Whumptober Prompt #18- Alt. Prompt #2- Broken Voice

Whumptober Prompt #18- alt. Prompt #2- Broken Voice

Yooo!  Here’s more ColdFlash!  You guys really seem to like that one.  I was gonna do muffled scream but broken voice demanded to be done instead. Enjoy!

One last thing- this was heavily inspired by You Make Me Swoon by Crimson1 on AO3- it’s great piece go read it!

...

Barry stumbled into his apartment, dizzy and unstable.  He hadn’t even been able to get his keys into his locks, instead having to vibrate himself through the door to get in the apartment.  He needed food or he was going to pass out again.  He’d already flashed in and out of consciousness fighting the Rogues, unable to truly put in any effort into stopping their bank robbery.  Honestly, he was sure the bank was insured so it didn’t make too much of a difference to the speedster right now.  Right now, he was only focused on food, any food he could find.  His shaky hands pulled at the cabinets, finding nothing in them.  Living as a superhero didn’t exactly bring home the bacon, and his CSI’s salary was barely enough to keep him paying his rent and student loans on time.  He sometimes had to skip meals because he couldn’t afford them, and now he was drastically paying for it.  His cabinets were empty, his fridge was empty- wait!  One jar of grape jelly.  He didn’t care that he couldn’t make a sandwich, didn’t care that he didn’t have any toast, he just ripped off his glove and shoved his fingers into the jar.  But his hands were shaking, and he couldn’t control what was left of his strength, and the jar shattered on the floor.

Barry sank to his knees, uncaring about the glass, as tears streamed down his face.  His body screamed out for food.  He wanted to call Joe, call Cisco, call anyone for help, to get him some food but he couldn’t find the strength to do anything but lay on the floor and cry.

Distantly, he heard footsteps, and something opening the locks on his front door.  He didn’t even have the strength to lift his head.  He really hoped that was Joe or Iris, because he couldn’t think of anyone else who had keys to his apartment.

The door swung open to reveal Leonard Snart, not dressed in his parka but Barry couldn’t see his cold gun from the floor.  That didn’t mean he didn’t have it on him though.

“Scarlet?”  Snart’s voice so far off he may as well have been in the next city.  “Scarlet!”

Snart ran over to him, and he felt fingers pressing into his neck.

“Come on, Scarlet, say something.”  Snart muttered.  “What do you need?”

“-ood.”  Barry tried to say but he had no strength left to say it with.

“What?”  Snart frowned at him, an uncharacteristic look on unease on his face.  If Barry had been in a better mind, he would’ve called it fear.

“Food.”  Barry gasped out.  “Only had… jelly… gone.”

Snart looked around, saw the shattered jelly jar, his last vestiges of hope lying broken on the floor.  Then, he grabbed Barry under his arms and hauled him to his feet.  Barry’s legs were unable to stand on their own so he crashed into Snart, who readjusted his hold on Barry.  Kidnapping wasn’t on Barry’s list for things to do today, but he resigned himself to it.  There was nothing he could about it now.

Surprisingly though, Snart gently set him down on the couch.

“Stay here, Scarlet.  I’ll be right back.”

In his mind, Barry questioned if Snart was blind, clearly he couldn’t go anywhere under his own power.  Soon after Snart left, though, Barry’s thoughts became fuzzy as he drifted in an out of consciousness.  He was almost sure that what had happened had been a hypoglycemic dream when someone with a deep, dry voice shook him.

“Scarlet, wake up.  Come on, dammit, wake up.”

Barry blinked, the blurry light eventually taking the shape of Leonard Snart.  He realized Snart was holding a glass of orange juice in front of Barry’s lips.  He opened his mouth and Snart helped him drink the juice.  Once the glass was finished, Snart carefully fed him some yogurt that Barry could barely taste.  For one heartbeat, or ten minutes, Barry wasn’t sure, Snart just carefully fed him food that he somehow produced in a way that Barry’s hypoglycemic mind couldn’t process.

The more Barry ate, the more human he began to feel, the more he could perceive his surroundings.  Snart was sitting on his battered coffee table, carefully distributing his weight, with used wrappers and a jug of orange juice beside him.  The thief wore a blank expression, but Barry saw the fear in his eyes.  Snart then reached over and put his ungloved hand on Barry’s forehead.

“No fever.”  He muttered.  “Then what the hell is this?  Starvation?”

“What are you doing here?”  Barry asked, finally finding the strength to speak again.

“So it lives.”  Snart chuckled, avoiding the question.  “And here I thought I had lost my nemesis to malnutrition.”

Barry frowned at Snart.

“What are you doing here?”  He repeated.  “Why are you helping me?”

Snart snorted.  “I don’t have the kind of dirt on anyone else as I do you.  I’m merely keeping our business relationship intact.”

“Screw off, Snart.”  Barry groaned.  “I don’t want your pity and I don’t need your help.”

“I think that’s where you and I disagree, Scarlet.”  Snart said.  “You’re bleeding, and I doubt you can stand on your own.  Help isn’t my strongest suit, but I’m willing to make an exception in this very unusual case.”

“I can stand.”  Barry said, and made to do just that.

Snart cocked an eyebrow at him.

Barry stood.  For all of two seconds before his legs gave and Snart had to help him back down to the couch.

“I think that proves my point, Scarlet.”  Snart chuckled, obviously amused at his expense.

“Go home.”  Barry sighed.  “I don’t have the energy to deal with you.”

“Here, drink some more OJ.”  Snart poured him another glass.  “It’ll help.”

This time, Barry was able to hold the glass himself, though his hands were still so shaky that Snart held onto the glass just in case.  Barry would never admit it, but he was grateful the man had decided to help instead of taking advantage of the situation.

“I feel like shit.”  Barry admitted, feeling so miserable that he could even admit it to Snart of all people.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you curse.”  Snart chuckled dryly.

“I try to censor myself in the suit.”  Barry said.  “Set a good example for anyone who’s listening.”

“Isn’t that sweet?”  Snart smirked.  “Gotta be a hero even kids can look up to.”

Barry rolled his eyes.  “You never answered my question.”

“You never answered mine.”  Snart responded.  “What is this?  What’s wrong with you?”

“My metabolism goes so fast it requires so many more calories and my blood sugar can drop in an instant.”  Barry explained.  Snart already knew his weakness to cold and his identity.  How could telling him this be any worse?  “I didn’t eat breakfast this morning, I got home so late from Flash business last night I overslept.  Was almost late to work.  Skipped lunch, there were three new unsolved murders on my desk and they were all marked priority.  Couldn’t eat dinner because of you.  That’s been my day for the last three weeks.  Only a matter of time before I ran out of energy completely.”

Snart pursed his lips.  “I’ll be sure to schedule my heists after dinner time then.”

Barry shoved at Snart, unbalancing the man but not knocking him off the coffee table.

“Fuck off, Snart.  I don’t need your bullshit.”

Snart rolled his eyes.  “And you say helping people is its own reward.”

“Why are you here, dammit?”  Barry snapped.  His fuse was always short when he was hungry and his stomach was still rumbling, though Barry seemed to have gone through everything Snart had bought or stolen from the twenty-four hour grocery store down the street.  If Barry had been thinking more clearly, he would’ve stopped there before coming home.

“Because I wanted to be the hero tonight.”  Snart teased.  “Thought it might be a fun change of pace.”

“No!”  Barry’s voice broke and blood rushed to his cheeks but he was too tired, too spent, too angry to stop and be truly embarrassed.  “No one stops to help me, dammit.  Everyone in this goddamn city takes and takes and takes and posts about it on social media and no one ever even asks if I’m okay!  I’m the Hero of Central City and sometimes I’m just so goddamn done!”

It wasn’t until Snart had reached over with a tissue that Barry realized he’d been crying.

“You’re still bleeding.” Snart said, thankfully avoiding Barry’s outburst.  “Let me get some tweezers.”

“In the bathroom, in the basket on top of the toilet.”  Barry replied.  “They’re somewhere in there, just gotta look through the hair bobs, combs, and the nail clippers.”

Snart raised an eyebrow.

“My sister stays over here a lot.”  Barry explained.  “It’s just easier to have these things instead of her constantly forgetting them.”

Snart nodded, and Barry knew he understood, having a sister of his own.  Snart returned a minute later with some tweezers and a small plate that came from Barry’s cupboard.

“Let me at your shoulder.”  Snart said, gesturing to Barry’s left shoulder.

Barry shifted as best as he could in the suit to give Snart easier access.  Snart dutifully started tugging at the glass embedded in Barry’s skin.

“Look, Snart, about what I said-”

“Len.”

“What?”  Barry frowned.

“Call me Len.”  Snart replied.  “Within the past hour, I’ve pulled you off your floor, fed you, and now I’m pulling glass out of you.  Least you can do in return is call me by my name.”

“Len, then.”  Barry tested the name out.  Surprisingly enough, it rolled right off his tongue.  “About what I said-”

“You don’t have to explain, Barry.”  Sna-Len said, using his own name for the first time.  It felt almost strange yet so very familiar.  “You don’t have to convince me that being a hero isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“It’s just so damn hard.”  Barry’s voice broke again, but this time he couldn’t be bothered to care.  Tears streamed freely down his cheeks but he carried on.  “People want to be saved and they’re grateful but everyone expects to be saved, all the time, and I’m just one person.  I’m only one Flash, and I’ve got this Man in Yellow and the Rogues, and it feels like every week there’s a new villain who wants to kill me.  And there’s the natural shit, fires from faulty wiring, muggers, and everything else that just normally happens in a city.  I can’t keep up with it.  There’s just so much.”

Barry dissolved into tears as Len silently pulled out the pieces of glass in his shoulder.  The only sounds for a little while was the clinking of the glass on the plate and Barry’s sobs.

“Should I be concerned that I counted twelve cuts when I first started and now I only count nine?”  Len said, breaking the silence.

Barry shook his head.  “I-hic-I heal fast.  One of the perks.”

“So because this heals in a matter of minutes, your metabolism needs what… five, six thousand calories a day?”  Len asked, pressing some gauze from Barry’s first aid kit into the wounds.  Barry almost couldn’t believe Snart’s gentle touch.

“More like ten thousand.”  Barry said.  “I’m always hungry and I never have enough money for food.  Rent and student loans are hard enough, let alone something nice at the grocery store.  And it’s not like being the Flash pays.”

Len wisely kept a comment Barry could see coming to himself.

“That’s why there’s no food in this house?”  Len asked.

Barry nodded.  “I’m always hungry.  I can never keep up with my stomach.”

“I see.”  Len nodded thoughtfully.  “Just to double check, your full name is Bartholomew Henry Allen right?”

Barry nodded slowly, unsure.

“Just checking.”  Len winked and Barry felt like he’d been had in some way.  “You should get some rest.  I’ll grab you a change of clothes from your room.”

Len headed into his bedroom, somehow knowing where it was in his apartment.  Though, given Cold’s obsession with time and control, it made sense.  Len probably hadn’t followed him here, probably just knew where his apartment was, like he knew Barry’s full name.

With practiced ease, Barry started to slip out of the suit.

Len came back with one of Joe’s old t-shirts that Barry wore as a sleep shirt and some pajama bottoms.  Len turned his back as Barry changed into them.  Then without another word, he grabbed Barry by his right arm, slung it over his shoulder and led Barry into his bedroom, setting him down on the bed.

“Be right back.”  Len muttered, almost to himself.  Barry used that time to get comfortable.  Len returned with a glass of water.  “OJ’s in the fridge, and I set some of the yogurt in there too for you tomorrow.”

By this point, Barry was completely fine with Len helping, even though it was one of the strangest nights Barry had ever had, and he was counting when he was in college and one of his dorm-mates drunkenly barged into his room to have him sing “Happy Birthday” to someone he had never met.  To this day, he still wasn’t sure who he had sung it to.

“Thank you, Len.”  Barry said, settling down.  “I mean it.  Thanks.  You didn’t have to do this.”

“Let’s just keep it our little secret and you’ll be fine.”  Len said, the edge of a threat in his voice.  It hadn’t worked as the man had wanted it to.  He didn’t have to say it out loud though.

“Still.  Thanks.”  Barry said, sleep already pulling him down.

Len nodded, and turned off the light.

“You never answered my question though.”  Barry mumbled, half-asleep already.  “Why were you here?”

“That’s a question for another day, Scarlet.”  Len whispered.

He wasn’t sure if he’d dreamed it or not, but Barry did have the distinct feeling of a gentle hand brushing the strands of his hair back and soft lips pressed to his forehead before he tumbled down into sleep.

(What he didn’t dream though was the next week, a letter came saying that his student loan paperwork had been lost and he was no longer liable to pay the loans.  He bought himself six large pizzas to celebrate.)

...

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21087476

Hey, reminder that I love your writing person 💓

Hey, reminder that I love you ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

Whumptober Prompt #21- Laced Drink

Yo this one is much better I wasn’t half outta my mind with exhaustion and stress when I wrote this one.  Coldflash again folks.  Have fun

...

“I think someone drugged my drink.”

Len had simply been using the men’s room when a lanky, gorgeous man stumbled in, drunk off his ass.  He could barely hold himself straight up, and his face was relaxed and confused at the same time.  Len had frowned, this was the employee bathroom and what was the point of having a separate bathroom if patrons forced themselves into this one?  He didn’t have to scrub every bodily fluid off the floor every night in this bathroom.

“This is for employees only, kid.”  Len had mumbled, pointing in the direction of the customer bathroom.  “You’re looking for the one near the bar.”

The kid hadn’t responded to him, simply continuing to stare in confusion.  He was so young, he definitely got carded coming in here, and maybe Len should make sure that Sam was properly checking IDs tonight.

“How much you have to drink tonight?”  Len asked.

“One.”  The kid finally answered slowly, his voice heavy and slurred.

“One what?”   Len’s eyes raked the kid over. His fluffy brown hair was spiked up, tips spray painted pink, lavender, and blue, his pupils so dilated he could barely see the green, his runner’s physique on display under the nerdy tank top and short shorts.  He must’ve come from Pride, which was still going strong down the street, and gotten much more than a drink beforehand.  He never minded, so long as they were sober enough to properly pay the tab at the end of the night.

“One.”  The kid repeated, finally meeting Len’s eyes.  He looked like a lost puppy.

He needed to find this kid’s friends and get them to call the kid a taxi or something so he could sleep this off.

“Didn’t want to.”  The kid murmured unprompted, almost sounding hurt through the slur.

Len frowned.  This wasn’t normal behavior for inebriated people, he owned a bar, he knew highs.  This wasn’t any drug Len was familiar with.

“Who did you come here with?”  Len asked.

“Not Tony.”  Was all the kid managed to say until he said the dreaded words that always sent a chill down Len’s spine.  “I think someone drugged my drink.”

It was the first truly coherent sentence the kid had been able to say.  So he knew his attacker, that was a good sign.  That gave Len a name to throw out.

“What’s your name?”  Len said, trying to slowly approach as to not scare the kid.

“Barry.”  The kid said.  “Name’s Barry.”

The bathroom door opened, and a wall of muscle walked in. The kid whimpered.

“Hey, Barry.”  The muscle said.  “We were getting worried about him.  Thanks for finding him.  Our car’s outside, I’ll drive him home.”

Something about his words felt off to Len.

“You must be Tony, then.”  Len said easily, subtly putting himself between the kid and the muscle.  “Barry here was just telling me about you.  College friend?”

“Yeah I’m Tony.”  The wall smiled, as if Len was the stupidest man in the world.  “We were friends in high school, reconnected for Pride.”

And that was the final nail in the coffin.  He knew high school, and how this kid must’ve looked in high school.  No way the Neanderthal would be friends with the obvious nerd behind him.

“So what did he take?”  Len asked, stopping Tony from reaching behind him to get at Barry.  “I mean, he looks a little bad, maybe I should call an ambulance.”

“He’s fine.”  Tony brushed off.  “He just drank a little too much.  I can get him home.”

Tony made a brutal grab for Barry’s arm, but Len caught his hand, twisting it behind the man.  He swept his foot under Tony’s legs and got in a good punch to the face before Tony elbowed him in the gut, winding him.  Tony reached once again for Barry, yanking the kid by his shirt, ripping the HI BI shirt off Barry’s chest, sending the uncoordinated kid to the floor.

In one swift motion, Len drew his gun from his waistband, pointed it at Tony’s head and clicked off the safety.  If Tony had been so callous with a shirt, he didn’t want to think what else he would be callous with after he got what he wanted.

“Whoa, man, I don’t want any trouble.”  Tony immediately pulled his hand back to put both up, his face pale and trembling.

“Shoulda thought of that before you drugged his drink.”  Len snapped.  “I hate people like you.  Get out of my bar, and never return.  And if you drug another drink, I’ll cut your dick off.  Now get out of here.”

“Sure, man, whatever you say.”  Tony said, inching his way towards the door.

“By the way, ‘Tony’’-” Len drawled out, in the voice that Mick liked to call Captain Cold, following Tony with his gun.  “If you ever attempt to contact Barry again, so much as look in his direction, I won’t hesitate, bitch.”

Tony nodded, fear evident on his face and he took off running.

Len put the safety back on his gun, tucking back in it’s concealed holster.  He always was packing in case anyone was either dumb enough to try and rob him, or, more likely, the mob families that wanted to run Central City tried to extort him.  Last time, he had sent the Santini’s packing a little extra lead after they threatened to burn down his store.  It was infuriating enough that the bar he owned legally was threatened, but to imply that Mick would get blamed for it (Mick’s arsonistic tendencies were well-known unfortunately) was something he could not abide.

A low moan turned his attention downward.  Barry was still on the floor, struggling to stand.  He would get his arms in place and two seconds later would slip or collapse under the weight.  Through the ripped shirt he saw an unusual scar, there was a mass of scar tissue in between his collarbone and shoulder, and scars around it that seemed to run like rivers down his body.  What little left of Len’s heart bled for the kid.

“I’m calling an ambulance.”  He said, pulling out his phone.

“No hospitals!”  Barry shouted, slapping a hand wildly around at Len’s phone.  He didn’t come close but it made Len hesitate.  “No hospitals.  Please.  They’ll find out.  They can’t, please, they can’t.”

Aw, shit.  Kid came from a homophobic house.  No way was he going to send someone into that kind of pain willingly.  He knew what happened if a gay kid, whether they were adult or not, came home to those who were not willing to accept them.

“Okay, no hospitals.”  Len soothed, gently brushing down the shaved strands of Barry’s undercut.  Barry leaned into the motion.  “But you can’t stay on the bathroom floor forever.  I got a reputation to uphold.  Let’s get you a cab.”

“Cab?”  Barry’s voice was so young, so scared that it seemed almost inhuman.

That broke what little resolve Len had to the kid’s pretty face.  Len sighed and grabbed Barry under his back and knees, lifting him bridal style into his arms.  He adjusted slightly, he wasn’t as young as he was when he first bought this bar, hit the button to open the door he installed to help with Axel’s prosthetic, then started to walk out the door.  Barry tucked himself into the nape of Len’s neck, like a child in their father’s arms.  Which made sense, Len noted, as the kid seemed half his age.  He made it to the stairs leading up to his apartment when he heard Hartley calling him.

“Hey, boss, we’re almost out of- shit who’s that?”  Hartley asked, coming up to them.

“Kid got roofied.”  Len said simply.  “Can’t go to the hospital, homophobic next of kin will find out he’s obviously bi.  So I’m giving him a space for tonight so he can sleep it off.”

Hartley was his best bartender, had a photographic memory, and a killer taste in mixing new drinks.  And since Hartley was also as gay as a diamond-studded rainbow, who had been kicked out for that same reason, he understood.

“Of course, boss.  When you’re done making sure he won’t die, we’ll need more Fireball.  We’re almost out.”

Len nodded, made a mental note to grab the next case, and headed up the stairs.  He passed Mick watching hockey in the living room.

Mick didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to they’d known each other so long they were practically married, just raised an eyebrow and slightly tilted his beer.

Len repeated the information he’d given Hartley, and Mick, who Len had often gone to running to from his father, didn’t press why Len hadn’t just found his friends and forced one of them to take Barry to a safe place for the night like he would’ve done to any other drunk partier.

“When commercial comes on, get Hart a case of Fireball, we’re almost out.”  Len said.

Mick nodded, set his beer down, and left, leaving Len and Barry alone in their apartment.

So Len simply made his way to the seldom used guest room, almost thankful that Lisa was still away at college.  Not only was his sister’s room available, she wasn’t here to gloat to him about how a pretty face made him soft.  He gently pushed open the door with his hip, then set Barry down on the bed.  He gently removed Barry’s shoes and pulled the covers to his shoulders, as he had done for Lisa so many times.

“There’s a trash can right here in case you feel sick.”  Len said, gesturing to Barry where he was leaving Lisa’s small trash can.  “I’ll check up on you in a few hours.”

Quicker than a flash, a hand grabbed Len’s wrist.  “Stay.  Please.  ‘M scared.”

Now, not only was he glad Lisa was away at college but that he had already sent Mick for the Fireball, because there was no way he was leaving that small voice latching onto the barest inking of hope.  He didn’t know the kid, the kid didn’t know him, but in that moment, they were connected.  Flashbacks peppered his vision, of Lewis, a belt, a Bible, praying on his knees, trying so hard to be straight, unable to keep his own heart in check.  After everything this kid had been through, the scars, the fear, the almost assault, Len couldn’t leave.  Not when that was all he had wanted when he was younger.  It seemed Barry had gotten the savior all of their people wanted, and Len wasn’t going to screw that up.

“I won’t leave you.”  Len whispered the words he wished someone had whispered to him so many years ago and the hand tightened slightly.  Len pulled his wrist loose to replace it with his hand and sat down beside the bed.  From where he was, he could easily keep an eye on Barry while still holding his hand but rested his back against the wall.  It wasn’t the most comfortable position, he knew his knees would ache tomorrow and his back would never forgive him.

“Thank you.”

The last words that passed Barry’s lips before he succumbed to sleep made it all worth it, though.

.

Whumptober alt.Prompt #3- Fever

I’m still sick, this is self-indulgent fluff and angst, have some Obikin

...

It had come on so fast.  It had seemed like just yesterday that Anakin had been so excited for the holidays with Ben and now he could barely open his eyes.  Ben dabbed gently at Anakin’s forehead with a wet cloth, trying to keep his intense fever at bay.

Anakin moaned lightly, his uncoordinated hands swatting at him.

“Hush, dear one.”  Ben whispered, as Anakin had always been oversensitive to noise and light when sick.  Had been since Ben first met him.  “I know it’s cold to you, but I promise, it’ll make you feel better soon.”

Anakin whimpered.  “Hurts.”

“I know, dear one.”  Ben said, his heart breaking just a little further.  He hated to see such a vibrant young man like Anakin fall to a mere illness.  He did make a mental note, however, to check up on Anakin’s vaccinations.  His… unusual childhood had probably left several holes in a proper medical history.

“Do you think you can drink some water?”  Ben asked.

Anakin grunted, which Ben took to be a yes.

“Can you sit up on your own, or do you want me to help?”

Anakin, immediately tried to sit up on his own, only for his arms to be unable to support him and fall back down onto his bed.  Ben pursed his lips, cursing his partner’s stubborn nature and his own nature to assume that Anakin would be okay with needing help when so very obviously in need of it.  He should’ve known better, Anakin hated needing help and often went out of his way to avoid even seeming like he could need help.  Ben could blame that on his childhood too, but for now, he just needed to try and help the poor lad.

“It’s alright, dear one.”  Ben said, adjusting his position so he could lift Anakin onto his chest.  He now had to become very careful, to form his words so it all seemed like Anakin’s idea.  Anakin would lash out if he thought Ben was insisting he needed help, and in his current state, Ben was worried for what he could do to himself.  “How about we just snuggle instead?”

Anakin frowned at him, trying to glare at him through slitted eyes, his fevered mind unable to tell if Ben was coddling him.  Ben tried as gently as possible to have Anakin rest on his chest, where he could control the glass of water by the nightstand and still keep a handle on Anakin.

“Too hot.”  Anakin groaned, finally speaking, shoving lightly at Ben.

“Try this, it might help.”  Ben lifted the glass of water to Anakin’s lips.

Once the water touched his lips, Anakin greedily gulped down the whole glass, uncaring that some of the excess was spilling down his chin.

Ben sat the glass down when it was empty, gently mopping at Anakin’s mouth with his sleeve.  “Better, dear one?”

Anakin nodded slowly, as if nodding was the most physically demanding task he’d done.

“Still too hot?”  Ben asked.

Anakin grunted another ‘yes’.

“Okay.”  Ben said, starting the difficult process of extricating himself from Anakin’s fevered limbs without disturbing him too much.

Now free again, he settled Anakin back into the pillows.  Anakin let him, practically a rag doll in his arms.

“Try to get some sleep, dear one.”  Ben murmured into Anakin’s hair.  He placed a kiss on Anakin’s sweaty forehead, still unnerved at the heat radiating off of the young man.

“‘M sorry.”  Came a mumble so quiet Ben almost missed it.

“You’re ill, Anakin.”  Ben said lowly.  “It’s not your fault.”

“Wanted to do this right.”  Anakin mumbled, as if Ben hadn’t spoken.  “You deserve a nice holiday instead of taking care of stupid me.”

Ben sighed.  Anakin had never celebrated a proper holiday of this sort, his childhood had kept him and his mother from celebrating anything besides a small acknowledgement of their life day.  And now that Anakin was with Ben, Anakin had been so excited to properly celebrate this year with the money and freedom to get gifts as he saw fit.  The closet was filled with decorative packages ready to be distributed to their friends but Ben had already called everyone off, saying that Anakin could still be contagious and he wouldn’t want to infect any of them.  That could wait until after the holiday though, when Anakin could see the look on their friend’s faces when they saw his carefully picked out gifts.  But Ben hadn’t thought of what that would do to his mental state.  With Anakin, emotional was an understatement, and when he was sick, it was even worse.

“Anakin, it’s alright.”  Ben murmured.  “Holidays come, holidays go, but you are once in a lifetime.  I don’t care if we have to miss a day or two, it’s merely a day on the calendar.  Our friends will see us and we’ll laugh and live and love them and they’ll do it right back with us.  They don’t care about not meeting up, they care about you.”

Anakin’s eyes glistened with tears even in the dim light.

“Oh my dear one,” Ben said softly, cupping Anakin’s face with his hand, “don’t even think such terrible things.  You are never going to be less important than a simple day on the calendar.  You are my light, and you give love freely as if your life depended on it.  There is so much of you to love than I cannot possibly name each and every way I love you, have loved you for years.  Your heart is a thing of beauty, a joy forever, and I’m grateful every minute I get to spend with you.  Taking care of you is what I signed up for when I started this with you.  No matter where or when.”

They had met on the battlefield, Anakin as a pilot, and Ben as a field medic.  The draft had taken people from all walks of life, and while Ben could never be thankful for the things he had seen, the lives he couldn’t save, he would always be grateful for Anakin.  Without him, Ben would’ve simply gone mad.  Even now, without Anakin, Ben would go mad.

“Wanted it to be perfect.”  Anakin mumbled, nuzzling into Ben.  “You always seemed to excited about it.  Just wanted it to be perfect.”

“It is perfect.”  Ben whispered, running his thumb up and down Anakin’s cheek.  “I’m here, you’re here, there’s nothing more I need.  While I could do without you being ill, as long as I have you here, I need nothing else in life.”

Ben wiped away the tears streaming down Anakin’s face with the cloth as if they were simple beads of sweat.

“Can you turn on the lights?”  Anakin asked, in a voice too small for Ben to handle.

“Of course, dear one.”  Ben reached over and hit the button that illuminated their tiny apartment.  The lights danced off the aluminum, changing from red to blue to green to red again, but Ben only had eyes for Anakin.  The lights, traditionally saved only for the holiday itself, had him staring in amazement.  Simple lights against metal had been something Ben had always taken for granted when he was younger, now he knew with Anakin, nothing could be taken for granted.

“They’re beautiful.”  Anakin murmured, on the cusp of sleep.

“Yes.  They are.”  Ben replied, and seeing Anakin finally drift into a peaceful sleep, decided to leave the lights on all night, in case Anakin woke up.

Whumptober alt.Prompt #6- Lost

Little backstory- while I just wrote this, the idea has been bouncing around in my head for a while.  Whumptober finally just got me to write it.  SO! This will make a bit more sense if you’ve seen the episode of the original Twilight Zone called “Number Twelve Looks Like You”- it’s a story of conformity and societal standards and it’s really good but that’s not the point.  The point is this idea stems from that episode.  And it’s original fiction, not fanfiction.

...

Tristan desperately reached out and grabbed at the ship, catching a low pipe.  He got his second hand onto the pipe and pulled.  His arms broke through the seal. His head followed quickly.  He gasped at the atmosphere, his mouth unused to the lungs he was given.  He hauled himself up, trying to ignore the seal screaming at him, the doctors and nurses racing after him, begging him to stay, begging him to come back, shouting at him to understand.  His hips broke free.  He was almost there.  He was almost free.  The voices were coming closer.  He looked down.  Doctor Rex was close.  He threw his right leg out, slipping off the edge of the pipe.  He tried again.  Something grabbed his left foot.

“Tristan!”  Rex.  “You have to come back.  The transformation is a wonderful thing, you just don’t understand it yet.  Please, don’t go!”

Tristan kicked out, catching Rex in the face.  It was enough to get his left leg back onto the ship.  He was now holding onto the ship by a single pipe which didn’t like holding his weight.  The seal, sensing that the obstacle had left, closed itself once again.  Tristan breathed a sigh of relief.  Once the seal closed, it wouldn’t open again.

The pipe creaked ominously.

“Who the hell is stowing away on my goddamn ship?!?”  Came his Captain’s voice.  Tristan had never been so relieved to hear the British asshole he called Captain.

“Sir, please, it’s Tristan!”  He dared to wave one arm, the other holding tightly.  The pipe creaked again, and Tristan thought he felt a small crack appear.

“Tristan?”  The Captain called out.  “I hear your voice, where are you?  What’s the passcode?”

“I’m below, sir.  On what Jessie called the exhaust!”  Tristan called out.

He saw his Captain’s face and couldn’t contain the smile.  But the Captain’s face held only rage and soon he saw the Captain’s blaster.

“Who are you?”  The Captain asked, disgusted.  “You’re not my Tristan.”

“Please, sir, yes I am.” Tristan begged, another piece of what was left of him falling into nothingness.  “I’m Tristan Serling, one of your agents sent by Time herself to fix the cracks since the Breach opened portals in time and to other dimensions.  Honestly, you and I don’t really get along, we fight a lot, you knew my father, only reason I stay on this crew, and because my friends won’t leave you.  For some reason, they see a softie underneath your hard exterior, I don’t really care to look.”

A bigger crack appeared.

“Sir, please pull me up.” Tristan shot his hand out, knowing holding on as tightly as possible wouldn’t help if the Captain let him fall.  “Please!”

The Captain frowned, knowing only Tristan would know that but still not recognizing him.

“I’m in love with my best friend!”  He screamed, knowing he had once confessed this to the Captain while suffering from an intense fever in the field.  He hadn’t told anyone else on their little ship.  “Leah is sweet, and kind, and beautiful, and funny, and she’s just so goddamn good.  She’s everything I want but don’t deserve.  Look, I fucked up most of my early life, but please sir, don’t let me die like this!”

A hand quickly shot down and grabbed his.  Together, they were able to get Tristan onto the landing platform, the pipe falling down into the void of space.

“I’ll replace that, sir.”  He said automatically.

“Doesn’t matter.”  The Captain said.  “Kid, you- you look- what happened to you?”

Tristan swallowed hard.  “Sir, I- I mean, I- They…”

He couldn’t finish.  He couldn’t verbalize what he’d just gone through.  What he’d just lost.

The Captain seemed to understand.  “Let’s get you to medical. Maybe our resident doctor can do something.”

“No, sir, please, don’t take me there.”  Tristan said, stepping away, half his right foot hanging off the edge of the landing platform.

“Let’s get you inside the ship, then we can talk.”  The Captain said, being as gentle with Tristan as he’d ever been.

The Captain led him into the ship, bringing in the landing platform. Now they were safe, sealed inside the ship.  He walked on shaky legs, his muscles unused to the legs he’d been given.

“Here, just sit against the cargo.” The Captain suggested.

Tristan flopped down, landing hard on his ass, his back hitting a box hard enough to make a thump.  His whole body was shaking now, unable to contain his emotions.

“Maybe she can help.”  The Captain crouched down next to him.

“No.”  Tristan shook his head.  “I don’t want her seeing me like this.  It’s bad enough she sees the person I want to be instead of the person I was, but I can’t.  I can’t do this.”

“Because trying to solve it makes it real?”

Nausea hit Tristan like a freight train.

“Here.”  The Captain dumped out a box of ammunition and shoved it into Tristan’s hands.

Tristan spent the next few minutes throwing up what little he had in his stomach.  The transformation had required fasting so they had simply starved him.

He felt a strong hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles.

Tristan raised an eyebrow once he got control of his stomach.

“My wife may be the stay-at-home mom but I’ve helped my daughter through plenty of illnesses.”  The Captain explained.

“Forgot you have a kid.”  Tristan admitted.

“I don’t talk about her much.”  The Captain admitted.  “I try to keep my personal and professional lives separate.”

Tristan nodded, his stomach lurching again.

“Take it easy, kid, just let it out.”  The Captain rubbed his back, speaking softly.

Tristan threw up until he had literally nothing left to throw up, but nausea still rolled in his stomach.

“You want some ginger ale?  Water, maybe?”  The Captain asked.

Tristan shook his head.  “I don’t want them to know I’m here.  Just tell them I quit or that I died or something.”

The Captain shook his head.  “I’m not gonna do that.  You and I may not get along but if your father wasn’t here, I know for a fact that the Hawks’ would adopt you.”

Tristan laughed breathlessly.

“Wait, my father’s here?”

“Yes.”  The Captain nodded.  “I picked him up a little after you went missing.  Your father isn’t exactly known for sitting around doing nothing while his son is in danger.”

“Don’t let him see me.”  Tristan grabbed the Captain’s arm.  “Please.  I can’t- he can’t- I can’t face him.  Not now.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”  The Captain asked.  “Where did you go?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t know where it is, or when it is, or if it’s even in our same dimension.  I just know the Breach opened the portal, and when I landed, I was taken to this… bureau they called it.  I wasn’t really paying attention at first, I was mostly looking for a way to close the portal and get home, like we always do.  They asked me my age, and I told them I was twenty-one, hoping I could get a drink when this was all done.  Dad’s like super strict about me drinking now, and honestly, I know I was supposed to be quitting that shit but I wanted a drink and I wanted a smoke so I lied and said I was older.  I figured twenty-one would be a good enough age to get a cigarette.”  Tristan laughed listlessly.  “Big mistake.  They said I was overdue for the transformation.  I tried telling them I was only here to fix the portals and shit but they didn’t care.  They threw me in some kind of hospital, called it the Transformation Center.  Said I needed to have it.  I… protested.  They just held me down and sedated me.  I kept trying to explain who I was and what I was doing here, but they just said all would become clear after the transformation.  I ended up meeting this chick, Marylin.  She told me what it was.  I begged them not to go through with it, just as she did.  Two days later, I saw her transformed.  They said she changed her mind, when she told me she never would.  I mean, it must’ve been similar to our planet because we talked about Yeats and Dostoevsky and Shakespeare for literal hours.  We talked about individuality, about the dignity of the human spirit, about beauty, about real beauty.  She understood.  It was the first intelligent conversation about Shakespeare I’ve had in years.  She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t have changed her mind like that.  So I knew I had to try and escape.  I don’t know how but I must’ve gotten lost or something or they changed the signs because somehow I ended up in the transformation room, I don’t know how I got there.  I tried so hard, I swear, I tried so goddamn hard… I begged them not to do it.  I swear, I tried…”

The Captain pulled Tristan into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around Tristan.  The Captain’s jacket got wetter and wetter, and Tristan wasn’t sure how.  He fought to get control over his breathing.  The Captain started brushing a hand through Tristan’s hair.

“Shh, it’s okay, let it out.”  The Captain murmured, gently rocking back and forth.

“I tried so hard.”  Tristan said, the stain on the Captain’s jacket growing.  “I tried so hard, I wanted them to stop.  They just kept getting more and more nurses to hold me down.  I kept begging them to stop.  Why wouldn’t they stop?”

“I don’t know.”  The Captain whispered.  “You did your best, Tristan.  Remember that.”

“But they won.”  Tristan said, his voice cracking.

“You survived.”  The Captain pulled Tristan’s hair ever so gently to get Tristan’s eyes up to his own.  “You made it back here.  That’s what matters.”

“No, it’s not.”  Tristan’s voice cracked again and he felt wetness running down his face.  Oh, he was crying.  That’s why the Captain’s jacket was wet.  “They won.  Look at me!”

The Captain sighed.  “Maybe Leah can find a way around it.  If it was done to you, it should be able to be undone.”

Tristan pulled away from the Captain’s safe embrace.  “It can’t.”

“You don’t know that.”  The Captain said.

“I know that!”  Tristan screamed.  “You think I didn’t try?  I went back again and again, sneaking in, trying to find a way to undo it!  They destroy any technology that could undo the transformation, it changes everything!  It makes you like the transformation, it makes you want it.  I don’t know how I survived with my mental faculties intact.  I think it’s because I’m an off-worlder at best, a jumper at worst.  I don’t know.  It... it changed Marylin.  She went from screaming and fighting to loving it.  To wanting to give it to her own kids when she had them.  There’s a mental component too.  I really hope I’m not delayed onset with this shit so I’m not taking the chance.  I’m quitting, resigning, whatever floats your boat.”

“I cannot accept resignations under extreme emotional duress.”  The Captain said.  “Look, if I get you to medical, without Miss Leah finding out, and it truly cannot be undone, I’ll entertain the idea.  But not until then, okay?”

Tristan nodded.

“Alright, let’s clean you up.  I know you said you didn’t want your father to see you, but I’m not leaving him to think you don’t want to see him again.  I’ll tell him that you’re here, and you need some time alone, okay?”

“I don’t think he’ll accept that.”  Tristan said.  “Last time I wanted time alone, I O.D.ed.”

The Captain frowned.  “As a father, I can’t leave him to suffer like that.  He’s losing his mind looking for you.  You and he are so close, if you ask it, I’m sure he’ll respect it.  I won’t let him see you, if you don’t want, you are one of my crew, but I cannot let him suffer.”

Tristan sighed.  “Fine.”

The Captain offered a hand and Tristan took it.  The Captain helped him stand, half-walked half-carried him to the nearest bathroom.  The bathroom near the cargo hold was almost never used, honestly most of the crew forgot it was there.  So it was the only place he would’ve felt comfortable going.  It was a single use so he could lock it and keep everyone else out, including his father.

The Captain let go of Tristan, letting him rest on the sink.

“Wash your mouth out, clean your face, and take a few deep breaths.”  The Captain said, gently brushing away a couple stray tears.  “I’ll keep your father outside.”

Tristan nodded, leaning heavily on the sink.  He looked up and found someone else in the mirror.

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought I was alone.”  He turned around, ready with a friendly smile.

There was no one there.

He was alone.

Oh fuck.

That was his reflection.

He turned back to the monster in the mirror.  Short and straight brown hair, slicked back with a phantom gel he didn’t quite understand, very different from his original curls, blue eyes as opposed to his warm brown, a flatter, wider nose as opposed to his own, lips that were pinker, no widow’s-peak, his piercings had healed, and a softer jawline that his original so sharp he could cut glass.

Cut… glass…

He couldn’t bear it.  He couldn’t bear to look at what he’d been turned into.  He had to stop.  He had to get rid of it.  He couldn’t do it.  He just couldn’t.

Cut… Glass…

He had always wanted to stand out from the crowd.  It was one of the reasons  he loved his face, he wasn’t one to fit into normal societal boundaries of attractiveness, he looked the way he wanted to look.  He had always wanted to stand out.  He needed to stand out and be noticed for being unique.  He was his own person and no abusive grandfather was going to tell him he had to be just like his father, like his mother.  He was his own person, he answered to his own name, he made the choices over what went into his body be they good or bad, it was all him.  He was a person.  No one could tell him any different.  He wasn’t like the other kids.  He’d never been like other people, conformists were complicit in their own oppression.  Individuality was all that mattered to him.

CUT… GLASS…

His hand hurt.  He looked up and saw his fist in the mirror, cracked and bleeding, with glass shards embedded in his fingers.  Not his fingers.  Someone else’s fingers.  They weren’t his, they didn’t belong to him, there were no small scars where he had once accidentally gotten it stuck in a gate, no mole on his thumb.  The blood running down the fingers wasn’t his.  The pain felt distant, like he was sharing a mind with someone else’s body.  He had to hurt them.  He had to get his fingers back.  He picked up a fallen shard of glass and brought it to the edge of his right eye, right below the eyelid where it met the nose.  In one fell swoop, he tore up the face that haunted him, but he couldn’t keep the scream of pain inside him.  Whoever this face belonged to didn’t want him cutting it up.  Well, they’d just have to suck it up or give him his face back.  He brought the glass now to the other edge of the eye, he made another cut, parallel to the first, going from eye to chin.  Another scream.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Tristan, that you?”

His father.

No.  He couldn’t see his father until he got his own face back.  His father wouldn’t recognize him.  He never wanted to make his father doubt.

“Jewel?  Answer me!”

Hard knocking, trying to break down the door.

Maybe not his father.  Maybe the owner of the face.  Well, they weren’t stopping him.  If he had to live with this face, he was living with it on his terms.  He was going to make it his.

He brought the glass to the edge of the nose, and sliced open the cheek to the chin, three lines now parallel.

A third scream.

“Baby, baby, please!”

That sounded like his father.  His mind must be playing tricks.  His father wasn’t assigned to this crew, he’d taken the posting because of that.  He loved his father, would do anything for his father, including getting clean for him, but his father, so nervous, so anxious, so afraid all the time.  After his grandfather had fucked him up, his father was so afraid of losing him.  He didn’t understand.  His father had saved him, saved him and taught him how to be his own person instead of a personal attache to his grandfather, to be more than his father’s copycat.  He knew his father had sent him there to try to raise him better than a constant running around from base to base, chasing after those who suffered from the Breach.

“Baby, please, open the door.  Don’t make me break it down.”

He clutched the glass harder, cutting open the fingers.  Pain didn’t register.  Not his fingers.  Not his pain.

The door rushed in, knocking him down.  The Captain was there, his father too.  They looked horrified, so horrified that the Captain dropped the battering ram he’d used, some type of round metal.

“Baby…”  His father’s voice was weak.

“It’s okay, Dad.”  He smiled, ignoring the protesting cheek.  “It’s not my face.”