#working to exhaustion

[jasmines-library]

Tired Eyes

WHUMPTOBER DAY 26: Prompt: “working to exhaustion”

Fandom: Batfam/DC

Summary: It’s been a long day, and you’re too caught up with work to take care of yourself, so it’s up to your brothers to do it for you.

Warnings: Exhaustion, overworking, none really it’s more fluffy than anything.

Word count: 1.2K

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You weren’t tired. No. You just needed to rest your eyes a little, that was all.

The screen of the computer had begun to hurt your eyes, making your temples to throb so, with your elbows planted firmly on the table, you began to massage them to ease the pain, but here you found your eyes dropping closed and your head falling towards table. The dim lighting of the cave didn’t help much either.

As soon as your head hit your clammy palm, you jolted awake, sitting up abruptly and straightening your back against the chair, snapping back to the mountain of work that you needed to get done.

Your fingers moved sluggishly against the keyboard as you typed up the reports. It had been a busy week and so you were left with a large pile of unfinished essays to type and not a lot of time to do them. It was late; the rest of the boys had returned to their beds, deciding to write their reports the following day, but you were already behind which meant that despite the ungodly hour you were still plastered to the chair.

Reaching blindly for your coffee with one hand you wrapped your hands around the ceramic and brought it to your lips. The drink was lukewarm and bitter as it ran over your tongue, but you were desperate for the buzz that the caffeine gave you.

You hadn’t realised that the sun had crept up of you until Dick strolled into the room, barefoot and in his pyjamas. He did a double take when he saw you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Y/n?” He asked, frowning at you. At the sound of his voice you glanced over at him briefly, noting his messy hair. He observed the fact that you were still wearing the same clothes as you were when he went to bed last night. “Did you even go to sleep?”

You shook your head, continuing to press your fingers into the little plastic squares not even nothing to look his direction as you continued to work. “Nope.”

He narrowed his eyes. “How long have you been awake?”

“Dunno.” You shrugged. “What time is it?”

“6”

“ ‘Bout…26- 27 hours?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/n. You need sleep.”

“I will. I just need to get this done first. You can get me another coffee though?”

“Y/n-“

“Sorry Dick, can’t hear you over my cleverness.”

He rolled his eyes, but snatched the cup from your hand anyway and went to prepare breakfast.

It seemed like forever before you finally entered the last word on your essay slumped back against the chair. You were feeling exhausted and your body had began to grow stiff from sitting in the same place for so long, so after submitting it you shuffled into the kitchen where your brothers were sat lounging on chairs.

“Woah, Y/n.” Damian said through a mouthful of bacon that he had piled onto his plate “You look like hell.”

“Thanks Dames.” You scoffed. “Just what a woman wants to hear.

“I didn’t mean it like that-“

“She hasn’t slept.” Dick interjected.

Tim narrowed eyes at you over the top of his book. “What? Why?”

“I had too much to do, Jaybird.”

“Well then go to bed now.”

“Can’t.” You grabbed a slice of toast and slid it onto a plate. “Still got too much to do. Besides, I’m not tired.”

“Sure.” He rolled his eyes and went back to his book.

The rest of the day dragged on. You had busied yourself with small tasks that needed to be done during the day and then once all of those were done, you had spent some time in the training room to work on your technique, but your movements were slow and well below par so eventually you gave up, slipped off of the blue mat and dragged yourself towards the showers.

You twisted the dial all the way to the left, waiting for it to settle to an even temperature as you stepped out of your clothes. When you climbed into the shower, the cold water stung your skin as it ran down your back but it kept you wide awake and on your feet so with shaky hands you grabbed the shampoo bottles and began to massage it into your scalp. Although you were in and out quickly, by the time you were done and stepped out of the shower your body was wracked with shivers. Wrapping a thick white towel around you, you dried yourself off before changing into something comfier and creeping back down the stairs now feeling slightly more awake.

You made your way into the library, where shelves filled to the brim with books lined the walls. You ran your fingers against the shelves and noted that when you pulled your hand away you had collecting a thin sheen of dust.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Tim was rounding the corner to return his book that had been absentmindedly flicking through the all day but found that it didn’t give him the thrill he was looking for, so he had wandered back to the library to select another on me when he heard you shuffling around.

“But it needs to be done-“

“Alfred will do it.” Tim told you, placing a large hand on your shoulders and steering you away from the shelves after you had selected a book. A blue hardback covered dainty little flowers embroidered along the spine.

“But he already has so much to do.” You protested.

“It’s his job, y/n/n. And you need to get some sleep.”

You sighed. “I’m not tired, Tim. Seriously lay off it.”

He raised his hands in surrender and wheeled away in a huff. You settled down on the plush sofa, bringing your knees to your chest to read under the gentle light and revel in the silence for just a few moments. Tim settled opposite you, sprawling out across the other couch.

For the next few hours the only sound that filled the room was the gentle flick of turning pages. That was until the other three came bundling in, but you didn’t notice. You had drifted off into a mindless sleep.

You were woken to a a gentle nudge on your shoulder and you sat up abruptly.

“Hmm? What?”

“You fell asleep.” Jason told you.

“No I didn’t…” you mumbled.

Jason pursed his lips. “I think you did.”

You blinked at him.

“Seriously, y/n just go to bed.” Damian told you.

You contemplated for a moment before hauling yourself up onto your feet. You stumbled across the room when a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over you and you were forced to grip onto the counter to keep yourself upright. When you moved to take another step, dragging your feet along the carpet you stumbled again.

“Alright. That’s it.” Dick stood up and moved across the room with one big stride, picking you up effortlessly and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Hey! Put me down.”

Someone snickered behind you.

“No can do little bat. You’re going to bed.”

He hauled you off to your room ignoring your remarks and pointless excuses. When he reached your door, he threw you over his shoulder and onto the bed. You tried to crawl away, but he just grabbed your ankle and pushed you back onto your pillows.

“Sleep.” He told you firmly, using his voice that only came out when he was ordering the rest of you around during a patrol. You pouted, glaring at him through hooded eyes, but he just gave you a little smirk, drew the curtains and moved to the door ignoring your antics.

“Goodnight, y/n. Sleep well.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 25 ⛤ DAY 27 ->

Taglist:

@deans-spinster-witch

@senjoritanana

@amaryllis23

[whumpypepsigal]

Whumptober 2023 | No. 26

Working To Exhaustion

The Flash s04e15: “I've been at this for a while.”

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

[aceofwhump]

Whumptober 2023

Day 26: Working to Exhaustion

9-1-1 3x03

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

[gierosajie-art]

Whumptober 2023 Prompt List | No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.” | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

"We're banning you from paperwork for the rest of the week."

Oh how the turntables have turntabled

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2023

No. 26 Working to exhaustion

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (platonic/early relationship)

Setting: Prison era

Warnings: Symptoms of sleep deprivation

“This has been the worst day!” You drove your knife into yet another softened skull, instinctively angling your head to keep the dark blood and rotten brain matter from splashing across your face. The walkers were overwhelming the prison fences again. It was taking more and more manpower to get it under control each time. 

Daryl scoffed from your left but said nothing, simply stabbing any corpse within reach. Carol was on your right, nodding with a quick “sure is” in between pushing back against the failing steel and thrusting her own knife forward to keep blood-and-death-stained teeth away from her hands. 

It took hours to get the situation under control, nearly dusk before the fence workers hauled themselves inside with collective groans and shuffling feet. Dinner had come and gone but everyone was too tired for food at this point anyway. 

“Who’s on watch tonight?” Rick queried while rotating his sore shoulder. Daryl didn’t respond verbally, just raised a loose fist in the air while trudging up the stairs to his perch. You came up beside the former sheriff, both of you watching the archer disappear at the top. “You’ll be with him?”

“You know it.” You answered with a nod. Rick patted your shoulder and you parted ways. When you reached the top of the steps, you had hoped to find Daryl resting on the mattress. No such luck. Well, he was on the mattress but sitting propped against the wall, checking over his crossbow. He was undoubtedly getting ready to head up to the tower early. 

Daryl hadn’t slept in at least three days. You weren’t sure what was keeping him awake, but you’d hear him at night, moving around the prison like a restless spirit. Only you knew what to listen for when it came to the archer. 

The way he tapped the railing rhythmically on his way to the upper level and back down again. His blunt nails made little noise but it was enough. 

His steps were damn near silent save for the small scuff of his boot when he seemed to favor his left leg in the slightest way. Maybe an old injury. Maybe just the way he walked. You never asked and figured if he wanted you to know, he’d tell you. 

You knew he had been pacing the prison over and over, keeping watch without anyone knowing. He always seemed to be in his perch when people began to shuffle out of their cells in the morning, none the wiser. 

Except you. 

He looked almost ready to keel over, at least to your eyes. Rick and Carol were worried too. The archer had stumbled at the fence today. Just…off balance, giving a walker the chance to grab his wrist. You had sliced through the decomposing flesh so quickly and closely that you were afraid you had actually cut him. But if it had scratched him…

“Hey, you.” You plopped down on his mattress hard enough to jostle him on the other side. You earned an irritated scoff but he kept to what he was doing. He really did look poorly. The circles around his eyes were so pronounced, how could anyone not notice them? Maybe they did and just didn’t find him approachable or feared what he would do if they snitched to Rick. He wasn’t the friendliest of chaps to those outside of his inner circle. Hell, sometimes he was even less friendly to those closest to him. 

“Ya need somethin’?” He regarded you with a sidelong glare and a raised brow. He was usually never so coarse with you. 

Sleep deprivation. You told yourself. “Just the pleasure of your ever-inviting, always hospitable company.” You smiled as he scowled. He really was a sourpuss tonight. Biting your lip, you watched him get his things together and quickly shuffled over on your knees to stop him when he made to stand. “So I was thinking,”

“Don’ hur’ yerself.”

“Ha Ha. Dixon’s got jokes.” You deadpanned. When he rotated his hand in the air to signal for you to continue, you wrinkled your nose at him and stuck out your tongue. “Anyway, I was thinking I’d take first watch tonight. You could come hang out up there with me, catch some z’s.” He already appeared prepared to balk at the idea. You sighed and sank back to sit on your heels. “You look tired, Daryl.”

“M’fine.” He muttered, a little too quickly. 

“You’ve been on three runs in two days. You clear the fence. You hunt. You dug most of the graves for the ones who died of the flu. You fix shit when it’s not working. You take double watch shifts. You…wander around when you should be sleeping.” 

His expression morphed right in front of your eyes: indifferent to angry in 0.025 seconds. “Ya keepin’ tabs on me?”

“No!” You shook your head adamantly. This was not going well. “I just…notice things.”

“Righ’.” He sneered. The archer grabbed his things and stood. “Good talk.” He snapped. You were up and laying a hand on his arm before he could take the first step toward the stairs. 

“Daryl, we’re just—”

“We?”

Shit. “Yeah, we. Your friends, Daryl. We’re worried about you. Ever since—”

“Don’ go there, Y/N.” You watched his hackles rise: muscles tensing, shoulders leveling just below his ears. You had hit a nerve. 

“So, this is about Merle.”

“Don’ say his name like ya gave a fuck ‘bout ‘im!” 

He spun on you so quickly that you actually thought— even if only for a split second— that he was going to hit you. You reeled, the back of your foot hitting his mattress. Off balance, you fell onto it and stared up at his looming figure with wide eyes. 

“Daryl.”

“I don’ need a babysitter!” He hissed. He swayed a little and blinked hard before turning away with a grunt. You watched him go, still shaken by his behavior. Daryl hadn’t acted that way toward you since the early days on the Greene farm. There was very little time you spent apart, aside from runs you weren’t designated to go on. 

Since Merle died, the bowman had become distant, withdrawing from everyone. You tried to keep him grounded, but it only seemed to irritate him more. 

Regardless, your worry outweighed the hurt. 

You pushed yourself up and ran down the steps, sorting through things you could say or do to convince him that he needed to rest; that he didn’t need to do this alone. Aside from using the stock of his crossbow to knock him out so you could drag him to bed, you weren’t coming up with much. 

No matter what, you weren’t leaving him in that tower alone tonight. 

It was well past sundown, darkness covering the prison. You hadn’t brought a flashlight. Actually, you hadn’t brought anything. It shouldn’t have surprised you when you didn’t see Daryl until you almost tripped over him. He was just sitting on the ground near the tower, his knees up, arms laying across them. His head was down. A fresh wave of worry nearly knocked you over. 

“Daryl?” You approached him slowly, almost like a wounded animal. When he looked up, you couldn’t make out much. 

“M’fine.” His voice had lost all the heat it had fired at you only moments before. 

“Okay.” You didn’t push, fearing it would only make him withdraw further. You sat down a few feet away. “Forgot my flashlight.” He only hummed but you could see as he lowered his head again. 

The two of you sat in silence for a while, long enough for Glenn to come down from the tower. As he approached, he raised his flashlight. You couldn’t see his face but knew he had to be wondering why Daryl hadn’t already shown up early as he normally did. Your eyes flickered to the archer, his head still bowed, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. He wasn’t asleep. The slow flexing of his fingers told you that much. His usually keen senses were dulled from exhaustion. 

Your gaze shifted back, your head shaking slowly. You jerked your chin toward the prison, hoping Glenn got the message. He must have picked up on something because he nodded at you as he passed by, waiting until he was sure you could see him. A concerned look was thrown toward Daryl as the flashlight was passed off to you but then he pressed on toward the metal door. 

It wasn’t until that door closed with a dull thud that Daryl flinched, raising his head and looking around somewhat wildly. You were quick to reach out but drew back your hand just before your fingertips could stroke across his bicep. 

“Hey.” You whispered, directing the beam upward so as not to startle him further. He slowly turned his head toward your voice, his muted ocean eyes blinking slowly. Weariness was settling on him heavily. The way his eyes would close for a few seconds and then quickly nictate was a sure sign of microsleep. Daryl was dangerously close to collapse. You needed to get him inside. “Daryl?”

His eyebrows raised at the sound of his name but his gaze remained unfocused. You chewed on your lip, weighing your options. 

“Daryl, let’s go inside, okay?”

The archer tilted his head, moving a little quicker. “Got watch.” He rasped. It almost sounded like a question. 

“No, Maggie’s gonna take it.”

“Nah, s’my watch.” Daryl climbed to his feet in slow, tremulous movements, swaying backward like his crossbow was weighing him down. He staggered toward the wall, slapping his palm against it to keep his balance as he inched toward the tower. 

“Daryl, you’re exhausted. Your body’s going to shut down if you don’t rest!” You followed at his side, hands hovering as if you could hold him up when he inevitably fell. 

“M’fine, Y/N. Gotta be.”

“But why? Why do you have to be fine?”

“Stop.”

“Are you trying to die?” Your voices were crawling higher while Daryl’s steps were growing slower. 

“Leave it, Y/N.” The archer stumbled to a halt, wiping at his eyes and blinking furiously to clear his blurred vision. 

“What if you fall from the tower? Down the stairs? What if you pass out on the run tomorrow when there’s no one to keep the walkers off you? What if—”

“We was gonna rob the camp.” 

Your back went straight, head shaking in perplexity. “What?”

“Merle n’ me. We was gonna rob ya’ll n’ take off. Leave ya with nothin’. Leave ya— the kids—” He couldn’t meet your eyes, his own betraying him with hot tears that he was fighting like hell to hold back. 

Your expression softened, everything suddenly making sense. Nothing from the quarry mattered now. You were all together. He had stayed when he never meant to. “Daryl, you—”

“Never told Rick or…or Carol. Never told you. I gotta make it righ’, Y/N. Fer me n’ fer…fer Merle..” The look he gave you was desperate, pleading. You realized instantly that this was a glimpse into Daryl’s soul, laid bare in a moment of weakness he’d hate himself for later. 

With tears in your eyes, you did the only thing that felt right in that moment. You closed the space between you and hugged him, slipping your hands beneath the crossbow to hold him tight. “You’ve made it right, Daryl. A thousand times over, you’ve made it right.” 

The archer crumbled, the only things holding him upright were the wall at his back and you pressed against him. 

“Merle was… he didn’…” 

He slipped into silence after that, never bringing his arms up to hold onto you. You knew it was because he just didn’t have the energy. 

“It’s okay.” You soothed, just listening to him breathe while you figured out what to do next. The door to the prison closed, the sound audible to you from around the corner. Maggie would appear any second, likely with Glenn in tow. “Daryl.” He didn’t respond. Had he passed out? “Daryl, can you walk with me?”

Relief washed over you when you felt some of his weight shift, followed by a resigned “yeah.” When you maneuvered away from him, you slid yourself underneath his arm, continuing to offer support. Just as you took the first step, the beam of Maggie’s flashlight danced from around the corner. You could only pray she would recognize the delicate situation and act accordingly. 

When two silhouettes came into view, you held your breath. They were headed straight for you. Daryl was weak and pliant at the moment but should he realize someone other than you could see any vulnerability, it was unlikely he would remain that way. 

You saw the very moment that Maggie— thankfully — grabbed hold of Glenn’s arm and steered him away in order to give you and Daryl a wide berth. You finally breathed again once you had rounded the corner and the archer remained quiet at your side. 

He was clumsy on the steps leading to the door and again on the stairs to his perch, but you managed to keep both of you from face-planting. It was necessary to keep him standing for a while longer. If you allowed him to sit on the mattress, he could just fall over and you’d never be able to get his crossbow off his back. 

“You with me?” You asked softly, ducking from under his arm to stand in front of him. He was doing well keeping himself on his feet even if he was swaying. When you cupped your hand over his chin and tapped your thumb against his cheek, his eyes focused and found yours. “I need to get this, okay?”

Hazy blue orbs followed you while you lifted the strap over his head, forced to stand on your tip-toes. It was a graceless but successful effort. Once the weapon and his bag were on the floor, you indicated for him to sit. He complied but not without a weak scowl. 

“Don’ need ya ta baby me. I got it.” He said, with little to no bite. 

“I’m not babying you, Daryl.” You crouched in front of him and brushed at his hair. It had grown just enough to be in his face. It was soft against your fingertips, if not a little greasy. You absently wondered how long he would let it get. With a smile, your attention returned to the task at hand. “I’m caring for you. There’s a difference.”

Your eyes locked, neither of you daring to look away. A moment that should have felt uncomfortable bordered on a version of intimate. Daryl looked away first, a light flush coloring his cheeks. Your tongue slid across your bottom lip, finding it suddenly dry. 

“Let’s take off your boots.” You reached for the laces but he slid his foot out of your reach. 

“Why?”

“Because you’re about to crash and burn for quite a while and you can at least do it comfortably.” It was reasonable, but so was his excuse not to. 

“Need ta be ready. Anythin’ can happen.”

You mulled it over and nodded. “You’re right. How about this?” The archer was swaying where he sat now, fading fast with the temptation of a mattress and pillow just behind him. “You take off your boots and I’ll leave mine on.” The perplexed expression on his bone-weary face was almost comical. 

“The hell you havin’ yer boots on gonna do ta help me all the way up here?”

“Because I’m not going anywhere.” You stated firmly, intense gaze daring him to argue with you. You expected he would and prepared yourself for it. 

But he was just too damn tired. 

“Alrigh’.” 

You smiled at the top of his head while clumsy fingers worked at the laces, taking longer than necessary but still ending with his boots sitting against the wall. 

“Great.” You weren’t about to tell him how to go to bed. The less he had to argue about, the better. You watched him crawl toward the pillow and all but collapse once he reached it, facedown with a smothered groan. 

His blanket was like all the others, thin and itchy, but you could probably cover him with garbage bags at this point and he wouldn’t care. You pulled the material up to his shoulders and then climbed over him to sit on the other side with your back against the wall. 

After a moment, he turned his head toward you. “Ya really gonna sit there the whole time?”

“Every minute.” You chuckled when he pulled a face. “I promise not to be a creep and stare at you.” His features relaxed. He even offered a shadow of a smile, eyelids appearing to grow too heavy to keep open. 

“Ya… really don’… hafta stay.” He muttered between breaths, sound asleep just as the last word left his lips. 

“I know. I want to.” I’ll always stay. For you. 

[losthavenmine]

Whumptober 2023 Day 26 || Working to Exhaustion

Fathers and Daughters (2015)

[whumpetywhump]

Whumptober Day 26 - Working To Exhaustion

At A Distance, Spring Is Green - Ep. 4

Memorist - Ep. 11

Racket Boys - Ep. 15

The Glory Of Youth - Ep. 11

Tokyo MER - Ep. 5

[one-piece-aus]

Day 26 of Whumptober with Uta X reader please?

Of course! (Apologizes for the delay)

Whumptover Day 26

Uta x Male!Reader

"Uta!" You casually wave at the pop star.

She gasps, "[Y/n]!" She rushes over and embraces you.

"I knew it was you, how have you been?"

Uta pouts as she pulls away to fix her hat and sunglasses. You could only laugh since it's not your fault the disguise was easy to see through. Then again, you have known her since you went to middle school together, perhaps you recognized her better than others.

"My cover could've been blown because of you," she said, dodging the original question.

"My bad." You held your hands up, chuckling as she glanced around paranoid. "Look if you're that worried, here."

Uta yelped in surprise as you swung your big [f/c] jacket over her shoulders. Her pale cheeks began glowing red when she glanced away in a tsundere manner. "You didn't need to do that."

"You're welcome." You grin, linking your arms together and start walking. "Where ya headin'? I'll walk ya there."

"Hmm, fine. But don't expect me to buy you anything."

"Why would I expect you to buy me anything?" You give her a weird look. "I'm just walking you there."

"O-oh..." Uta retracted her tongue and thought for an answer. "Well, who would walk someone somewhere without wanting a treat out of it?"

"Uh, hello, maybe I just want to hang out with you," you replied. "What kind of friends have you been hanging around? It's not good to hang around the bad crowd, you're better than that, you know what I'm saying."

Uta stared at you. How long has it been since someone saw her as a person? Days, weeks, months, years? You act the same as you did when you were in the same class with her, casual, chill, you're the reason she went through that tomboy phase. Now she's an idol, a person you see everywhere, yet you see her. Just her.

Uta glances away, blinking to grasp reality. She hadn't realized how tiring the route was...

"Hey, you good?" You ask, noticing her spacing out.

"no- Yeah, I'm good." She pats your arm. "It's just been a while since I had... you around. It's nice."

She smiles. Smiling to mask the pain. Smiling to hold her tongue back. Her pride too strong to show you how tired she is of the idol life. Her pride too strong to let her call out to you, tell you how much she lost herself to fame to the point she can hardly recognize who is looking back in the mirror.

[isharaneith]

Whumptober 2023 – No. 26

“Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

Like, reblog or comment if you save, please.

[atimeofyourlife]

Whumptober day 26

rated: t | wc: 691 | prompt: Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.” Steve working himself until he collapses from exahustion post s4

Steve felt lost after the first battle with Vecna. He felt helpless against everything that was thrown at the group. So he threw himself into anything and everything that he could, taking as little time to himself as possible. It started with the volunteering. Family Video was shut for a couple of weeks for repairs to the minor damage that had happened, so he didn't have any work to do. So everyday he was at the school, offering any help that was needed. It was repetitive, mind-numbing work, but it was something to keep him busy.

It wasn't enough. The days at the school were almost too easy. Just standing behind a table, folding and sorting donated clothes. So he offered to help fix up Hopper's cabin once he was done with volunteering. Something a bit more physical to help wear him out. And he knew they needed all hands on deck to make the cabin properly habitable for at least five people, as well as how it was almost becoming a hub of activity for making plans for what would happen next. Steve might not have known much about property repair, but he was pretty good at following instructions and at being the muscle, lifting and carrying the heaviest items to where they needed to be. It helped to wear him out, but it still didn't feel like enough. He still needed to be doing more.

As soon as Max and Eddie were cleared for more visitors, he started spending time at the hospital with them. When the others thought he'd gone home to sleep. He would sit by their beds for as long as he could without anyone else coming in. Trying to reassure himself that they were going to be okay. He tried to formulate plans in his head, on where they could go after they were discharged. As long as his parents stayed away, they could stay with him. But he knew there would need to be some adjustments needed on the house to make it suitable for them. And he wasn't sure if he could manage it, or even if he could, if his parents would accept him making such alterations to their property.

Then Family Video reopened. Steve took on as many shifts as he could around volunteering, helping fix the cabin, and visiting the hospital. And there were plenty of shifts to go around considering most of the staff had vacated Hawkins after the earthquake. They were operating on a staff of three, so even with reduced opening hours it kept them all busy. Even with everything he had taken on, Steve still felt like he could be doing more. No matter how tired he was starting to feel, he needed to make sure he was doing everything he could to help.

Once the patrols were established, Steve was one of the first to sign up. Hoping that would make him feel more fulfilled. He was running on very little sleep, rarely getting more than an hour or two a night. The patrols pushed his body to the edge, spending hours almost everyday wandering around Hawkins. Checking the gates for activity, checking the woods for decay, checking everywhere for creatures that should not be there. He was really starting to feel the effects of all he was putting his body through, but he didn't know how to stop.

Until a planning meeting. He'd been busy for the whole day before, the he'd been out at three am for a patrol, then he spent a few hours at the school helping with the volunteer efforts, and then he had a four hour shift at Family Video. He was dead on his feet by the time he walked in the door of the cabin, but did his best not to let it show. He could follow the conversation at first, but soon everyone's voices blurred into a dull mumble. His vision went blurry, and it felt like the room was spinning. He tried to move to a chair, but his limbs felt heavy and uncooperative. And then everything went blank as his body hit the floor.

[l4ndojpg]

Whumptober 2023, Day 26: Working to exhaustion/"You look awful."

fandom: criminal minds | characters: spencer reid (centric), jennifer jareau, david rossi, aaron hotchner | ship: none | trigger warnings: ableism | content: on a case, local officers treat the team badly, dad!hotch, team as a family | word count: 1.7k.

“You look awful,” JJ says seriously, pulling up a chair beside the table Spencer’s working at. 

“Thanks,” he says, pulling a face at her. She doesn’t smile.

“No, seriously, Spence, did you get any rest last night?” 

“A little,” he says, avoiding her gaze and studying the geographical profile in front of him, “but this is more important.” He rubs a tired eye and chews on the end of his pen. 

JJ sighs. He really does look awful, dark purple bags under his eyes and two days worth of stubble littering his chin. He’s wearing his glasses - further proof he didn't sleep last night and forgot to put in his contacts this morning, and he’s got on yesterday's clothes. 

“This case isn’t more important than your well-being,” she says gently. “And you know you work better with sleep and food in your system. When was the last time you ate?”

Spencer shrugs nonchalantly, ignoring most of her words, and pushes himself out from the table, standing up to study the board, frowning. She can see the gears turning in his mind as bounces up and down on the balls of his feet adding up whatever it is in his head that is starting to come together. But she can’t ignore how obviously tense he is, how his fingers tap agitatedly against one another, the permanent frown creased between his eyebrows. How jumpy he’s been. Something is clearly wrong. 

“Come and take a coffee break with me,” she offers, but he shakes his head. 

“I’m okay, thanks.” He doesn’t look at her. She exhales heavily and pushes herself up from the table, re entering the main room the team are using. Hotch and Rossi walk in at the same time as her from the other side of the room. 

“Did Morgan and Emily go take a look at the first crime scene again?” she asks tiredly. 

“Yes,” Hotch says. “Can you two go look at the second one? I think they both need re inspection.” He gestures to both Rossi and JJ, who nod. 

“Where’s Reid?” Hotch asks, frowning.

“Still in there,” she jerks her head towards the breakout room Spencer’s working in. “I couldn’t convince him to take a break.”

Rossi sighs. “Kid’s overcompensating for something,” he says wisely. “Someone’s gotta talk some sense into him before he collapses from exhaustion.”

“I don’t think he’s going to listen,” JJ replies, pursing her lips and wiping a hand across her face tiredly. She’s been growing more and more concerned about Spencer as his behavior has become more self destructive the longer the case continues, and they’ve all approached him without much luck.

“I’ll speak to him soon,” Hotch promises resolutely. “Go look at the Walters house again and let me know what you find. Check in with Garcia, too.” 

JJ and Rossi nod and take their leave. After a moment, Hotch sighs and enters the room Spencer’s in. 

“Reid,” he says, and Spencer jumps about a foot in the air, an expression of fear flitting across his face when his name is said, before he realizes Hotch is the one saying it. Hotch frowns. 

“Hotch!” He attempts to straighten up without much success, and rubs at his eyes as though it’ll get rid of his tiredness. “I think I’ve got something here. Depending on what Morgan and Prentiss find-,”

“Reid,” Hotch says again, more seriously. “I appreciate that this case is important and that we’re running out of time. I would like to hear your theories in a moment. But please,” he gestures to the chairs at the table, “sit down a moment.”

Spencer advances to the table cautiously, like he knows he’s about to be lectured. He all but melts into the chair when he’s there. Hotch takes up the chair next to him, scans him concernedly for a moment, then speaks. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” He asks.

Spencer grimaces, and his eyes flick away from contact with Hotch’s. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “Why would something be wrong?”

“You’re overcompensating,” Hotch echoes Rossi’s words from earlier, “and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

“I’m not,” Spencer says, rapidly tapping his foot on the floor, “I just want this case to be over.”

“Why?”

“I just-,” Spencer exhales, still not looking at Hotch. It takes him a moment to gather his words. “I really want to go home,” he says finally, in a small voice. This is not what Hotch expects him to say. His eyebrows raise in surprise. 

“Is everything okay? Is your mother alright?” He says quickly, his mind jumping to the worst conclusions possible. Spencer nods, still avoiding Hotch’s gaze. 

“She’s fine. I just, uh. I don’t like it here. Much.” His anxiety is obvious now, his fingers shaking and interlocking and repeating the process, his leg bouncing up and down. 

“I know when you’re not telling me something,” Hotch keeps his voice gentle. “Please, Reid. Spencer. You can talk to me”

Spencer exhales heavily, rubbing at his forehead. 

“I just - you’re just going to make a big deal out of it. And I don’t want that. I just want to prove that I can solve this case and get out of here,” he says, a little bitterly. Hotch’s surprise grows by the second. He reflects on Spencer’s words: ‘I want to prove I can solve this case,’ and something clicks, suddenly. 

“Did someone say something to you?” Hotch says, trying to keep his voice even. “One of the officers?” Small town local officers are always difficult to work with and this bunch have been no exception. They’re often made up vastly of backwards thinking older men, who feel emasculated by the FBI coming in to solve their case for them. He’s already had a few harsh words with one of them after he overheard them using derogatory words to describe Prentiss and JJ. Hotch knows his team can all take care of themselves, but there’s always a risk that Morgan or Prentiss will blow up at them and get in trouble with the Bureau, which he doesn’t want. He’s been careful to keep an eye on his team, but Reid has been glued to the geographical profile while the rest of them have been out in the field, so there have been plenty of chances for one of the officers to have had a chance to say something to him that Hotch hasn’t caught. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Spencer murmurs, staring at his knees, wrapping his arms around his midriff. 

“Spencer,” is all Hotch says, his voice low. Spencer looks up, finally, and makes eye contact with Hotch, sighing shakily and gives in to whatever has been eating away at him. 

“I know that I’m smart,” he starts. “I know that. It’s an incontrovertible fact. I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute. I know I can do things  that no one else can. That’s the beauty of our team. We are all exceptional at different things, it’s why our success rate is so high. But when-,” he inhales shakily, and Hotch’s frown deepens, “but when people who don’t know me meet me they make… assumptions. They only see the things they don’t want to. Like when I stim. Or when I refuse to shake hands with them. These officers,” he gestures vaguely at the door that leads into the main part of the station, “they don’t like people…. like me. I heard them say…” His voice cracks, and he pushes up his glasses, blinking and looking away, clearly unable to go on. 

Hotch’s blood boils. He’s known Spencer for close to six years, knows all of his quirks and needs, is in constant admiration of the work his youngest agent does and the compassionate person he is. Spencer is as much a part of his team - his family - as any of the others. There is nothing he could do or say to change that. The fact that Spencer has been subject to such blatant ableism after so many years of incredible work for the Bureau - hell, even if he’d never worked a day in his life for the Bureau - makes Hotch furious. He swallows down his anger, knowing Spencer doesn’t want him to make a big deal out of whatever it is he’s heard the officers say, and knowing full well he’ll see to it the officers will not get away with it. 

“I’m sorry they said that, Reid,” he says, doing his best to keep the anger out of his voice. “They will not go without consequences, but that’s not for you to worry about now. What I want you to do now is take care of yourself. You have nothing to prove to anyone that cares about you, and those are the only people whose opinions you should care about.” 

“I know,” Spencer mumbles, looking down at his hands, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “They made me feel stupid. I’m not stupid.” 

“No, you’re not,” Hotch agrees. “But I bet you are tired. You’re overworking yourself to prove to them that you’re more than what they say, and I understand why. But you’re not going to be able to keep this up much longer Spencer. You’re hurting yourself.” 

“I know,” Spencer whispers after a pause, looking up. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Hotch says firmly. “Those officers are the only ones who need to apologize. Look, I can see that you’ve made several connections here, and the others will be back from the crime scenes soon. I’m going to get you and I some food, and leave you in here for a moment with the blinds closed so you can do whatever it is you need to do to decompress. When the others are back, we’ll talk about what you’ve discovered and if we solve this any time in the next hour or so, you can keep working. You can’t go out into the field in this state, but if we go back out, I will not leave you alone here. Someone will stay. If it looks like we’re going to be here a while longer, you’re going back to the hotel and getting some rest, because I can’t stand seeing you like this,” Hotch says. He doesn’t mean to say the last part aloud, but he does. Spencer’s eyes widen for a moment at the slip in Hotch’s tough facade, then after a moment, he nods. 

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you, Hotch. Really.” 

“Of course,” Hotch says, standing up and squeezing Spencer’s shoulder. “Of course.”

[rd-eternity]

Whumptober Day 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.” | Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Getting back into the feel of high school is a tall order for Liam, who has more than enough on his plate, on top of dealing with most of his classmates previously trying to kill him. Luckily, Theo has a few ideas.

Liam wakes alone, a blanket tucked around him, sun still flooding his room with light.  He blinks a few times, seeing Theo at his desk on his laptop.  “I can’t cuddle you from over there,” he groans, voice rough from sleep.  “Come here please.” Theo gathers a stack of papers from the desk and closes the computer.  He gets out of the chair, sitting next to Liam, hand stroking through his hair.  Liam leans into it, clutching onto his legs.  “You slept less than half an hour,” he says.  “It’s Friday, which means you can do homework later in the weekend.  I want you to sleep tonight.” He shakes his head, forehead brushing Theo’s thigh when he pulls himself closer.  “I have homework to get done, I need to be better at lacrosse, go on patrol-” A finger pressing against his lips stops him, eyes snapping up to meet Theo’s.  “What-” “Come on.”  He gets up, leaning over Liam, who flops onto his back.  Theo rolls his eyes.  He scoops one arm underneath his knees, the other around his upper back, lifting him from the bed.  Liam shrieks, wrapping his arms around his shoulders to keep himself attached.  “If I knew you liked being carried around, I would’ve bribed you with it sooner,” he teases, making Liam hold the stack of papers while he princess-carried him out the room and down the stairs.

[whump-me]

Whumptober Day 26: Working to Exhaustion

This is a standalone story in my original Mind Games universe, a modern-day sci-fi/fantasy thriller setting about ordinary humans with superhuman abilities and the people who want to use or destroy them. Full description in my Whumptober masterpost, which is linked in my pinned post.

This story contains: whumper turned whumpee, sympathetic (former) whumper, overwork, emotional whump, minor whump mentions

Words: 1800

---

Wesley leaned in closer to his computer, ignoring the growing ache at the base of his neck. He squinted at the grainy satellite images. “Here,” he said, jabbing a finger at the center of the screen. “This looks like it could be one of their facilities.”

He paused to rub his dry eyes. After hours of staring at the screen, they felt like they were full of sand.

“See this giant clearing fifteen miles into this middle-of-nowhere forest? That’s exactly the kind of location they like. And the clearing is too symmetrical—it looks man-made to me. This building here could be another logging camp, but I don’t think so. The shape is all wrong, and if you look over here…”

His voice trailed off. Mary wasn’t answering.

“Hey, are you listening?” He looked over his shoulder at Mary, who was working at the other computer on the opposite side of the small room.

Mary didn’t answer. Her chin was slumped forward onto her chest. She let out a soft snore.

Who could blame her for sleeping? It was the middle of the night. Or at least, Wesley thought it was still the middle of the night. He’d been at this so long, he had lost the ability to keep track of time. His watch said two o’clock, but it was anyone’s guess whether that was a.m. or p.m.

His desk was cluttered with energy drinks and empty bags of chips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper meal. For that matter, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cracked open a bag of chips.

He reached into the grocery bag at his feet. It was empty. He was pretty sure it had been empty the last time he’d reached for a snack, too.

As he straightened back up, he caught a whiff of his armpits and wrinkled his nose. When was the last time he had showered? Sometime before his last full meal. Other than that, he couldn’t say.

He grabbed the closest energy drink can and tipped it to his lips. It was empty. He grabbed his coffee mug and did the same. One sad lukewarm drop hit his tongue.

“The dancing cows are what?” Mary mumbled. Her chin jerked up. “Wait. Where am I?”

“You were asleep,” said Wesley.

She rubbed her eyes. “How long was I out?” She checked her own watch. “It’s two in the morning.”

“Or the afternoon,” Wesley pointed out.

“No, I actually have a modern watch, unlike that ancient thing you insist on holding on to. It says it’s morning.” She swiveled her chair around to stare at him. “Have you been awake this entire time?”

“I guess I have.”

“For that matter, did you get any sleep the night before?”

Wesley thought back, but couldn’t remember. The hours and days blended together into one undifferentiated time soup. He didn’t answer.

Mary heaved herself up from her chair with a groan. “Get some sleep,” she urged as she stretched her arms above her head with a yawn. “You’ve been working too long.”

“Just a little longer.” He pointed at his screen. “I think I may have found a PERI facility.”

Mary didn’t even look. “It’ll still be there after a good night’s sleep. And if you keep pushing yourself like this, you’ll make mistakes.”

Wesley shook his head. “The kids in those facilities can’t wait.”

“A few hours won’t make a difference. And you won’t be any use of those kids—or anyone else—if you collapse.” She held out a hand to him. “Come with me. I’ll help you find something to eat—how long has it been since you’ve eaten actual food? And then you’ll sleep. Real sleep, not a nap. Five hours minimum.” She glared at him with mock sternness.

He waved her hand away. “I need to do this.”

If he had been less tired, he might have been able to disguise the intensity in his voice. As it was, Mary drew back, startled. She narrowed her eyes at him, studying him with new curiosity.

When she spoke again, her voice was gentler. “You lost a kid to PERI, didn’t you?”

How he wished it were that simple.

He thought about saying yes. But he was too tired to lie.

“I have to help these kids,” he said, “because I used to be one of the people who abducted them.”

He hadn’t picked the targets for abduction. He hadn’t analyzed the blood test results covertly collected from hundreds of pediatricians’ offices around the country. He hadn’t spent hours per day poring over human-interest stories in small local newspapers, searching for something that might indicate a child with a psi ability.

He didn’t even understand all the details of how the Enhanced gene work. Only that it was present in a small subset of the population; that, when activated, it led to the development of a single psi ability, the nature and strength of which could not be reliably predicted; and that, for national security reasons, the Psi Enhancement Research Initiative wanted the existence of this gene kept secret at all costs.

And, of course, he knew what PERI did to the kids. The ones whose abilities were strong enough and useful enough, and who proved cooperative enough, got sent into black-ops training starting at age five. The other got sent to the labs or the breeding programs.

He had known what he was a part of.

But he hadn’t picked the targets. He hadn’t made those choices. He had just been the muscle, and he had convinced himself that somehow made it better.

He had used all the old tricks. Telling kids their parents had been in a horrible accident and they needed to come with him to the hospital. Asking them to help look for his lost dog, complete with a leash and a bag of dog treats as props. But most kids were wise to those tricks by now, after decades of stranger-danger assemblies in the schools. More often than not, he had to wrestle them down and shoot them full of sedative.

He still remembered the feeling of how it felt to hold a small, squirming body down while he waited for the sedative to take effect. That was the kind of thing it was impossible to forget.

He blinked away the memories. Mary was staring at him. The concern in her face was gone, replaced by something harder. Her eyes were knives of accusation. They were dark pools of grief.

“My daughter was taken.” Her voice could have frozen a volcano. “Ten years ago. That’s why I originally joined up with this group—because they said they could help get her back. Six months later, they finally tracked her down. It was too late. It had been too late before I joined. She wasn’t operative material—she was only a weak telepath. They sent her to the labs. She died there.”

“I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing anymore,” Wesley said. “That’s why I’m here now.”

“How many kids did you have to kidnap before your conscience started bothering you?”

He didn’t answer that question. She wouldn’t have liked the answer.

“I’m trying to atone for what I did,” he said instead. “I’ll work myself to the bone for the rest of my life if I have to.”

“The rest of your life won’t be enough.” Her voice hadn’t warmed a single degree. “You can never atone for what you’ve done.”

She stalked from the room. She didn’t ask him to follow her.

He stayed where he was. He rubbed more sand from his eyes and kept on scrutinizing the satellite images. If this was a PERI facility, where was the road leading in? Or was the road at all? That square spot off to one side—was that a helipad? If so, reaching this facility would be nearly impossible.

But they would try. He already knew the other would be on board. They all had their reasons for fighting PERI. Most had a story similar to Mary’s.

A few had a story similar to his.

He marked the image for further evaluation and went back to scanning the backlog of unexamined footage. Maybe in another week or two, he would work through it all.

He found another clearing, in another dense forest, and zoomed in closer. Close enough to see haunted-eyed children marching in straight lines. Close enough to see inside the blocky rectangle of the central building, down to a basement lab where a child lay on a cold metal table.

She looked up at him with eyes as cold as Mary’s. “You can never atone for what you’ve done,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Wesley said.

“If you think that’s enough to make up for what you did, you’re dreaming,” she said. Her mouth didn’t move, but he heard the words anyway. “Wake up.”

The color leached from her skin until it was a lifeless gray. Her body was too still. Only her eyes still had life in them.

“Wake up.” The voice was Mary’s now. “You’re dreaming.”

Wesley’s eyes snapped open.

He looked down at his watch. Now it said six o’clock. He still didn’t know if it was morning or night.

“Look at me,” Mary ordered.

Slowly, reluctantly, he looked up.

Mary had changed clothes. That wasn’t all that had changed about her. Her eyes weren’t quite so cold anymore. Neither was her voice.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said before,” she said. “I know you’re not the only one here with a story like that. Mostly, I try not to ask. Losing my daughter is a pain that never goes away. When something pokes too hard at that pain, I bite.”

How many people had he caused that same pain for? More than he could count.

“You were right, though.” His quiet voice was rough with exhaustion. “I can never atone for what I did.”

“No,” she agreed. “You can’t. All the all-nighters in the world can’t make up for what you did.”

Maybe he had imagined the hint of warmth in her voice and in her eyes. But he didn’t have the right to complain. She was right to condemn him. He felt the truth of her harsh words in his aching bones.

Then the ghost of a smile came to her face. “So you might as well get some rest,” she said. “Seeing as you’re damned either way.”

She offered him her hand. This time, he took it.

---

Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @gala1981

Ask to be added or removed from my Whumptober 2023 taglist.

[darkkitty1208]

Entry for Whumptober 2023, prompt no. 26: Working To Exhaustion.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Doctor Strange (Movies), Iron Man (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Characters: Stephen Strange, Tony Stark Additional Tags: Mentioned Wong (Marvel), Ficlet, Exhaustion, Humorous Ending, Stephen Strange is So Done, Tired Stephen Strange Series: Part 19 of Whumptober 2023 Summary:

To say Stephen is exhausted would be an understatement. 

[ajpendragon]

Doubts

John blinked vigorously to clear his vision, forcing the two projections floating in front of him to merge back into one. A flick of his finger and the ship schematics spun in front of him, faster than he had intended it to. The movement threw him off balance, a rare occurrence in zero gravity, only possible because of his exhausted state. He drifted back into the wall, colliding with it roughly.

“John, it has been roughly 72 hours since you last slept. It would be wise to take a break. You are too tired to be any use at the moment.”

“I’m fine, EOS. I have to check everything. All of us are going to be on that ship, and I won’t risk a repeat of last time. I can’t risk my brother’s lives like that. I have to make sure it’s safe.” He continued stubbornly glaring at the schematics, even as his vision swam in front of him. His arms felt too heavy to move, and if he weren’t free-floating in space, he would have been collapsed on the floor.

The hologram flickered out, and he knew EOS had put her foot down. She would not allow him to work any more, even when he desperately wanted to. “You need to rest. You will be of no use to your brothers if you continue on like this. You look awful, and you are so tired you can barely function.” Her voice softened slightly. “Working yourself to exhaustion to avoid thinking about your problems is not healthy, John.”

He pulled himself slowly down the hallways towards his bed, conceding the fight. He was too tired to argue, and that in itself was clear proof that EOS was right. He never gave up on an argument if he could help it.

John knew exactly what the chances of finding their father still alive were. The likelihood that they were going on a rescue mission was slim to none. People didn’t survive on their own in deep space for as long as Jeff had been gone. All they were likely to find was a body. They had to go, he knew that. To finally have an answer after all these years would be worth everything. But if anything he could do would make it safer, he had to try. Dad wouldn’t have wanted them to recklessly risk their lives on the very unlikely chance that he was still alive.

John had not been good enough to save his father.

His brothers were all he had left.

And he refused to lose them too.

*******************************************

Alan clutched the photograph tightly in his hand. There weren’t many paper pictures left, most saved on computers and phones now, but this one was special. Each of his brothers had one as well, but his was the most well-worn. Everyone else didn’t need the picture as much, having enough clear memories of Dad that it wasn’t as necessary for them, but he did. He had been too young to remember much when Dad disappeared, and with the years, the few memories he had faded. He knew that Scott looked like Dad, everyone said so, but what they never mentioned was the little scar on the corner of Dad’s chin, just barely visible in the photo.

They didn’t mention how his eyes looked so much like Gordon’s, or how his smile reminded them of John. They never mentioned the smile lines around his mouth just like Virgil’s. In fact, as Alan stared at the picture, he could see each of his brothers there. Everyone except himself. Each of his brothers remembered when Dad was around, too. They had dozens of stories, which Alan had heard many times over the years. They knew where they fit in the family with Dad there. They remembered a life with him.

But Alan hadn’t. He didn’t remember his Dad more than bits and pieces, and he was pretty sure most of those memories were from his brothers’ stories. He couldn’t remember a time before. He knew he was a capable astronaut, pilot of Thunderbird 3, valued member of International Rescue, but with his Dad home, where did he belong? His piloting skills couldn’t measure up to someone like the great Jeff Tracy. He was still young. What if Dad pulled him off rescues? Alan had proved himself to Scott, but his dad wouldn’t know that. All he would remember was the child he had left behind.

He curled up on his bed, still grasping the photograph tightly. His father’s face stared back at him, his smile now feeling mocking instead of the comfort it usually was. What would Dad say when they found him? Would he even remember him? Would he be proud of him, or disappointed in what he had become?

He wanted Dad home, there was no question about that.

He just hoped that he wouldn’t be a disappointment next to the child Dad remembered.

*******************************************

Gordon flipped the light on, banishing the shadows to the corners of the room. He wasn’t sleeping anyways, so might as well do something. A book was picked up and just as quickly tossed aside, unable to hold his attention. He tried jumping jacks, continuing until his breathing came heavy, but he was no more ready for sleep now than he was before. He briefly considered pranking one of his brothers, but quickly discarded that idea. They needed their sleep, and he wasn’t thoughtless enough to deprive them of it. He ended up settled cross-legged on the floor, staring at his fish tank, watching the animals drift slowly through the water.

The motion, though calming, wasn’t enough to occupy his entire mind, and the shadows began to creep back in. Ever since he had found the beacon, he had been fighting them off, but they continued to return, only growing stronger in the dark of night. No matter what he told them, they refused to leave, doubts long-hidden that had not been forgotten with time, only buried.

What if Dad was didn’t want him? He was the odd one out, the only aquanaut in a family of pilots. While the rest of his family had spent their entire lives attempting to leave the ground behind, with varying degrees of success, he had embraced the restraint of earth. Water was his element, not air. He hated flying. He hated space.

Dad had never said anything to dissuade him from his passion, but he had never encouraged him either. Maybe he had been hoping time would cure Gordon of the foolish notion of remaining earth-bound. It probably should have. The rest of the family was so connected, so similar in their desires, their wants, their loves. But no matter how much they tried to convince him otherwise, Gordon knew the truth. His father’s shadow stretched over everything he did. He had made a place, a name for himself while Dad was gone, but with him back?

He didn’t belong.

*******************************************

Virgil settled his headphones more securely over his ears, adjusting his position on the bench. It wasn’t often that he played his electric piano, much preferring the grand in the family room. The sound was better, and there was always a brother or two around to share it with, but tonight felt like a night to be alone. They were each processing in their own ways, him as much as anyone. He and his father had never gotten along as well as some of his brothers, Virgil reminding Jeff too much of what he had lost.

But they had shared some loves. Jeff had loved music, not as much as Lucy and Virgil, but he had some favorite songs. Lucy had recorded him one night, hiding the camera in the corner to catch his singing, something he never would have done if he had known he was being watched. It was an odd choice for an astronaut’s favorite song, but Jeff had always been a realist. He knew the dangers to be found in space, but he felt compelled to go anyways. It was worth the risk to him.

Of course, the risk hadn’t just taken a toll on him, but on his children as well. Especially now that they knew there was a chance he could still be out there, the song held a whole new meaning. Virgil pressed the start button on the recording, settling his hands on the keys as he played accompaniment to his father’s voice.

Can you hear, can you hear, can you hear my voice?

Coming through, coming through, coming through the noise

The recording continued, Virgil fighting back tears to be able to see the keys. He could imagine his dad singing the same song out in the vastness of space, hoping desperately that someone would hear him. That someone would save him.

It's so dark, it's so dark out here in space

And it's been so long, been so long since I've seen a face

My eyes are shut but I can see

The void between you and me, mm

And I feel, and I feel like I'm going insane

Virgil could only imagine what it would do to someone to live for so long on their own. When they first found out there was a chance Dad was still alive, he had done a deep dive into all the medical research he could find with any bearing on their situation. He knew the effects of low or no gravity on a human’s body, and how to help. He knew what to do if Dad hadn’t been eating enough, how to rebuild a body after prolonged nutrient deficiency. But there wasn’t enough research on what solitary confinement did to a person’s mind. He knew it was bad, that it had been banned as a punishment for years for a reason, but no one knew how to fix the damage it caused.

He didn’t know how to fix it, and he didn’t know how to deal with that. He was supposed to be the one who fixed everything, and he couldn’t let everyone down. His brothers were believed in him. His dad was counting on him.

He didn’t know if he believed in himself.

*******************************************

Scott pushed himself harder, forcing his limbs to cooperate and propel him even faster down the path. His brothers would have tried to stop him from running at night, but they had all gone to bed hours ago, and he had needed the release. His thoughts were too loud to allow him to sleep, and so he forced himself to go even faster, hoping to leave them behind.

What if Dad didn’t approve of what he had done with International Rescue?

His brothers risked their lives almost daily. What would Dad say when he found out about that?

Tracy Industries now was quite different than it was when Dad left. Scott had done his best, but some of the decisions he had made weren’t very popular. What if his dad didn’t agree with them either?

He ran harder.

What if he had made a mistake in allowing Alan to join on rescues? True, they had needed another astronaut after Jeff’s disappearance, but he was still so young.

What about the scars that each of his brothers bore, both on their skin and on their hearts? He should have been the one to bear those. They never should have had to. What would Dad say when he saw them?

It didn’t seem to matter how fast he went. He couldn’t outrun the voices. They grabbed onto him, closing his throat and tightening in his chest, cutting off his breathing. They took the face of his father, fuzzy and distorted by time, all glaring at him, shouting the same thing. “I’m disappointed in you, Scott. You failed me.”

Scott collapsed to his knees, clasping his hands over his ears to drown out their shouts. All the fears he had fought for years were coming back to haunt him. All the decisions he had made questioned. All the thoughts that kept him awake at night crowded forward at once, demanding to be addressed.

No. Scott pushed himself to his feet, refusing to buckle under the pressure. It didn’t matter what Dad said when they got him back. They were going to get him anyway. It didn’t matter if it was hard or dangerous. They were International Rescue, and that’s what they did. It didn’t matter if the person they were searching for didn’t approve of them. They saved people. And they were going to save their dad.

If he hated Scott when they found him, then so be it. Scott knew he had done what was right, and he could live with a clear conscience, and the knowledge that his brothers were alive because of him. He had done his best, but if his father couldn’t see that, he didn’t know what he would do.

If his father hated him, he didn’t know if he could live with it.

*******************************************

The next night, wrapped in the warm arms of their father, doubts were laid to rest, and they all knew they would be okay.

Dad didn’t hate him.

He wasn’t a failure.

He was worth believing in.

He belonged in this family.

He wasn’t a disappointment.

He was good enough.

*******************************************

He was finally home.

[maschals]

Oct 26 - Working to exhaustion

Yeah, that seems like a healthy work ethic