and Jason is letting him couch surf, then Jason could get sick too. And that would suck.

“Whatever,” Tim says, but he does get up to wash his hands.

Another point in favor of something being really off. Robins don’t follow orders, especially when it’s for their own good.

But Jason has patrol to get to, so after Tim finishes the chicken nuggets, he gets dressed and leaves for patrol.

***

When Jason gets back, Tim is attempting to change his own bandages. Which would be fine, except this particular set of bandages is on his back, and he’s trying to use a hand-mirror that he’s attached to the microwave handle with a hair tie.

Jason spends several seconds watching this scene in pure confusion, before he speaks. “Let me do that.”

Tim startles. “Oh,” he says distractedly. “No, I’m fine.”

“No,” Jason says, rolling his eyes. “You’re not.” If the kid gets infected and gets sepsis here, his tenuous alliance with the Bats is over. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but that’s happening on Jason’s terms, not Bruce’s. So, no, Jason isn’t letting his dumbass replacement die of inadequate flexibility to tend to his own wounds.

“Really!” Tim insists. “I’m fine!”

Well, Jason can’t exactly blame Tim for not wanting his former attacker to be close enough to bandage his injuries, but Tim is literally the one who asked to stay at his apartment. “Either I help you or I’m taking you to Leslie.”

Tim shoots Jason a look of pure betrayal. “She’d tell Bruce!”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “She would.” He holds out a hand, and Tim reluctantly passes him the roll of bandages. “Sit down.”

The wounds on Tim’s back are…bad. When Jason had gotten there, the goons had been attempting to waterboard Robin, but obviously they’d tried other methods first. Jason doesn’t know what they wanted, but it doesn’t really matter. It never does. Whether they wanted information, bait, revenge, or even just stress relief, it’s Batman’s fault that a Robin was there in the first place. Jason’s fists clench and he tugs too hard on the bandage. Tim flinches.

“Sorry,” Jason mutters.

“Whatever.”

After that, Jason stops thinking and just bandages the wound as quickly as possible. “I’m going to get some sleep,” Jason says. “Don’t try to slit my throat.”

Tim crosses his arms. “I’m not you.”

Right. Jason winces. He was trying to be vaguely funny, but, well…maybe not the best wording. “I wouldn’t have actually slit your throat,” Jason protests lamely, despite knowing he very well might have.

“I needed stitches.”

“Because Catwoman got in the way and half-shoved you into the dagger.”

“Because you’re an asshole.”

“I’m the asshole who you’ve chosen to have a sleepover with,” Jason says. “I could always kick you out.”

He means to be teasing. He’d thought they were bantering. But instead, Tim goes stock still, like he’s actually afraid.

“Uh,” Jason says awkwardly. “I didn’t mean it?”

Tim blinks. Jason’s starting to think that’s his way of resetting his brain. “It’s fine,” Tim mutters.

“No, I’m, uh.” Sorry. Jason should say he’s sorry. But he doesn’t want to. Saying he’s sorry opens up the floodgates. If he says he’s sorry once, then everyone expects an apology for everything and—

“I was being rude,” Tim justifies.

Instead of apologizing, Jason just shakes his head and goes to his room.

***

Tim doesn’t leave the next morning, or the following evening, or the morning after that. Instead, he sticks around. Somehow, he gets into Jason’s files and flags a traitor, tracks down an international drug trafficker through a complicated series of shell corporations, and writes a memo on Hood’s increased city-wide approval ratings now that he’s toned down the murder to only when absolutely necessary and in his territory.

Jason scowls at the last one, but thanks Tim for the first two and says they’ll be helpful, even though he’s annoyed that the brat has access to his files. Tim seems to light up at the praise.

It’s weird, how much Tim seems to care about Jason appreciating his help. He even cooked dinner, an actual dinner, and even though it was mediocre, he hung on Jason’s every word when he asked how it was. And he’s constantly promising that he won’t be a bother if Jason lets him stay over one more night. Meanwhile, if Tim has contacted his uncle to tell the man where he spent the last few days, Jason hasn’t seen it.

So, Jason starts to investigate Tim’s uncle. He’s annoyingly boring. All his papers are in order. All his taxes are in order. All his everything is in order. Tim’s uncle is so unsuspicious that it’s actually…rather suspicious.

Not your problem, Jason reminds himself. But after a week of Tim staying in his apartment and displaying zero desire to fuck off back where he came from…Jason can admit it’s kinda maybe a bit his problem. Especially since Jason hasn’t even hinted to Tim that he should leave. (And Tim would leave, if Jason hinted. But Jason doesn’t know what’s going on with Tim’s uncle or why the kid wanted to stay here of all places, and he sort of appreciates the company, anyway.)

***

A week and a half after Tim showed up at Jason’s apartment, he deems himself ready to patrol again.

“Deems himself,” because he is absolutely not ready to patrol, and Jason doesn’t know what the fuck Batman is thinking letting Tim go out like this. But Jason’s stepping on a drug dealer’s fingers, asking him about one of his compatriots, when he catches Batman and Robin watching him from a nearby rooftop. 

Well, there goes any opportunity to shoot the guy in the forehead. Not that Jason was planning to do that, but it’s the principle of the thing.

The drug dealer gasps out an address, and Jason figures that’s the best he’s going to get, so he steps away and grapples up to the rooftop. “What do you want?”

Jason expects Bruce to ask why Tim randomly spent a week and a half living with him. But apparently, Bruce is none the wiser, because instead he tells Jason that he’s investigating a string of drug overdoses that he thinks might be connected to Jason’s current work.

It’s probably a lame excuse for supervision, but if it works, it works. Jason’s main concern isn’t punishing these people right now—it’s getting them out of his territory, and Batman has the connections to make that happen.

***

Now that Tim is going out on patrol, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that the kid is simply not sleeping.

Well, okay, he must be sleeping at some point, but at most it’s a few catnaps when Jason is out. Because Tim is never sleeping when Jason is in the apartment.

Maybe it’s a trust issue, but Tim literally came here. If he really thought Jason would murder him in his sleep, he wouldn’t have decided to be here. With that theory eliminated, Jason is completely at a loss.

He’s tried asking about it. Jason doesn’t know why he bothers, but he has tried. Answers have ranged from “I’m not tired” to “go away, I’m busy” to “of course I sleep!” to “what do you even care?” And Jason wouldn’t care. He’s not the kid’s babysitter. He’s not even technically his brother. But the bags under Tim’s eyes are growing day by day, he’s seen Tim stumble on patrol, and really, it’s getting ridiculous.

“You need to sleep,” Jason says, after he’s finally had enough. He sits across from Tim at the kitchen table, watching as Tim traces a deep score from a knife that Jason had recklessly thrown around a month back.

“I am sleeping,” Tim argues. So it’s one of those days, then.

“You need to actually fucking sleep, or you’ll get hurt on patrol.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” Jason feels his heart—not stop, but just kinda go quiet all of a sudden. The room feels like it isn’t fully there. “Sorry, I—I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I said that.”

“If I wanted you to get hurt,” Jason says slowly, “I wouldn’t have rescued you.” But he knows that’s not quite true. He rescued Tim because he saw a Robin being tortured, not because he cares at all about Tim. He let Tim sleep the night because he figured he owed him. And then he let Tim stay because he wanted the company but is unwilling to approach Bruce or Dick or Alfred.

When—not if—Jason ends up back on bad terms with Bruce again, he’ll probably end up fighting the Replacement. And, well. He isn’t exactly planning to pull his punches. Or his bullets.

But at the same time, Tim has slept in his apartment for almost three weeks. They’ve cooked together. They’ve even watched both of their favorite movies on weekend afternoons before they patrolled. 

So, Jason doesn’t have any right to feel hurt by Tim’s skepticism, but he feels hurt anyway. Because somehow, he’d been beginning to think he had a brother. A friend.

“I know,” Tim says. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He shakes his head, standing up. “You’re right, I’m tired and it’s affecting me. I’ll sleep.”

“Yeah,” Jason says, a bit gruffly. “You do that.” His voice sounds hoarse, and he doesn’t know why. Tim doesn’t trust him. He doesn’t have to. It’s whatever. Jason’s apartment is just a place for Tim to stay and maintain his minimum levels of human contact. It’s fine.

Jason turns away and starts walking to his room, but he feels a hand fall on his shoulder. He turns around to see Tim, who looks seconds away from crying. And Jason has never seen Tim cry. He didn’t even cry when he was being tortured, just coughed out whatever snarky comebacks he could think of. He didn’t cry in the Tower either. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean that. I know we’re…allies, or whatever now, and you’re letting me stay, and I’m really grateful, I am.” Tim’s hand is still on Jason’s shoulder, but now it’s more like he’s clinging to him. Like he can’t bear to let Jason leave. “I know you don’t want me to get hurt. I’m really sorry of accusing you of that. I—”

“Stop,” Jason nearly shouts. “Stop. Just—stop.”

Tim stops, shutting his mouth instantly. It reminds Jason of the day Tim first showed up. (Robins aren’t supposed to follow orders. That’s why the Good Soldier display case is so galling.) The kid’s face is pale, and Jason can see tears pooling in his eyes.

Tim has stayed in Gotham for three weeks, and his uncle—who lives in a completely different city—hasn’t asked about his location once. Tim has been living with someone who has nearly killed him twice and shown absolutely no inclination to leave. Tim has repeatedly attempted to prove that he’s worth keeping around, whether by offering money, mediocre cooking, help on cases, or his own invisibility.

There’s something wrong here, more than Tim just not wanting to be alone, and Jason’s going to get to the bottom of it.

Tim’s hand is still on Jason’s shoulder. In the three weeks Tim has been here, they haven’t made physical contact even once outside Jason dressing Tim’s wounds, and yet Tim is clinging like he’s afraid to let go.

“Let’s sit down,” Jason says. They sit on opposite ends of the couch. Tim folds his socked feet up onto the cushion—brat, Jason thinks, but it’s affectionate now, and when did that happen? “I’m not kicking you out.” Thankfully, Tim doesn’t start crying at that. Jason knows how to deal with traumatized civilian kids, but no idea how to deal with his hypercompetent little brother and current roommate bursting into tears. “But Tim—where the hell is your uncle?”

“What?” Tim stares at Jason, not blinking.

“Your uncle,” Jason repeats. “The guy you’re supposed to be living with? Edward Drake? Ring a bell?”

“Oh,” Tim says, shifting uncomfortably and avoiding eye contact. “What about him?”

“At this point, you’ve practically run away from home. Like, you live here. You don’t seem to have any plans to go back to Blüdhaven. Why?”

Tim shrugs. “He’s away a lot.”

“Edward Drake is currently in Blüdhaven,” Jason says. “Supposedly, at least. I tracked his train tickets.” He really, really doesn’t know what’s going on. Jason’s current theories range from Eddie Drake having kicked Tim out (which would explain why Tim seems to be terrified of Jason kicking him out) to the guy being some mafia boss that Tim is currently in hiding from. He had theorized that Tim is just being an overdramatic teenager, but Jason has dismissed that mostly out of hand—a normal guardian would definitely do something if their nephew disappeared for three weeks. “So. Why are you avoiding him?”

“I’m not—”

“Did you kick you out?” Jason asks. If this has to become an intervention, so be it.

Tim’s eyes widen. “No! No, definitely not.” He looks down, picking at his socks. “It’s just that. That he. Well. Hekindadoesn’texist.”

Jason’s brows furrow. “I’ll need you to repeat that, Timmy.”

“He…kinda doesn’t exist?”

“Your uncle…kinda doesn’t exist.”

“Yeah,” Tim confirms, like this is a perfectly normal situation.

“What does kinda doesn’t exist mean?” This was not in Jason’s list of theories.

“You’re gonna tell Bruce about this, aren’t you?”

And, well. Jason should. Because this kinda non-existent uncle thing sounds like a long-term problem, and…Jason was not planning for a long-term roommate. If he tells Bruce, this becomes Bruce’s problem. Bruce can deal with Tim’s quantum uncle or whatever is going on. Jason can wash his hands of the whole thing.

But Tim showed up outside his apartment. Tim asked for his help. Tim said that he didn’t want to be alone, and chose to stay with him.

So, Jason reaches out and slowly wraps an arm around Tim’s shoulders. When the younger boy doesn’t seem upset, he pulls Tim closer against his side. The warmth is…strange. Jason doesn’t think he’s been this close to another person outside a fight since…since before.

I missed this, Jason thinks, and then quickly strikes the thought from his mind.

“Nah,” Jason says. “If he doesn’t know, that’s on him. I’m only cooperating with him because it would make Alfie sad if we fought.”

“Oh,” Tim says, burrowing into Jason’s side. “Thank you.”

“So…what’s going on with your uncle?”

Tim hums. “I made him up,” he admits. “Faked paperwork and everything. Legally, he’s real. But he’s not actually.” He frowns. “I wanted to live on my own. I lived on my own a lot as a kid, I thought I could do it. But it was really lonely, and I went back to Blüdhaven after Bruce was done monitoring me for a concussion, and I just. No one was coming, Jason.”

Tim said that on the night he first got here as well. No one is coming. “You could have gone back to the Manor. You could still go back to the Manor.” It actually hurts to say it. Because after spending three weeks thinking about how annoying it was that he was suddenly housing an insomniac teenage gremlin, Jason got used to having Tim around.

“I don’t want him to know about the fake uncle,” Tim says. “He’d be really upset. I might have to stop being Robin. And…everything is so far away in the Manor. I can always hear you when I’m here. But Wayne Manor is just so quiet.”

Jason gets that. “Okay,” he says.

“So, I can stay?” Tim asks.

“Yeah,” Jason says, as though it wasn’t already obvious. (But maybe it wasn’t obvious to Tim. Even if his uncle is fine—due to not existing—Jason is pretty sure that Tim’s obvious abandonment issues have to come from somewhere.)

“Thanks,” Tim says quietly, curling up even further. Before Jason knows it, Tim’s breathing has evened out.

Finally, Jason thinks. He’s sleeping. He gets up to go clean his guns, because it’s a good way to get his thoughts in order.

Halfway through Jason’s third pistol, the reason that Tim hadn’t been sleeping becomes extremely clear.

***

Jason runs into the apartment’s main room, thinking that the place has been attacked. Instead, he just finds Tim, who has fallen onto the floor and is now thrashing about, muttering incoherently.

Jason knows you’re not supposed to wake someone up if they’re having a nightmare, but Tim could get hurt like this. So, Jason tries to shake him awake by the shoulder.

Tim’s hand grasps his wrist tightly, fingernails digging in almost hard enough to bruise. Jason winces, but doesn’t let go. “You’re gonna leave,” Tim mutters deliriously. “You’re gonna—you’re—”

“It’s alright,” Jason tries saying, keeping his voice soothing. “You’re okay, you’re—"

Tim cries out, flailing and nearly hitting his head into the bottom of the couch. That’s it. Sleep is important, but not getting another concussion is even more important. “No one is coming,” Tim whispers. “No one’s…”

“Tim!” Jason grabs both of Tim’s shoulders and shakes him, hard. Finally, Tim’s eyes snap open. “It’s okay. You’re not there.” He doesn’t know where Tim thinks he is. Two-Face’s dungeon? Somewhere else? It doesn’t matter. “It’s Jason.” That could backfire, horribly. Jason isn’t exactly synonymous with safe for Tim. But apparently, Jason currently ranks low on the list of threats, because Tim’s body seems to deflate.

“You’re gonna leave,” he says quietly.

“This is my apartment, you idiot. I’m not going to leave.”

“Didn’t stop my parents,” Tim says. He blinks, seeming to come back to himself. “Sorry. That was. That was dumb.”

“Not dumb,” Jason says. Tim is pretty much the poster boy for abandonment issues. He sits down next to Tim as the younger boy pushes himself up into a seated position and scootches away to give Tim space. Tim, however, doesn’t seem to want space, because he ends up leaning against Jason anyway. Jason pretends that doesn’t make his heart swell with warmth. Even after everything, Tim wants to lean on him—in more ways than one.

“Sorry,” Tim mutters. “I didn’t—I didn’t want to wake you up. This happens a lot.”

“That’s dumb.” Jason shakes his head. “You kinda need to sleep, Tim. Nightmares or not.”

“You would totally have been mad if I woke you up when I first got here.”

Yeah. Jason would’ve. But he would’ve gotten over it. Probably. “Well, I won’t be mad, now,” he says. “You’re staying here, and you’re sleeping, instead of just napping at random times when I’m gone. Alright?”

“I might wake you up,” Tim says. “I woke my dad up a lot.”

“Was he mad?”

“He was injured,” Tim argues. “He needed his sleep to recover.”

Yeah. But it’s not like Tim can just…not have nightmares. “Well, I don’t have a job,” Jason says. “Worst comes to worst, I can sleep while you’re at school.”

“Oh,” Tim frowns. He seems to rethink his next few words, but then ends up plowing straight ahead. “I don’t go to school.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “You graduated early?”

“Nah, my dad stopped paying the tuition. And then he died.” Tim shrugs. “I’m sixteen. Uncle Eddie signed my forms to drop out.”

That idiot. Tim is supposed to be smart, and yet he’s dropped himself out of high school. “Do you even have any plans for after being Robin? Your dad stopped paying your tuition, so I’m guessing something happened with your finances. How do you even have money?”

“Trust fund,” Tim says. “And not really. I’m just gonna be Robin. I’ll be good enough, and then I won’t have to stop.”

It’s not a question of being good enough. But Jason doesn’t voice that. He’s well aware that he’d seem biased. “I’d kill to go to school again.”

“You’d kill anyway,” Tim says, not incorrectly. “And you can literally get a GED. You could even fake a diploma and go straight to college. If I need one, I can hack myself a high school diploma or GED or whatever. But I don’t need one, so it’s fine.”

“Whatever,” Jason says. Tim wants to waste his future? Not Jason’s problem. At least not right now. Currently, Jason’s problem is making sure Tim sleeps. “You should go back to sleep.”

“Fine,” Tim grumbles, climbing back up onto the couch. He’s going to fall again, isn’t he? He could hit his head. Get extra concussed.

“Just sleep in the bed,” Jason says.

Tim tilts his head. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Don’t touch my books, though”

“Trust me,” Tim says. “I have absolutely no interest in whatever nerd books you’re reading.” “Trust me,” Tim had said. “I have no interest in messing around with your booby-trapped weapons.” Well, Jason had seen Tim poking at one of his firearms, so maybe Tim will somehow end up into classical literature.

“You’re a nerd too, Timmy.”

“A computer nerd. At least I don’t read historical romance!”

“It wasn’t historical at the time!”

“Austen has weird sentence structure!”

“It’s called a semicolon, dumbass.”

Jason is still laughing when he turns out the lights and leaves his room.

***

Now that Tim isn’t worried about bothering Jason with his nightmares, it’s like his insomnia has been turned on its head. Because Tim sleeps everywhere. Jason finds him asleep next to the refrigerator, curled up underneath his desk, even snoozing on the apartment building’s rooftop. It’s weird, but…Jason can’t exactly complain. Tim’s eyebags are growing less pronounced by the day, and his cooking has gone from mediocre to actually okay. And neither of them are lonely anymore.

You don’t miss what you never had. Jason was satisfied, with the blood and revenge and justice.

But now that Jason’s had a brother living with him—now that they’ve cooked food and solved cases and watched movies and even had an accidental pillow fight together—Jason is terrified of losing this. Because he still cares about his territory, still cares about the city, but the main thing on his mind isn’t Red Hood. It’s whatever topic Tim was rambling about yesterday, and his plans for dinner (because Jason doesn’t have enough time to make a real dinner every night, but he can make time, and cooking is faster with two), and the book he’s going to make Tim read the next time the kid loses a bet.

Jason is happy. And it’s not going to all come crashing down. He won’t let it.

***

Jason may not live by hopping safehouse to safehouse, but he is the Red Hood, and he is pretty high-profile. He can’t afford to stay in the same place forever.

Two months after Tim showed up at Jason’s door, Jason decides that now is the time to move. He tells Tim that they’re changing apartments one afternoon, while Tim is doing his homework (Jason wore him down eventually, although he’s pretty sure Tim’s sudden willingness to go to school was less about the homework and more about his new conspiracy-obsessed “friend”).

Instead of the casual acknowledgement Jason expects, though, Tim freezes. For a moment, Tim is so still that Jason doesn’t think he’s breathing. And then—“Oh,” Tim says, sounding devastated. Is Tim really that attached to the place? It’s not like bloodstains and knife furrows are particularly good decor. “I guess. That’s fine. I mean, I can move back to my place, then.”

Before Jason knows it, he’s rushing across the room. “No! I mean, not unless you want to, Tim,” he says. “There’s an apartment a few blocks down with two bedrooms. And if Dick wants to stay over, he can take the couch.”

“You’re…not kicking me out?”

“We’re roommates,” Jason says. “Okay? You don’t need me to let you stay. And I’m not planning to leave. Got it?”

Tim smiles in response. “Yeah,” he says. “I got it.” 

[suspensefulpen]

Whumpuary Day 7: Kneeling

TW: Captivity, Torture, Chain Restraints, Dehumanization, Pet Whump, Conditioned Whumpee, Collars

@whumpuary

“Kneel.” Whumper demanded.  

“Never.” Whumpee bit back. A fist sent his head in a different direction, knocking the wind out of his chest for a brief moment. 

“I’ll ask again. Kneel.” 

“Make me.” The same fist went into his stomach, cutting his breathing off once again. He wheezed, leaning over in pain. Whumper wrapped her hand around his throat, stopping him from breathing altogether. 

“I’ll ask you again. And if you don’t listen, I’ll be doing more than just punching you.” 

That was how the first few weeks of Whumpee’s captivity went. Everyday, Whumper came down and demanded the same thing every single time. Kneel. Whumpee hated that word. Then one day, Whumper came up with some bright idea. 

“I’ve been thinking lately.” She spoke as if she wasn’t preoccupied with attaching chains to him. “Since you won’t kneel for me, I’ll force you to kneel for me.” She stepped away to admire her work with a wicked grin. One chain went around his neck, one around each wrist, and one around each ankles. The chains were short. If he tried to move it would cause him pain or choke him. He’d be kept in a kneeling position as if he were a statute. Whumpee didn’t know how long he’d been stuck like that. Was it days? Weeks? Months maybe? Regardless, it hurt like hell and he just wanted it to end. 

Sometime after that, Whumper came into the room with a collar. After putting it around Whumpee’s neck, she started treating and talking to him like a dog. 

“Why did I ever decide to keep you? I should throw you out like a stray. Real dogs learn better than you do.” 

“Bad dog! Do I need to start hurting you again to make sure you understand?” 

“Don’t you want to be a good boy so you can get treats? I’ll maybe even take you on a walk if you’re good enough.” 

Whumper would pace around him in circles for hours. 

After that, Whumpee’s memory was somewhat faded and fuzzy. But if there was anything he remembered it was that demand. 

“Kneel.” 

Without a second thought, Whumpee fell onto his knees. His red, dirty, bruised knees. He couldn’t control it. Even in spite of the pain. He didn’t even realize he did it until moments later, when he looked up at the proud yet evil grin on Whumper’s face. 

“Good boy.”

[apricitywinterswrites]

Am I Half The Man I Used to be? (I Doubt It) - Whumpuary D07

Am I Half The Man I Used to be? (I Doubt It)

Chapters: 2/2

Word Count: 3,359

Summary

"Are you even listening?" Two-Bit felt a swift kick to his ribs land, and he groaned slightly. They were already sore from the first round of kicks the group had landed on him. He almost wanted to know what shoes they wore, but they were probably too expensive for Two-Bit to be wondering about. "You… are a fucking prick." Two-Bit uttered, wincing as a hand grabbed his hair and shoved his face against the concrete below him. He had no doubt that it was going to scrape, there was enough force behind the action to do so. "You might have to repeat what you said," one of the other Socs uttered quietly, and Two-Bit could have sworn that this voice was way too young sounding to be jumping someone like Two-Bit. Though maybe there was enough of the other guys that it didn't matter. It certainly felt like it.

Or, or, the one where Two-Bit gets jumped and is left in really bad shape. Luckily, Marcia happened to be looking for him and Two-Bit gets taken care of by Marcia and Randy during the aftermath. Title from | Dial Drunk | by | Noah Kahan |

Day 07 of Whumpuary2025 (@whumpuary) || Unfair Fight | Insomnia | "No one is coming."

You can also read | Am I Half The Man I Used to be? (I Doubt It) | on Ao3!

Warnings Include: Fights, Blood, Mention of Death, Small bit of Suicidal Ideation, Mentioned Deaths of Minors, Mentions of Near Drownings, Small Bits of Suffocation

……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ……… ………

(Pt.1)

Two-Bit had to wonder how he'd pissed off a whole gang of Socs, or what he'd done to even catch their attention to piss them off. As far as he'd been concerned, there had been no reason for them to jump him; they were on the east side, Two-Bit was for once minding his own business, and there was six of them and only one of him.

This was going to be one unfair fight, Two-Bit just knew it.

"Well, lookie here," Two-Bit rolled his eyes, wondering how cliche they could be. He's pretty sure he heard several characters, the bad guys, say that in the movies that Ponyboy watched. "We have ourselves a sleazy greaser wandering around like he owns the place."

"Well we are on the east side, you know, Greaser Territory." Two-Bit smarted, watching the group of six wearily. One of the Socs, a real mean looking one that had a scar on his cheek that Two-Bit found himself actually curious about how he got it.

He hated that he thought the scar looked tuff, most scars were, but this one also made this particularly Soc looking mean. Mean wasn't always a good thing, especially when two groups were so unbalanced.

"Well… Greaser's won't be around forever…" The Soc smirked, Two-Bit raised an eyebrow as he tiled his head to the side. He was itching to grab his blade, scare them off maybe. Two-Bit was watching the one Soc too much, he forgot to put his back to a wall…

Two-Bit forgot to keep his eyes on three of the Socs, who managed to flank around him.

He only realized his mistake when they must have been in position, because the Soc with the scar smirked.

"Grab him." Two-Bit's eyes widened as he turned to at least attempt to defend himself. He was just a few seconds too slow, and he was knocked to the ground. He had the breath knocked out of him as two of the Socs jumped on him, pinning his arms to the ground with surprising strength.

Two-Bit winced when he tried to jerk his arms out, testing his ability to escape their hold. He groaned when a punch landed on his jaw. His vision was swimming and he was struggling hard. Two of the other Socs were quick to pin his legs down when he'd nearly managed to throw the one sitting on top of him off.

Two-Bit went to say something, anything at all really, but a hand wrapped in a bandana covered his mouth faster than Two-Bit could think of. The main Soc laughed cruelly, an expression of glee on his face, which was still twisted into a cruel smile. Two-Bit glared, feeling a small bubble of panic when he realized that his nose was also partially covered.

Two-Bit tried to jerk his head to the side, though the Soc sitting on top of him had a pretty tight hold on his jaw. Two-Bit couldn't move much. He was panicking, and it was making his movements jerky at best, every movement a desperate attempt to get a little more air…

A chilling thought struck Two-Bit at that moment, was this how Ponyboy felt? Trapped underwater and jerking, struggling to get above so that he could breathe? Glory, Two-Bit could only imagine Ponyboy's fear, could almost feel Johnny's anger at just the thought of it now.

He'd been pissed before, but now knowing a small bit of what Ponyboy could have been feeling, Two-Bit was pissed.

Two-Bit managed to twist one of his legs and got it free, which he immediately used to kick wildly. It must have worked, because there was a shout of surprise before his other leg was released too.

Two-Bit wasn't wasting this opportunity. He twisted, still kicking wildly, jerking and actually managing to knock the Soc sitting on top of him off. That was about as far as his luck was going to go, though, as when he twisted to get his arms free, a Soc kicked him pretty hard in the back, knocking the breath that he'd finally managed to get back right back out.

And then there was another Soc sitting on his back with their hands around his throat and the gag was back in place, and he was being kicked. Two-Bit was, for the first time since he was ten years old, terrified out of his mind.

Two-Bit's vision was blacking out a little, and he could hear laughter all around him. The pain he was feeling was only getting worse.

"I found a blade! Oh boys we're in for a fun time."

Two-Bit's heart stopped.

He'd nearly forgotten about the blade he kept in his back pocket. A sleek switchblade with a shiny black handle that took Two-Bit nearly over two hours to swipe and get away with. His most prized possession that he took the absolute best care of, despite never using.

"Let him breathe, I want to hear his cries." Two-Bit wanted to roll his eyes, but an influx of oxygen felt more important when the hands around his throat disappeared, the bandana disappearing alongside them. He gasped, coughing as he got the chance to breathe.

Part of his mind was still stuck on the fact that they had his beloved switchblade, the other on the situation. And in the back of his mind, all he could think about was what Ponyboy managed to tell the gang about the night he and Johnny were jumped.

Two-Bit had always had a nasty habit of comparing two situations that were only barely similar.

"Are you even listening?" Two-Bit felt a swift kick to his ribs land, and he groaned slightly. They were already sore from the first round of kicks the group had landed on him. He almost wanted to know what shoes they wore, but they were probably too expensive for Two-Bit to be wondering about.

"You… are a fucking prick." Two-Bit uttered, wincing as a hand grabbed his hair and shoved his face against the concrete below him. He had no doubt that it was going to scrape, there was enough force behind the action to do so.

"You might have to repeat what you said," one of the other Socs uttered quietly, and Two-Bit could have sworn that this voice was way too young sounding to be jumping someone like Two-Bit. Though maybe there was enough of the other guys that it didn't matter.

It certainly felt like it.

"Maybe you're right…" The only Soc who has truly been talking sighed. "Very well." He sounded so annoyed as he said it. Two-Bit caught a glimpse, and it almost looked like the guy was going to reenact everything, just like how he did it before, even if it came across as forced. "No one is coming." The leader, Two-Bit had finally decided to call him, declared with a laugh. "No one is coming to save you. You're at our mercy now."

Unfortunately, that was a thought that quickly left Two-Bit's mind. There was no force behind the words, or the laughter from anyone. They found this to be a game that they didn't care how many times they had to repeat, it would always amuse them.

Two-Bit snorted, rolling his eyes even if he knew the other's words rang true. He'd managed to upset his mother's boyfriend and got kicked out of the house, and Darry was still picking up his brothers from the events of not even two months ago.

Dally would have been 18 now, and yet he was still 17. Buried in the ground in the cemetery in town, forever stuck on the East Side. Johnny… Johnny was buried with him, forever unable to leave like Two-Bit knew that Johnny and Ponyboy had planned.

"What's so funny?" Two-Bit hadn't even realized that he'd started laughing. Two-Bit snorted again, smirking as he tilted his head and raised his eyebrow.

"You think I care if anyone comes to my rescue? Me? No, no, I'd rather fight my way out." Two-Bit responded, he would have shrugged if his arms weren't held so fiercely behind his back, tight enough that had he even tried it would have hurt him. "I'm a greaser, it's what we do, you know."

Two-Bit groaned as a swift kick was delivered to his ribs, feeling a little uneasy as a knife was pressed against the back of his neck. It wasn't the worst situation Two-Bit had ever been in. No, he'd been in worse situations, even if he wasn't the one that all the pain and suffering had happened to.

"We could kill him and no one would even care…" The Socs might as well have stabbed him already, Two-Bit didn't believe that no one would care. He had the remnants of the gang that would care. "We could finally avenge Bob…" The Leader of the group almost sounded starstruck at the idea. Two-Bit felt sick.

"Isn't that a little far?" One of the younger Socs, Two-Bit had pegged him to be around 15, but even that was stretching it, interjected.

"Lukas, if you weren't going to participate, why did'ya even come with us?" Another one of the Socs huffed in annoyance. The knife at his neck pressed a little further against his skin, like it was warning him from trying to escape or fight back while they were distracted.

Two-Bit thought about doing so anyways.

The sound of a car revving in the distance distracted the Socs even more. Several curses flying as the knife sliced down from whatever shock the Soc holding it had felt. Two-Bit cried out, gasping from the blossom of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn't get the chance to open them back up before a swift kick was delivered to his head.

(Pt.2)

Marcia stared in horror at the boy that was laying helpless and unconscious on the ground. She'd recognize Two-Bit any day of the week, even when he looked beaten into a bloody mess. She carefully moved forward, kneeling down next to Two-Bit's limp body, resting a hand carefully on his shoulder.

"Oh, Two-Bit…" Marcia's breath left her in relief when she saw a small rise of his chest. She knew she wasn't strong enough to lift or carry him back to her car. Marcia looked around, spotting a phone nearby. "I'll be right back," Marcia murmured, gently brushing Two-Bit's hair out of his eyes before getting up and running back to her car.

She kept some money in her car for instances where she was stranded. She could only hope, really hope, that Randy would at least hear her out.

She fiddled with the quarter, moving quickly without running, and hurriedly inserting the coin and dialing Randy's house number. She bit her lip as she listened to the ringing, hoping that Randy would answer her.

She was about to give up hope when the phone stopped ringing before a hesitant voice spoke.

"Hello?"

"Randy!" Marcia felt relief rush through her.

"Marcia?" Randy sounded confused. Marcia turned so that she could still see Two-Bit. Worry was the only thing that kept her on the phone, and what prompted her to speak.

"I need your help…" Marcia felt tears welling up in her eyes.

"What happened? Where are you?"

"The help isn't for me," Marcia took a small breath. Idley, she wondered if Randy had heard her. She had spoken pretty quietly.

"Who needs the help?" Randy asked. Marcia closed her eyes as a single tear fell. This could make or break the remaining bits of friendship that she still had with the other. She wasn't sure if she could handle that, losing him as her friend. She already had a strained relationship with Cherry, and that was tearing her apart. "'cia?"

"It's Two-Bit. He's hurt real bad Randy, please." There was silence for a few moments. After a minute, Marcia felt a small sob escape her. He wasn't going to help. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called, I-"

"Where are you. Where is he? How bad?" Randy's voice sounded shaky, and Marcia felt relief rush through her once more. She relayed where they were, eyes opening and landing on Two-Bit once more, swallowing tightly. "I'm on my way."

"Thank you," Marcia breathed. Randy had hung up before she had said her thanks, but that was okay. She would just tell him again when he was here. Marcia hung up the phone, rushing back to Two-Bit's side to wait.

When Randy arrived, Marcia could only feel even more relief that he was alone. She wasn't sure where he fell in the group after Bob died, or if he ever hung out with their friends, but she knew that their old friends would have only wanted to hurt Two-Bit more.

"Randy," Marcia was shaking as she felt another sob building in her chest. Randy rushed from his car, having parked behind her car, eyes widening in shock when he took in the situation.

"Woah, okay," Randy's eyes were wide as he took in how bad Two-Bit looked. Marcia could only wonder why he hadn't fought back, a deep seated fear of him having not been able to taking effect in Marcia.

"Where are we taking him, he… Marcia, he needs a lot more help than I think we can give him." Marcia shook her head. If there was one thing she had learned about Two-Bit Mathews, was that he hated hospitals with a burning passion.

And she didn't think he'd let her pay the bills that would come from the trip.

"My house, please, we can't, he won't like being brought to a hospital." Marcia uttered, "I can't move him myself." Her breath hitched as Randy analyzed her. He was looking for something, and Marcia could only hope that he found his answer soon.

"Okay." Marcia sighed, looking towards Two-Bit and moving her hand from his side. There was some blood on her hands, and she swallowed thickly. She was shaking harder than she thought was possible for a person, yet she was very clearly proven wrong. "Move, I'll bring him to my car," Marcia tensed up, a fear rushing through her at having Two-Bit out of her sight. She'd have to deal with it, but it scared her.

Randy rested a hand on her shoulder, she turned her head and found Randy was crouched down next to her. There was an expression of understanding on his face as he squeezed her shoulder.

"I can explain away blood in my car, and I know how to get rid of it. I'll be right behind you, okay? The entire time." Marcia shuddered, nodding once at Randy's assurance. She moved so that Randy could pick Two-Bit up, and she ignored the flutter at the easy lift Randy did once Two-Bit had been lifted enough to get Randy's arms around him.

"Open the back door for me?" Randy asked her, and Marcia nodded as she pushed herself up from the ground. She ran ahead of Randy, opening the door. She was a little surprised to see a tear drop land on the back of her hand. She swallowed nervously as she looked away.

Randy was careful as he put Two-Bit in the backseat; there was a carefulness there that Marcia doubted she would have seen months, if not just some weeks ago. Marcia let Randy shut the door, though her eyes were still on Two-Bit. She could see that there was a cut on his neck, so precariously placed. It was seemingly the main source of the blood covering him.

"Marcia," She looked over at Randy, whose face held a look that told Marcia that she was being too obvious. "Let's go to yours, okay?" Marcia nodded, turning towards her car.

Her thoughts were twisting and turning, mind racing as she got into her car. She purposefully ignored the blood on her hands that was now on her steering wheel and on the gearshift. The blood that was on her keys that belonged to Two-Bit.

She hated fights. She hated when those she loved were hurt or injured.

Marcia was driving, she needed her thoughts on them getting to her house safely.

Marcia couldn't sleep. Her mind was stuck on the image of Two-Bit, laying in the guest room in some of Randy's spare pajamas that didn't quite fit right. They were a tad bit big on Two-Bit, and it made him look smaller than he was.

They'd gotten Two-Bit to her house, and Randy had her go take a shower as he took care of the obvious injuries on Two-Bit, namely the one on his neck that had Marcia's heart racing every time she saw it.

Randy had taken care of Two-Bit, and from the moments she was able to see and watch, Randy was more gentle than he ever had been with Bob. At least, to Marcia's memory.

But once it became night, and Randy had instructed her to go to sleep, her thoughts from earlier had come back to haunt her.

What kind of fight had he been in that he was left in such rough shape? Where were his friends that she had seen have his back more times than he had probably realized. What had he done to piss off whoever he had?

She had made a cup of tea late into the night, when her room had become too stifling for her to pace. She was too nervous, too worried about Two-Bit, to pick up a book to read either.

Which is why she was now in the kitchen, a mug of peppermint tea cupped carefully in her hands as she let herself think. She was hoping that Two-Bit woke up in the morning, or at least sometime during the day. She wasn't sure what she would do if he was unconscious for longer.

The longer he wasn't awake, the more likely something much more serious had happened… Which meant that they would have to take him to the hospital.

"You should be asleep, 'cia." Randy uttered quietly. Marcia turned towards him, surprise rushing through her as she set her cup down quickly. She took a deep breath, a shuddering breath escaping her audible in the silence. His face softened, and Marcia could only feel herself starting to cry in earnest once more.

"Randy-"

"He's going to be okay, you know." Randy moved forward, pulling her into a hug after she set down her mug of tea. She buried her face against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him and letting herself fall into the comfort that Randy was providing.

"I know, but-" Marcia cut herself off. "He looked so bad, who would want to hurt him so badly? What did he do to them?" Marcia asked, voice shaking as she cried. Randy gently rubbed her back as he tightened his hold on her.

"I will find out." Randy uttered, Marcia shuddered. There were a few times that Randy had ever sounded so angry about something, vowing to do something in return. Most times it involved someone hurting or slighting Marcia. "But you need sleep, Marcia. I'll keep an eye on him for the night, alright?"

"Okay," Marcia sighed, letting Randy lead her back to her room, after she grabbed her mug of tea. She spent too long making sure it would be something that would help her, she was not wasting it.

"Finish your tea, get some sleep. I'll wake you up if anything changes about him, okay?" Marcia nodded, moving into her room and waving goodnight to Randy. The door shut and Marcia sighed, moving towards her bed and setting her mug on the bedside before climbing in.

She thought about grabbing her book and reading for a while, but she knew that Randy would probably check on her in an hour. He always did have such a protective streak. She wrapped her blankets around her carefully, grabbing her mug and slowly sipping.

There was nothing she could do now, and Randy was pretty good at patching people up.

She stared down at the drink in her hands with a conflicted mind.