@febuwhump Prompt: Helpless

@febuwhump prompt: helpless

***

She'd been helpless before. Too many times, in fact.

Now she even has the memories of all the times she'd been helpless in her previous life...

Watching her grandmother waste away in a hospital bed.

Being forced to accept when her best friend moved across the world.

When she succumbed to the pressure put on her by her parents to achieve certain milestones of success.

That split second of confusion and terror that seemed to stretch on for an eternity... the blink of an eye time between the reinforced glass of the space ship's wink splintering before her, cracking the fullness of the moon's image into jagged pieces...

(who would have thought that the moon itself would shatter just a few short years later?)

The immediate horror that set in when she realized she was about to perish. There hadn't even been enough time to scream. There had just been that helpless moment as existence seemed to pause on the precipice of disaster and then... nothing.

Nothing until she woke up, helpless once more. Weak from decades spent in a cryo-chamber and with no memory of anything at all that mattered. Helpless in the face of scam artists who took advantage of her ignorance and set her on a doomed life path of debt that no one could ever hope to pay off or even pay down.

She'd been helpless too many damn times since waking up. She absolutely hated it and fought tooth and nail to escape that feeling. She swindled and she thieved and she gambled and always she ran. It was important to keep at least one step ahead of everyone else - more if it could be managed.

She had to be self-sufficient. She had to be ruthless. She had to keep herself separate from others to avoid falling prey to situations beyond her control or to emotions too deep to swim through.

The change had been so gradual she almost hadn't noticed. Then, when she realized what was afoot, she fled. Of course, it was much harder to escape yourself than debt collectors. And naturally it wasn't especially easy to get away from a man like Jet Black who had been a cop in a previous life and was adept at tracking fugitives down.

He thought she'd been helpless when he found her. Handcuffed on a rickety bed in a city of only men... well, she can understand why he had that misconception. But, though Gren had overpowered her... she could have broken free at any point after he left. It's just... the will had gone out of her for a bit. Life seemed built of injustice and tragedy and futile gestures and she just wanted to give up for a while.

Not, like, entirely or forever of course. That type of action required far too much work or pain. Besides, loathe it as much as she did, Faye was keen on surviving despite the despair and frustration of it all.

Someday she'd strike it rich. Someday she'd win big. Someday it would all be worth the struggle...

So anyway, Jet retrieved her like an errant child and Faye let him think she was helpless because it seemed to make him feel better about himself. Anyway it wasn't like she had anywhere else to go.

Not then at least.

For a while she'd felt helpless when watching that damn video. Unable to summon the memories to correspond with the images, but also inexplicably devoted to scouring the tape for details that might trigger something in her mulish mind. She had been helpless to stop herself from wearing that tape out with how many times she'd play it.

She had a moment of triumph when Spike faced off against that killer clown. He'd no doubt been joking about needing rescue, but she had taken his words to heart and had shown up to help out. It felt damn good to throw herself into action on someone else's behalf... to try and prove herself instead of letting the opportunity slip by.

The fact that her attempt had resulted in crashing her zipcraft was immaterial. She'd offered enough of a distraction to have had some effect, no matter how small, on the outcome of the confrontation.

And then she and Spike had worked together to try and protect that mafia man's daughter on her weird little quest to align the stars or some bullshit. Spike had teased then too, calling them fairies out to grant a princess her dearest wish. Whatever poetry he needed to add to their job was his own business, for her it was another chance to do something. To not sit idly by, helpless.

The terrorist on Alba City had been the next opportunity to prove her merit and to push back against being a victim of circumstance. She had been doing so damn well too... until that fucking gas... until she was, once again, helpless. Vincent had overpowered her so easily... had sent shivers down her spine with his nonsense promise of immortality and his intention of destroying everything around him. If he hadn't left on his mission, giving her the chance to finally free herself and race against time to save the whole fucking planet...

Fuck, she hated being helpless.

It had rankled and even though they'd achieved their goal and saved the day... it hadn't been enough. The echo of Vincent's words haunted her dreams along with the fear that had coursed through her body when he violated her clothing.

She was determined to be faster, smarter, stronger.

Going after that cult leader had been another of her schemes to showcase her own abilities. To bring down the bounty and rake in the dough. Perhaps she'd been wrong to go about it solo... having her head spin, seeing doubles of everything as she dropped to one knee, hearing mad whispers from all around as she strove to remain conscious... that had been like falling into a whirlpool of helplessness.

She hadn't had a chance to save herself. Hell, even Spike almost got caught in that trap while trying to find her... that was something of a boost to her own ego, truthfully. The fact that he'd come looking for her and also how he'd been just as weak, just as helpless. Thankfully Ed and Jet had done whatever needed to be done behind the scenes to end the charade of "uploading consciousness" to escape the world.

And then, weeks later, she'd been helpless to stop the torrent of memories from cascading over her at last. Helpless to ignore the pull of finding answers at last... of going back home, to a place she truly belonged.

Helpless to change the past.

She had lain in the dirt and stared at the stars while her eyes burned with the need to cry.

Discovering the Bebop had left while she spent... hours? No, it could have been days... while she lingered in the limbo of grief and outrage and apathy.

Spike's call to her was revitalizing. The fact that he wanted her back, that he claimed Jet needed her around... she would have made her way to the ship in her own good time, to be quite honest. But jumping into action with that golden haired woman up against hardened suit-and-tie criminals... that had been like jumping back into her true self, the Faye Valentine that had been forged from the soggy ashes of her frozen self, a phoenix reborn.

Having to relay those words, despite how casual they sounded, when she could practically feel the weight of the sentence like an anchor about to drag a man down down down into murky depths...

She'd been helpless to keep her mouth shut. How simple it ought to have been to just not tell him a thing. But events immediately got out of hand and like watching a show from afar she heard herself speak. And then she was fighting to be in control of herself again, fighting to have a chance at surviving.

And now?

The sound of his ship launching was like a slap in the face.

Here she was, a puddle of snot and tears and so - fucking - helpless yet again... helpless to stop him from leaving...

...but not, perhaps, helpless from chasing after him.

Inhaling deeply, scrubbing her face of tears as best she could, Faye staggered to her feet and set off on a mission of her own. Spike had his vendetta, that's fine whatever, but she had her own task now. She could back him up or scrape his ass off the concrete like after the cathedral fiasco.

Her ship was fucked but Jet's was fine.

This was no time to weep and moan. No time to feel bad for herself or any of the other players in this bullshit game. No time to curl into a ball and sob.

She was Faye fucking Valentine.

And Faye fucking Valentine would not be helpless again.

I just want them a happy ending!

It was the butterflies that did it.

Dancing at the edge of his vision... There except whenever he would turn to look. Not always present, of course, but whispering into existence far too often for him to not develop doubts.

It didn't help that he had been half convinced life was all a dream prior to encountering Vincent. And now...

The child was gone, the dog presumably at her side. It had hurt to read that goodbye but it felt somehow fitting that innocence should have fled before things got really bad.

With their absence it was harder to hope for a bright future. Harder to believe that this weary existence wasn't a dream turned nightmare.

And still the butterflies fluttered at the corner of his eyes.

Sometimes he thought Faye might see them too. The way she'd turn her head too quick and then frown in puzzlement. The way she gazed out of the windows without seeing the view beyond the glass... He could always tell when that thousand yard stare meant she wasn't seeing anything truly in front of her eyes.

Jet had actually asked once, when she had somehow not heard him calling her name multiple times. Faye had been startled when Jet clapped his hand onto her shoulder and had mumbled something about dust motes, though Spike could hear the lie in her words.

Were they living a shared dream? Had they actually died at some point before... perhaps as early as the explosion in the Linus Mines? Perhaps bewitched by that restless spirit child who lurked in the internet and drew other souls down into eternity with him? There were countless occasions where they could have met their end without realizing...

Was this purgatory? Was this a dismal dystopian dream? Was this truly living?

Jet was morose. Faye was haunted. Spike wasn't sure he could do a thing for either of them except perhaps ensure they continued to exist in this... Whatever it was. Maybe that was cruel of him. Maybe they wanted out just as much as he did. But he couldn't make that choice for anyone else, could only assume this was reality and that their lives were to be protected.

After he walked away from Faye, he felt a heavy loneliness settle on his shoulders. It was crushing in a different way than the weight he carried for the sins he'd committed over the years. There was no dream of a golden haired vixen... There was no impossible future to pretend was in reach...

There was only Spike, dead set on a mission to find answers. To find closure. To discover the truth, as if it even mattered.

Just Spike, flying off to face the devil and perhaps secure his own death.

Just Spike... and the gentle kiss of butterfly wings caressing his cheeks, brushing against his hair like the softest breeze, almost real and yet...

And yet...

Was any of this real? Would facing Vicious shatter this illusion into some sharp-edged reality he could piece back into something that had a chance of having a tomorrow?

Spike would soon find out.

animals are the best <3

Good boys ^___^

these lunkheads make my heart go pitter pat

sin’s twelve days of christmas gifts; 2023

spike spiegel & faye valentine ❄ happy holidays @kiraannwrites

The reek of burnt flesh and smoldering corpses was heavy in the air despite the rain pouring down from unfeeling skies. There were easily a dozen bodies strewn amongst the rubble from what was undoubtedly caused by grenades, and half a dozen lay dead from bullet wounds beyond the destruction wrought by explosives.

Well, never let it be said that Spike Spiegel wasn't dramatic.

Vicious refrained from sighing as one of the syndicate brats that had tagged along on his mission became noisily sick at either the rank odor or the sight of dismembered White Tiger soldiers.

He had been ordered to investigate the disturbance at St. Jude's Cathedral and had gone to do so despite being well aware that he would not be able to recover Spike's body. The other man had done a bang-up job of ensuring that the battlefield bore no traces of anyone's survival, though Vicious could not believe that Spike had perished in the skirmish.

Odds had been against him, of course, but it's not like Spike had been required to attend to the infestation of White Tiger lackeys at this mournful edge of Red Dragon territory. Most would assume that he had gone out seeking notoriety because that is what they themselves were after. The Van would believe whatever Vicious told them about the matter since they didn't much know or care about Spike's character - he was merely one of countless pawns in their endless games of power over Tharsis.

Julia... well. Her reaction would be curious to behold. He had given her an assignment to end Spike's life - certainly not at the behest of the clueless Van - and it would be very telling to observe her response to his apparent death. Did she still plan to escape on her own now that he was gone? Had she ever truly wanted to leave? Would she be just as disbelieving of his fate? Had it all been part of the deception designed to hide them from the syndicate's watchful eyes and vengeful retaliation?

Deserters were not tolerated, after all. Spike and Vicious had eliminated a fair number of that type of doomed bastard over the years. They knew better than most what torture and demise awaited anyone who foolishly thought that they could elude capture.

The cormorant's talons dug into Vicious's shoulder for a heartbeat before the bird launched itself into the dreary sky with a horrible caw. Out of the corner of his eye, Vicious saw a different Red Dragon upstart flinch at the abrupt motion. It took everything in him to not draw his blade to end the lives of these inept oafs who had followed him to the ruins here. Their presence had not been necessary, the danger that had dwelt within these shattered stone walls and burial mounds had obviously been eliminated hours prior, yet they had been instructed to tag along anyway.

Perhaps the Van had less faith in the accuracy of Vicious's reconnaissance than he originally believed. It would not do to underestimate them, regardless of how weak-natured they were becoming as the years rolled on. That he had once revered those cantankerous fools... well, the past was the past and he was a wiser man now.

"Search the debris. Let me know when you find the eye." Vicious ordered. It was a futile mission - like seeking a needle in a haystack - and all the more impossible given that Spike's remains were most assuredly not present. But it gave him a perverse pleasure to send these spineless brats out into the massacre, a place they clearly found disturbing and would likely haunt their waking hours as much as their dreams. Good. Perhaps it would toughen them up a tad.

As for himself... it was time to track down Julia. Time to see what she knew, what she suspected, what she intended to do now...

Glancing boredly over the devastation one more time, eyes not taking in the brutality but rather sharply investigating the outskirts of the cemetery in case Spike was lurking nearby to oversee what sort of effect his supposed last stand had on his compatriots, Vicious was soon satisfied that there were no witnesses about.

A pity, that. He had been looking forward to letting his blade taste blood.

St Jude - the patron Saint of the hopeless and the despaired; also of desperate cases and lost causes; also of the impossible, of intentions that seem hopeless