OK LAST QUICK QUESTION OF THE NIGHT. When I Saw The Accidental Sneak Peek, I Saw The Word Terminator

OK LAST QUICK QUESTION OF THE NIGHT. when i saw the Accidental Sneak Peek, i saw the word terminator and. i must know.

what other robot-related nicknames/puns does jj use for morri. they are TOO silly.

AHA BUG YOU'VE CAUGHT MY FAVORITE DYNAMIC

i'm going to give you the ones I've used so far, and a handful more:

Terminator (only used when they first meet, before JJ stops thinking of them as a weapon)

Tin can (rudely, when they first meet)

Baymax (when they're being an overbearing caretaker)

Tin man (the updated version of tin can, in reference to the Wizard of Oz. with prior gender permission from Morri of course)

Houston (used when JJ is in the field and Morri isn't, reference to Houston, we have a problem. yeah it's not a robot it's still funny to me tho)

Optimus Whine (when they're audibly malfunctioning)

Insists on calling them "Alan" during a mission because of the Turing Test. JJ thinks he is very funny

Fritzy/sparky (when they're injured or glitching)

Heavy metal (sometimes instead sung to the lyrics "heavy metal broke my heart", centuries, fall out boy)

those are all the ones you get the test are SECRET (i have to come up with more lmao) ANYWAY i am so sorry this is late but!!! here you go!!!!

after

cw: brief description of illness-related weight loss and a near-death illness experience

“Where’s B?” A hangs their coat on the hook and kicks off their work boots, moving closer to stand by the stove.

“In bed. Wanted to rest before dinner.” C’s bent over the table, a spread of papers and documents covering the surface.

“Let me guess. They tried to do too much today and wore themselves out.”

“What do you think?” C looks up from the desk, glasses perched on their nose. “I found them dead on their feet in the kitchen, blanket wrapped around their shoulders, trying to do the dishes. Had to practically carry them upstairs.”

It’s not a suprise, but it still makes A’s heart squeeze a bit. A few weeks ago, B had caught a bad cold which turned to pneumonia. For two weeks it had been touch and go, and though B had made it through the worst of the illness had passed, it had still left B weak, gaunt, and pale.

They weren’t bedridden any more, but they tired easily. The dark bruises still painted the skin under their eyes, and they were frequently chilled by the drafty winter air. A could tell they were so much thinner than they used to be, and they shuffled around like it hurt to move.

Yet still, B pushed themselves to do things, and A hated it.

“I’ll go up and check on them, see how they are.”

“Be gentle. You know they don’t like it when you tell them what they ought not to be doing,” C warned.

“Then they ought not to do it,” B called over their shoulders as they headed upstairs.

—————

B’s just waking up when they see A gazing at them from the door, a haunted look on their face.

“Don’t look at me like that.” B shrinks into the covers like a turtle retreating to its shell as A enters the bedroom.

“Like what?” A crosses the room to stir the fire in the stove.

“Like I’ll vanish if the breeze blows too hard.”

“B, you’re hardly more than skin and bones—I think I get to be concerned.”

B reflexively wraps their arms around their midsection, trying not to wince at being able to feel each rib. For weeks, they’d been so nauseous and delirious that all they could manage was a few sips of broth at a time. They were already lean to begin with—now, they could count bones they didn’t realize they had. Everything about them felt frail, shaky, insubstantial—so incredibly weak. They could hardly stand to catch glimpses of themselves in the mirror.

B stiffens as a shiver wracks their body—they can’t seem to stop shivering these days, a side effect of having no insulation and the persistent, low-grade fever the doctor said could remain for months afterward.

“Cold?”

B tugs the blanket tighter, willing it to warm their chilled body. “I’ll manage.”

A slowly closes in on B’s bed and takes a seat on the edge, putting a hand on B’s shoulder. B hates the feeling of someone so solid, warm, vital against their own frail body—a reminder of what they’re not. “I know the doctor said not to worry.”

“I’m getting better,” B insists.

“Yes, you are. But the keyword is getting better. And it’s going to take so much longer if you don’t pace yourself.”

B flinches at the words as if A hit them. “I know what I need.”

“I don’t know if you do—“

“See, I knew this would happen.” B’s voice cracks on the words. “You can’t just let me be. You have to tell me what I’m doing wrong, when you don’t know the first thing about what it means to lose your ability to do anything.”

“Because you won’t stop.” A’s voice is tight. “You push yourself and act like nothing happened, like you didn’t almost die—“

“You think I don’t know that?” B’s voice elevates. “You think I don’t feel the effects of what it did to me?”

“You know, but you won’t give yourself the chance to—“

“To hell with what you think you know. It didn’t happen to you—it happened to me!” B jackknifes to a sitting position, unable to hold themselves back.

“And I had to watch it happen!” A’s voice raises a degree, and they shoot off the bed, pacing before whirling back to face B. “You have no idea what it was like to see you half-mad with fever, thrashing about while we held you down and tried to cool you down while you screamed, or to hold you in my arms while you shook and you sobbed because you were so cold, or to hear you fight for every breath and beg the heavens for you to take just one more, all while being terrified you wouldn’t.”

The words hit B square in the chest. They thought you would die. A’s eyes are glassy, and B doesn’t know what to say, how to respond to something like that, and they take a deep breath to center themselves—

—only to be cut off as a coughing fit wracks their frame. They cough so long they see stars, but then they feel it—the warm, solid hand they hate so much on their back, rubbing soothing circles.

They couldn’t shake off the hand if they tried.

After it ends, B slumps back into the nest of pillows, breathing hard, chest aching from the exertion. “I hate this.”

“I know.” A’s whisper is soft. And it should make B mad, A thinking they know anything, but it doesn’t.

They sit in silence for several minutes, the anger fizzling out of both of them.

“Were you really that scared?” B says, when their breath stabilizes enough to speak.

“Yes.” A’s voice is quieter still, and B can catch the glint of the unshed tears in their eyes.

They’re quiet for much longer, and A speaks again.

“I just….I see you, and I just want to make everything okay for you and I can’t,” A says, voice cracking, a tear slipping out that’s quickly wiped away with a sleeve.

“That’s not your job, A. I’m not how I used to be, and I don’t know how to go back or if I even can,” B says, staring at the ceiling. “I can barely catch my breath, I’m always freezing, I look like a skeleton, and I can’t do anything without being exhausted. And it doesn’t make it better when you’re hovering over me, telling me I can’t do things when I already know.”

“I know.” A heaves a sigh. “And I’m sorry. I made it about me and my stuff instead of caring about you and I….I haven’t handled this well. None of it.”

“No, you haven’t.” B can’t stop the snarky retort that sneaks off their lips, and A’s mouth twitches with the faintest of smiles.

“Just…please. Know that we don’t expect you to be up and at it all of a sudden. Or ever. You don’t have to push yourself for our sakes.”

B sighs. “I know. And I’m sorry, scaring you like that.”

A takes in a shaky breath, and for the first time in the dim evening light, B can see that A’s a little rougher around the edges too—sleepless shadows under their eyes, hair that’s mussed and out of place, and a thousand -yard stare that wasn’t there before B got sick.

“Are you okay, A?”

A pauses for a moment. “Sleeping has been…hard. We were up most nights with you, C and I, for a long time, and even when you started getting better…” A shakes their head, as if to clear the cobwebs. “It’s like my body’s always trying to stay alert, in case you…in case something happens.”

B can’t even make a joke about that.

“Sometimes I’ll just…sit at your door and make sure you’re still breathing.”

“Okay, that’s weird.” B chucks a pillow at A, trying to shatter the heaviness around what A just confessed. To their credit, A yelps, and when B laughs, A smiles.

“But also sweet. And a little unhinged. Maybe both.” B says, propping themselves up on their elbows. “So what do you say if we both just give ourselves some time?”

A nods. “Some time.”

“Good.” B slumps down. “Now, that conversation took all the energy reserves I was saving for dinner, so I need another nap. You planning to take one with me, or are you going to watch me in my sleep again?”

“I think I can handle a nap,” A says, allowing themselves to tip over onto the covers.

When dinner time comes, it’s C who finds the pair fast asleep and curled into one another, A’s hand on B’s chest as they breathe the deep, even breaths of sleep.

being aromantic and into whump is like. shoutout to whump for being a great opportunity to engage with stories about intimacy and vulnerability and powerful emotion and physical interactions with other people and intense relationships that are not presumptively based in romance. what would i do without you.

ok THIS IS MY LAST REQUEST OF THE NIGHT so please take your time if you can’t do it rn but i’ve genuinely LOVED seeing your prompt fills this is so so so fun and im so happy

okay this time it’s jj’s turn to be whumped because he has had it far too good for far too long (for 2 fics)

a scenario that immediately comes to mind is jj with a NASTY fever. i’m talking an utterly debilitating fever that he has to push past for some reason, and morri only notices/realizes when they find him asleep at his desk/wherever makes sense, looking absolutely exhausted and practically delirious because his body just… couldn’t keep up anymore

preferably fluffy if you’re in the mood, but it it takes angst to get to that fluffy ending it’s a sacrifice i’m willing to make

my deepest apologies bug it turned out more angst than fluff. however. you are totally right and JJ needed the worst fever known to man.

here you go!!!

--

The worst part about it all, is that he's alone.

Journey is a team player, usually. Especially before he was iced. JJ was a confident leader, a warm director, he knew people's strengths and how to protect them. He always had someone to fall back on. But the Cages were stretched thin, and they needed information, desperately.

Breaks aren't common when you're the Hero of the City. So Journey persists, and JJ shivers uncontrollably in his jacket.

He walks as quick as his legs will let him through the halls, pleading the forces that be to keep everyone else away from him--he wouldn't be any good at acting like he's meant to be here.

Morrigan would be better at this. Morrigan would be unbothered by the heat trapped between his jacket and skin, and how it does nothing to soothe the wracking shivers down his spine. Morrigan would be in and out, no problem, like they've done a thousand times before.

But Morrigan had a different mission. So JJ is alone.

Terribly, horribly, alone.

His breath hitches. God, he wishes he was at home right now. But he takes a left, scurried down a hall, and meets the first door.

He pulls up a stolen keycard from the guard he knocked out on the way in, and it buzzes. He pushes through into a connecting room, with plain white chairs like waiting rooms.

JJ moves onward and to the right, and pulls out a burner phone. The next door opens when he presses the fake code of an eye into its lense--something Morrigan cooked up on their own--and he swings it open, pulling the jacket tighter around him and shaking his head against the sudden onslaught of dizziness.

Glancing around, he finds the desk.

Perfect.

This is a science officer's desk. There's a diploma hung on the wall, signed with scribbly writing, and there's several papers and clipboards sprawled about the poorly lit and moderately cramped room. He stalks over, and begins snapping photos of as many pages as he can.

Morrigan would just be scanning them. They'd have the information downloaded.

God, he's fucking useless.

"Keep going," their voice whispers. "The only way out is through. You're almost through."

He wants to cry. His hands are shaking. He can't take a breath. Everything's too cold and too warm and he's dizzy and he just wants to go home, go to Morrigan, go to sleep.

He snaps the last photo.

"Okay. Out. There's a service elevator."

If it weren't for the fear pressing against his throat, JJ would be worried about hearing voices. But he can't help the wave of relief he gets and the thought of maybe, maybe not actually being alone.

Service elevator. Check. With raw and desperate strength, he pries it open and carefully grabs the cables, wrapping his legs and arms securely. The journey down is a long one. But he's never one to shy away from something difficult.

Even if he really, really wants to.

By the time he's sitting on top of the elevator car, there are tears in his eyes, his limbs are completely numb, and he nearly collapses when his legs give out. But somehow, he pulls the emergency door open. Somehow, he slides down into the car.

"Almost there," someone whispers, and he can't tell if it's him or Morrigan.

He presses the ground floor button. The rocketing of the car makes him want to vomit, but he grips the handles as tight as he can, and waits it out.

The doors open. JJ tries to put on a brave face.

Marching through, as quick as his wrecked limbs carry him, he keeps his head down and takes gulping breaths. Fresh air would be so nice right now. So would being at home. So would...

"Sir, are you alright?"

It's the lady at the front desk. She's standing, watching him approach with concern.

He nods shakily, not stopping. "Peachy."

"Wait, hey! You look really pale, you should sit down, I can call someone--"

"I, uh, live not far from here, I'm fine," he tries to reassure through the thick tongue in his mouth, "I'm going, I'll be out of your hair soon."

"Sir--"

JJ picks up speed and throws open the doors to the big city. The fresh air is nice, pushes away some of the vertigo, but the horrible trembling that takes over his body is much, much worse.

"Left turn on 17th," Morrigan's voice urges. "You're out of the hard part. Now you need to get home."

The walk to his apartment is arduous. It's long. Chicago is not a small city, he knows this, but he'd give anything to be living in some bullshir farm in South Dakota again, where the market is three blocks away from his house, where his brothers could carry him, where home is.

When he finally stands in front of the door to his apartment, he doesn't know where he is.

A scramble for his keys, a few more steps, and the warmth of his living room finally catches the cold off guard. For a small, brilliant moment, he is finally warm.

The exhaustion hits him. His legs give out.

"Morrigan," he whispers. He clutches the side of his couch, eyes fluttering shut against the sudden spinning of the room. "What do I do now?"

Something inside him reminds him--he has to report back on the mission. He's not done. God, when can he be done?

JJ furrows his brows, grits his teeth, and forces himself up off the floor. His feet drag. He places both hands firmly on his desk, and collapses into his chair, pulling out the burner phone and locking it away in the drawer.

He grabs a pencil. His eyes blur. He begins to write.

--

Morrigan has blood on their cheek. It's not a big deal, certainly not theirs, but it's quiet obvious and hard to hide. They'd wipe it off, but JJ has a sink they can wash their face in.

They're closer to his apartment than their own underground room. And they have a key, anyway.

The door is unlocked.

Morrigan shifts their posture into something defensive, and gently pushes into the room. Their eyes dart quickly around, cataloging the untouched mess of clothes on the couch, the handful of dishes drying on the rack--

Oh, JJ.

"Hey. Jace. Wake up." They're by his side in less than a second, shaking his shoulder, hot to the touch.

He moans, and shifts, but doesn't wake, instead revealing the notepad on the desk. Written in messy handwriting, repeatedly, is, "I want to go home."

Oh, Jace. What did you do?

Morrigan throws open the bedroom door and shoves off a pile of clothes, pulling the covers back. They find a glass and fill it with water, and grab a bottle of Tylenol to set on the nightstand.

Returning to the living room, they hoist JJ up into their arms in a fireman's carry.

Jace is warm. Too warm. They can feel the muscles twitch in an attempt to reorient himself, help Morrigan carry him, but all it does is send a wave of trembling down his body.

Morrigan tucks him in. "Journey, report."

It's a cruel way to wake him. It works nonetheless. JJ's eyes snap open, and the dilated pupils blow wide. He glances around. "Sir."

"Tell me what happened."

"Mission successful. One witness post-seizure. Burner phone protected. No injuries, or property damage. One guard neutralized, no fatalities." His eyes are glazed over, and he mutters it with slurred words, like he's said these things half a million times.

Even five years asleep can't get rid of thorough training. Morrigan's chest hurts.

"JJ, you're home safe. You don't need to be Journey right now."

"Mmm?"

The sound is heartbreaking. It's partially a whimper, like he thinks it's too good to be true. Like it's a test.

Morrigan threads their fingers through his hair, as gently as they can manage through the sweat-soaked strands. "It's me, Jace. Come back, okay?"

JJ leans his face into their hand and whines. "Not here. You're not 'ere. Just imagining it."

"I'm right here. You need to take some medicine, okay?"

"'Kay, Morri." JJ starts to get up.

"Hey, no, I have it here--" Morrigan pushes his chest back into the pillows, and grabs the pill. "Here. Open?"

His jaw drops. He looks up at him, dumbstruck. "Morri?"

They hum, grabbing the water too. "Yes, JJ?"

"You're really here?"

"In the fabricated flesh."

There's a hitched breath. Morrigan glances over, and sees a tear fall down his cheek.

They nearly drop the glass, reaching over to take his face in their hands, looking them over. "Jace, what's wrong?"

"Don't feel well," he mutters. It's as honest as he's ever been. Which is deeply concerning.

"I'm here," they soothe. "I'll take care of you."

He grabs their hand, tightly. "'Kay."

"Now take your medicine, and then you can go to sleep."

"Won't leave?" he asks, looking up through already half lidded eyes. "Please?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Morrigan promises. "Not for the world."

--

i don't usually do POV switches but this one felt necessary. this was so fun to write. i love my guys!!! i love them so much!!!!

thank you for the asks bug!!! always feel free to send more, it's so much fun to trade guy rambling with you! :DDD i am sorry it wasn't as fluffy. but JJ seems to be very sad when he's sick. morri cuddles him later. i decree it so

I MADE A WHUMP EVENT: get ready for July folks

welcome to the Whumperless Whump Event of July! for your sickfic, situational, and completely apersonal whump needs--comfort included, of course.

Image transcripts, tagging rules, and guidelines under the cut!

RULES

Any and all art types allowed (GIFs, drawings, music, writing, etc.)

No AI generated content allowed

OCs and Fandom works alike are welcome :)

Trigger and content tags required, even if the prompt explicitly requires the content (eg. Vomiting still needs the emetophobia tag)

NSFT and NSFW are allowed, if tagged appropriately. This blog will not reblog them, as minors do follow it. However, you're still free to write as you please :)

If enough interest is shown, I will make an Ao3 collection

Side note: please let me know if there's anything I can do to make this post or event more accessible. Should I put the image transcripts on the ID too? Is the formatting causing issues? What can I do?

This is not a contest, just an event. The only awards will be announcements for people who completed the whole darn thing. My entries will not receive any announcements or awards, because I'm hosting

TAGGING

Tag with, per example: #whumperless whump event day 1; #whumperless whump event; and (optional) #whumperless whump event day 1: alcohol as a sanitizer

Tag me (@whump-kia) please! If not, I may not see it or be able to reblog it!

If desired, tag the medium you used

IMPORTANT:

Trigger tag and content warn (including nsfw/nsft)

If posting early, tag with #wwe early entry. If posting late, tag with #wwe late entry. If posting just for fun, no need to tag these!

There are NO OTHER RULES. Do one prompt! Do seven! Do 'em all! Repeat the same prompt six days in a row! Switch them around and do them all out of order! Post them eight months after the event is over! Finish the prompt list early! Write one long-ass story that deals with every prompt or do a one-sentence drabble for each one! Recommend your favorite scenes regarding the prompt! Write, draw, sing, play music, make playlists, do fic recs or show recs or episode recs or book recs, fucking crochet or something! FOLLOW THE VIBE. DO WHAT'S FUN.

Prompts (text):

Emergency First Aid: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”

Does your insurance cover this?: Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, ambulance is almost here.”

Like a record, baby: Vertigo / Struggling to stand / “Is the room spinning, or is it just me?”

It's every day bro: Chronic pain / Massage / “I'm used to it.”

Stealing my breath (give it back): Wheezing / Light-headed / “I'll count, you just breathe.”

Summer is a curse: Heat Stroke / Panting / “Why don't we… find some shade, quick?”

Accidental Cryotherapy: Falling through a frozen lake / Hypothermia / “Hey, c'mon, you gotta stay awake.”

Put your head on my shoulder: Migraine / Light & Sound Sensitivity / “I can close the curtains…”

White and red handkerchief: Coughing up blood / Can't speak / “You just can't shake that cough, can you?”

Your work is never finished: Forced to work while ill / Workplace emergency / “...sit down, I'm calling HR.”

A minor annoyance: Stuffy nose / Hate to be sick / “I'm fine, I can work.”

It's going down (I'm yelling timber): Building collapse / Trapped under rubble / “I can't move my legs.”

It's just a pebble: Avalanche / Stuck in the mountains / “Well, this wasn't how I thought the hiking trip would go.”

Lay down your sword: Fighting back a cold / Cuddling / “Just let yourself be sick so you can get better.”

I'm going down (you're yelling timber): Passing out / Exhaustion / “I've got you, let's sit down, I've got you.”

Say goodbye to filters: Half-conscious / Delirious / “You would never say that in your right mind…”

In hot water: Dangerously high fever / Cool baths / “We have to get that number down somehow.”

I don't see it: Hallucinations / Fever dreams / “It's just a nightmare. You're safe.”

The whump morning after: Tending to injuries / Domestic hurt comfort / “Let's check the bandages, okay?”

It's not fun if you're panicking: Stuck in an elevator / Claustrophobia / “Get me out.”

Where's the exit: Lost / Stuck in the wilderness / “Surely someone will notice we're gone.”

Better out than in: Nervous Stomach / Vomiting / “I got your hair, it's fine.”

Well, that doesn't taste right: Accidentally poisoned / Allergic reaction / “My tongue feels like bees, is that normal?”

Be one with the fish: Drowning / Rescue Breaths / “Why did you think that was a good idea?!”

We didn't start the fire: Severe burns / Running into flames / “I know it hurts. Breathe.”

That's no barn spider: Venomous bite / Arachnophobia / “You'll be okay, we can help.”

What's your name again?: Concussion / Temporary Amnesia / “I don't remember what happened to me.”

Nothing behind the eyes: Fully unconscious / Force feeding / “It's just me, go back to sleep.”

Wrong place, wrong time: Robbery / One of many hostages / “Stay behind me, I can take a hit.”

I don't mean to get emotional: Fear / Breaking point / “I can't stop crying, I'm sorry--”

Only way out is through: Tunnel collapse / Accidental Journey / “We can't just sit here and wait.”

ALTERNATES:

Seizure

Choking

Withdrawal

Mugged

Wild animal attack

Hangover

Strain/sprain

Broken bone

Bloody nose

Panic attack

Whumperless Whump Event Day 2

Car accident/Bystander Caretaker - whumpee Morrigan - 656 words

tw car accident, blood mention, panicking, temporary blindness

--

The odd connections between sound and awareness do not fully make sense to Morrigan.

They're somewhere in the void of stasis, only the barest of code running to keep them functioning. Standstill components are just as dangerous as overheated ones. It's like a manual transmission–they do not function well if they're starting cold.

Beyond that, though, is the quietest filtering of static. Eyes closed means they're not awake yet. But they're… hearing.

Something is wrong.

The first error flashes up into their black vision. It's followed then by several more, and a Critical Injury warning–which is probably the least reassuring thing to wake up to–and a handful of readings on the weather. They swipe it all away and focus on forcing their systems to run.

Static hums in their ears, louder and louder, until it crackles and with a loud pop, they can hear a voice.

“--got you. You're okay. Are you awake? You're moving. Listen, you've been in an accident–”

It's not one they recognize. Smooth, feminine, round in tone and darker, elegant. Likely a woman of status. They still can't see.

Morrigan is damaged. And the only person they can hear is a stranger.

A warning pops up. Stress levels increasing.

Carefully, they push a system check on their larynx, to test if their voice will still work. Luckily it seems undamaged.

“What happened?” they whisper.

The woman's voice is just as close. Behind her are louder sounds, sirens, clamoring voices. Metal screeching. “Someone ran a red light and slammed straight into your car, your friend's a little ways away, I think he's–”

“Jace,” they say immediately. Their eyes still do not open. It's terrifying to be trapped in the dark. “How is he? Is he alright?”

“Yes, he's dazed, I think he's just coming to. Standing, he seems alright. You're right messed up though–”

Oh. They're injured. There's not-blood all over their jacket, surely, and it may be dark, but their skin is still pale and the mixture that keeps them running is definitely not red. This is bad. This is bad.

Instinct kicks in. This is a dangerous situation. They have to make a choice.

They feel the woman's hand reach out and flinch, hard, away. “Don't touch me.”

“Alright, I'm sorry, you're just–I was going to put you in rescue position–”

“Don't. Please don't touch me.” The fear isn't hard to conjure. Whatever it takes to keep the woman far enough away from recognizing what they are.

“You're alright! You're–”

Morrigan drags as much panic up from this situation into their voice, like someone claustrophobic stuck in a coffin. “Please, please, please–”

“I'm not going to, alright, I promise, I'm not gonna touch you. Hey. Tell me your name?”

“Morrigan,” they heave. “Morrigan White.”

“Good. My name is Kim, I'm just here to make sure you're awake before the ambulance gets here–”

“Morri, are you alright?”

Jace. Thank god.

“Scuze me, hey, sorry, thanks for the help, Morrigan, are you up, are you hurt–”

“One at a time, Jace,” they remind him, a half desperate laugh falling from their lips, despite how their eyes remain completely dead. “A simple ‘how's your day been’ does wonders.”

“Smart-ass, you're gonna bleed out on the fucking pavement, don't get sparky with me. Hey. Hey. Look at me.”

They laugh again. It's a hopeless, broken thing. “I can't.”

JJ pauses, for a long while. A siren screams even closer now. “You… can't.”

“I'm blind. I can't see anything. Something broke. I–”

“Don't panic, it's eyes, we can do this, we just need to get out of here. We'll get you fixed up. I promise.”

A promise. Journey doesn't break his word. Morrigan clutches his arm tighter, allowing themselves to be guided upwards. They lean heavily on him.

“It's alright, Morri. It'll be alright.”

His words are soft and certain all at once. So Morri keeps their eyes closed, and is led away from the scene.

--

they're both fine in the end i promise morri gets their eyesight back