No.16 - Tumblr Posts

"My crown is on my brow, my naked blade within my hand.

My army like an eager hound lies waiting my command.

With how you tortured, killed and lied revealed to them this day---

By all the stars that ever shone,

By all the gods, known and unknown,

For Herald Kris and my Queen's Own---

I swear that you will pay!"

~

-Battle Dawn, Debra F. Sanders and Mercedes Lackey

Whumptober Prompt #16- Pinned Down and #22- Hallucination

Tony had officially graduated from worried to scared.  Peter’s fever had been steadily climbing for hours since he arrived at the Compound.  May had called last night, panicking as she knew she couldn’t take him to the hospital where she worked, but he had gotten sick the previous day and he wasn’t getting better.  It had started as a simple cold but overnight, it seemed, it had turned into full-blown viral fever.  He had immediately contacted Shuri, as the Princess of Wakanda had immediately taken to Peter once they had finally met, and sent her everything she asked for.  But Shuri hadn’t found an antiviral yet, hadn’t even gotten a fever reducer to him yet.  And Peter’s fever kept climbing.  So Tony was scared, teetering on the edge of terrified.

“Have to… have to…”  Peter mumbled, lost in the throes of fever.

“Have to what, Pete?”  Tony asked, trying to rearrange the wet washcloths on Peter.  It felt like they’d been forced back into the stone age with Peter’s metabolism burning through antivirals like butter in a microwave.  But he had to keep trying, no matter how old the remedy was.  He had to try and cool Peter down.

“Have to find… find…”

“Find?  Find what, Peter?”  Tony murmured.

“Danger… spi…”

“You don’t have to be Spider-man right now, Pete.”  Tony whispered.  “No one is in danger.”

“Safe?”  Peter sagged against his pillows, exhausted.

“Yeah, we’re all safe.”  Tony soothed.  “Morgan’s safe, May is safe, I’m safe.”

Peter’s brow furrowed.  “Mor-gan?”

Tony stopped.  Peter’s fever was cooking the memories right out of his head.

“Yeah, Morgan.”  Tony answered.  “She’s with Pep, upstate.  We didn’t want to scare her by letting her see you like this.  We knew you wouldn’t want that.”

That had been a hard won battle.  Morgan had not wanted to stay at home, she’d wanted to be with her brother.  Since Tony had all but adopted Peter after surviving the snap, Morgan had taken to calling Peter her brother.  No one, not Pepper, not May, not himself, not even Peter had corrected her. 

“Ben, who’s Morgan?”  Peter asked, his confused voice sending ice through Tony’s veins.

Tony had obviously looked into Peter Parker’s life before recruiting him to what eventually became known as Team Iron Man.  He hadn’t wanted to go in blind to someone who may not agree with him.  He’d seen the scholarship to Midtown Tech, the parents dying in a plane crash as a child, being raised by a single Aunt after his uncle had died in a robbery.  Once Peter had become a legitimate intern at Stark Industries, and he’d met with May to discuss how Peter was going to be continuing Spider-man activities, he’d learned the rest of the story.  May had told him that Peter had been there when his Uncle Ben died, that the man had bled out in his arms.  That Peter blamed himself for his own inaction, though it had been Ben who threw himself in front of Peter.  It explained why Peter was so fueled to make sure Queens was safe, even if it meant breaking curfew to do it.  Peter hadn’t wanted anyone to suffer like he did, not when he knew he had the power to save people.

“Never mind, buddy.”  Tony said, unsure if agreeing with Peter’s delirium or fighting it was the right way to go.  He had to read more books on high fevers when this was over.

“Ben, where are we?”  Peter’s confusion grew and he tried to sit up.  “Ben, we can’t afford this.”

“It’s okay, it’s already paid for.”  Tony hushed, using the best way to calm Peter down that he knew.  Peter could easily be assuaged if their money problems were not in the picture.  “Uh, Tony Stark is paying for it.  Says he wants to give back to the community.”

That wasn’t technically a lie so he figured he wasn’t adding to Peter’s delusions.

“Mister Stark?”  Peter’s childish voice, one he never heard unless Peter was drop dead exhausted or injured, was slurred and slow.  “Ben, did I get to meet him?”

“He’s… around.”  Tony said, trying to find the quickest loopholes he could.  “I’m sure you’ll meet him soon.”

Peter smiled, as if meeting his childhood hero was all he wanted in the world.  “Ben that would be so cool.”

“I know, buddy.”  Tony brushed a hand through Peter’s hair.  It seemed he had already given in to Peter’s delusions by accepting his role as Ben.  “I’m sure Tony Stark would love to meet you too.”

Peter giggled lightly, sending himself into a coughing fit.  Tony wiped away the phlegm, trying to ease Peter onto his side, to take pressure off his lungs.

 “‘M sorry.”  Peter mumbled, seemingly embarrassed.

“Please, Pete, I’ve had to do far worse.”  Tony said.

Peter’s brow furrowed.

“Ben?  You… never call me Pete.  You never…”  Peter frowned up at Tony, his glazed eyes full of mistrust and fear.  His breathing quickened, pushing Tony away.  “You’re not Ben.”

Oh, shit.

“Peter, it’s me.  It’s Mister Stark.”

Peter shoved at Tony, nearly knocking him over.  Even in Peter’s fevered state, his spider-strength shone through.

“Ben?!?  BEN?!?”  Peter screamed, trying to scramble away from Tony.

“It’s okay, kid, you’re alright, Ben’s here, I’m right here, buddy.”  Tony tried but Peter kept struggling to stand.  “Peter, you have to calm down or you’re going to hurt yourself more!”

Tony had never wished for May Parker’s presence more than he was now, but May was at work, unable to take the days off.  Next time, he was just paying her to miss the day.

“Ben??”  Peter shouted, seemingly unable to even recognize Tony’s voice, still struggling.

“FRIDAY, call Steve and Sam, get them down here, now!”  Tony ordered, trying to get Peter to lay back down.  “And call Shuri and ask what the hell is taking so long!”

Not three minutes of wrestling Peter from getting out of bed later, Steve sprinted into the room, Sam right behind him.

“I can’t calm him down!”  Tony shouted, grabbing for Peter’s hand which had been swatting at him.

“Steve, help Tony.”  Sam ordered.  Out of the entire Avengers, Sam had the most medical training as a counsellor for PTSD and other medical discharges so in case of mental breakdowns, Sam was always placed in charge.  “He’s gonna hurt himself more if he keeps trying to get up.”

Steve, ever the good soldier, immediately went to Peter’s other side, climbing onto the bed beside him.  Together, they were able to wrangle Peter back in bed, effectively pinning him down.

“No, please, don’t, Ben, Ben help me, please, stop, no, no!”  Peter’s cries for help tore at Tony’s heart, welling tears up in his eyes, but Tony had to stay strong.  He had to help Peter because Peter couldn’t help himself.

“Stark, what set this off?”  Sam asked, holding Peter’s legs as best as he could without getting kicked.

“He was hallucinating, thought I was his Uncle Ben.”  Tony answered, trying to keep his voice stable.  “Lost him as a kid, died in front of him.  He figured out I wasn’t Ben because I called him Pete but couldn’t remember who I was so he panicked.”

Peter suddenly went limp in their arms, still muttering pleas and distress calls.

“Peter?”  Tony called.  “Peter?!?”

“Please, I just want him back.”  Peter mumbled, completely incoherent.  “Please.”

“It’s okay, Peter.”  Sam hushed, stroking his leg in a circular motion, trying to ground the young teen.  “Just breathe.  All you need to worry about right now is breathing.”

Peter seemed to respond to Sam’s voice.  “Wha-?”

“Just breathe, Peter.”  Sam instructed, keeping up his ministrations.

Steve silently offered to take Sam’s place and Sam nodded, switching with Steve so now Steve was pinning Peter’s legs down, rubbing one hand up and down his calf, and Sam was beside Peter, with easier access to the teen who was now all but resting against Tony’s chest.

“It’s okay, Peter, just breathe.”  Sam exaggerated his own deep breathing, clear enough for Peter to hear.

Miraculously, Peter started to breathe in time with Sam.

“That’s good, Peter, that’s good.  Just like that.”

Tony felt brave enough to gently thread his fingers through Peter’s hair.

Sam nodded at him.  “Do you feel that, Peter?  That’s Mister Stark and Mister Captain Rogers.  You know them.”

Peter’s eyes fluttered open, still glazed over but Tony’s relief, a flash of recognition in them.

“M’ster Stark?”  Peter whispered.

“Yeah, buddy that’s me.”  Tony smiled, and Steve and Sam relaxed their grips on the kid.

“Yo’r cryin’.”  Peter mumbled, frowning.

Tony hadn’t even noticed.  “It’s okay, buddy.  You just focus on breathing.”

“Boss, incoming call from Princess Shuri.”  FRIDAY announced.

“We got him.”  Sam said, already moving Peter into a more comfortable position with Steve’s help.   “You take that.”

Tony nodded, and although he hated to leave Peter, he hurried out the door.  The faster he got this over with, the faster he could return to Peter.

“Yes, your Highness?”  Tony called out, answering Shuri’s call.

“I’m on my way.”  Shuri replied, all business.  “I’ve got an antiviral that should last for his system and help bring down his fever.”

Tony slumped in relief.  “Thank God.  How soon can you be here?”

“I’ll arrive in an hour, max.”  Shuri said.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”  Tony said.  “I’ve got to get back to Peter.”

“Go.”  Shuri all but ordered him.  “See you soon.”

Tony walked back into the room, where Peter seemed to be sleeping, with Sam and Steve sitting on the edge of his bed and computer chair respectively.

“Shuri’ll be here in an hour.”  Tony relayed.  “Said she’s got meds for him.”

Steve nodded.  “I’ll wait for her on the landing pad.”

Tony nodded, and settled in with Sam in case Peter woke up.

Day 8, 11, 16, 25, 27- Stricken

In trying to rescue Kaminari from his own dumbassery, Katsuki gets struck by lightning

lightning, burn, pain, guilt, friendship

“Come on, Kachaaan.” Kaminari whined, making this the fiftieth time in ten minutes that he’d gotten complained at. “Please? We won’t bug you about anything ever again.”

“That’s a fucking lie.” Katsuki shouted back, staring up at his idiot that was currently stuck on the roof of the gym. “Bugging me is your favorite thing to do. Wait, no, it’s your second. Getting into dumb shit that can very easily be avoided is your favorite.”

“Heeeyyy!” Kaminari pouted.

“Seriously, Bakugou, can’t you get him down?” Ashido joined in, marking fifty-one. “I promise we’ll make it up to you.”

Katsuki just glared at her. “What am I? A dog for you to play fetch with? It’s not my fault the dumbass flung the damn thing on the roof in the first place, and making the fucking stupid decision to get himself up there without being able to get down.”

“Yeah, but if we get the teachers, then we’re gonna get in trouble.” Ashido said.

“You deserve to get in trouble.” Katsuki snapped.

“Kachaaaaaaan.” Kaminari called again from the roof. Katsuki didn’t even know how he’d gotten himself up there. “Please?”

“Please, bro?” And there was fifty-two from Kirishima, and twin please faces assaulted him. “Since Sero’s still laid up, we can’t ask him. You’re the only one who can blast up there and get him down without issue.”

Katsuki cursed Sero in his head again. Ever since that bastard broke his damn arm, everyone had come whining to him to blast himself up somewhere since he was one of the only ones in their class with that kind of precision in his quirk. Honestly, sometimes it felt like Sero did it on purpose just to get a fucking break from all this bullshit.

Katsuki turned back up to Kaminari, looking down on them from the roof, a third please face staring at him. The dark clouds behind him matched Katsuki’s mood perfectly.

Goddammit, he hated these fucking idiots.

“Give me the rope.”

Three cheers erupted from each of his idiots, and the rope that ponytail had made them was thrust into his hands. “You owe me big time for this. Especially you, dunce face!”

“Okay, Kacchan!” Kaminari chirped, moving into the middle of the roof to give Katsuki space.

Katsuki wrapped the rope around his shoulder, and got into his proper stance. A quick deep breath, and he ignited his quirk, propelling himself into the air. After training so hard to perfect his Howitzer Impact, flying through the air with his quirk was a breeze. He’d only needed one shot to get himself high enough, and his foot went out to step onto the roof.

(ask temi for sound of thunder)

Burnt ozone. Katsuki barely recognized the smell, but it was there. Before Katsuki’s heart could beat once more, fire erupted from his right shoulder, sending an unfathomable agony across each and every one of his nerves, setting them alight with a heat that couldn’t be quenched. Katsuki’s vision whited sharply, unable to hear the scream his body was making, unable to see the horrified looks on his friends’ faces, unable to see the pure light surrounding him like a fallen angel’s hellfire descent. His body went limp and he didn’t even feel it, so consumed with the burning, wretched fury of pain. Freefalling through the air, he felt like he was falling into a black hole. Darkness engulfed him, saving his mind from tumbling into the inferno of pure torment.

White light flashed across his eyelids, and he could feel sparks running up and down his body, causing his muscles to lightly convulse against his will. As he began to wake, his mind sank further and further into static, a white noise like pelting raindrops and indecipherable noises, only cognizant of the blinding pain stemming from his shoulder.

“Wake up, Bakugou, please wake up!”

His throat wasn’t his own, only gasps and groans could pass his lips, so he couldn’t answer his best friend. It took several moments to recognize that it was Kirishima, but he was still talking, still begging him to wake up, and the constantness of Kirishima’s voice allowed him to figure out who was talking. He couldn’t move his arms or legs to move out of the water that was pelting him, with every drop being a sharp knife stabbing into his skin. There was a soft pressure on his cheek, but he couldn’t remember why it was there, the last thing he could remember was Kaminari being stuck on the roof. He suddenly became aware of an intense heat under his skin, starting from his shoulder and going all across his body, burning his body from the inside out. His only thought became the hot, searing pain in his shoulder, and he lost reality once more.

A soothing, icy touch pressed against his shoulder, thin but firm, and with it, the scorching, fiery pain settled into a mere boiling of his blood instead of all-consuming agony. He grasped onto consciousness as best as he could, pulling another low groan from his throat, as if he were trying to scream from the agony but didn’t have enough control over his body to do so. A steady thrum ran through his perception of consciousness, growing stronger with rapid intensity until he felt as if he were a live wire. Crackling energy raced from his shoulder into his limbs, setting his nerves alight with sensation, with an overstimulated feeling to the point where it was as if the very air was tangible, almost crunchy as he moved through it.

Every aspect of him hurt, hurt in a way that he couldn’t describe with mere words. He wanted to ask what happened, what was causing those white sparks to flash across his closed eyelids, but his throat was too busy trying to pull in weak air to his twitching lungs to try and satisfy his boiling blood. He’d been burned before, an explosive quirk meant a lot of burns in training, but this wasn't like anything he’d ever suffered. Sweat poured down his face, and he could feel his muscles still shaking with every second, his heart feeling like it was missing something every three times. He tried to latch onto the voices around him, using them as the only thing keeping him from losing his mind to the violent, blazing torment in his shoulder. The weak, reedy breaths he managed to take did little to ease the pain, to lift the static in his mind to give him control of himself once again.

Several hands came to his body, the soft pressure leaving his cheek, going under his head, his back, his legs. The voices around him were stronger, closer to him, and he felt them lift him into the air. He couldn’t help the exhausted, pained whimper from escaping his traitorous throat as another white flash erupted across his eyelids, each miniscule movement drawing another piece of agony to each individual nerve in the cruciation that had once been his shoulder. Darkness pulled at his closed eyes, as if knowing he was weak, so weak he could barely think coherently, but his will power burned a different kind of fire under his skin to try and stay awake.

Every single second, every movement sent a new agony through him, the electric crackling in his muscles making even breathing hurt. It would be so easy to just stop, to just give up and let darkness take him, but he couldn’t do that. Giving up just wasn’t in his blood, boiling as it was. Water was running down his face, and he wondered if he had the strength to cry, or if it was the water stabbing into him with every droplet. His breath was pulled from his body, leaving him for too long, just making his lungs twitch and convulse even more, each second bringing a new wave of agony to the forefront of his mind.

Katsuki felt himself being placed on something stiff that wasn’t the ground he’d just been on, grass no longer stabbing into his back. But small, wet bullets dug into his skin, and the heat in his blood reached unfathomable levels, and he lost reality again as what he was laying on lurched to life, moving at a speed he couldn’t comprehend. Time slipped through his hands like water from a faucet, but somehow it was as slow as molasses at the same time. Katsuki’s mind couldn’t keep up, and the darkness that had been taunting him since he’d woken up pounced, and he fell sharply into the nothingness that it promised.

“Lightning?!?” Katsuki shouted incredulously. “I was struck by fucking lightning?!?”

Aizawa nodded, and Katsuki reeled from the shock. “From what I can figure out, when you went up in the air to get Kaminari down from the roof, you caught the edge of the thunderstorm that was just starting. Thankfully, you only caught a side flash, a direct one that close to your heart would’ve killed you. You were very, very lucky.”

Katsuki just stared in disbelief at his teacher for a minute, trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’d just been struck by lightning. Unconsciously, his left hand came to his right shoulder, feeling the tender flesh beneath his fingers. When he’d gotten healed by Recovery Girl in the past, he could barely feel any lingering aches in his body once she was done, the only exception being Nabu island and that fight with Nine. He still couldn’t remember what happened and how his arms had gotten so destroyed, but he remembered how it felt after Recovery Girl had healed him. It had felt so odd when the damage was so deep that there was leftover pain, and it felt just as odd now. His hand dropped to his lap, not wanting to prod the still sensitive burn on his shoulder. He’d never been more glad that humans can’t remember pain, he only had flashes of broken memories after the strike and before waking up in the infirmary, and he never wanted to go after those memories. He never thought he’d be happy about forgetting something.

He just nodded at his teacher, understanding what he was saying.

“Recovery Girl has cleared you to head back to the dorms, but you’re still out of classes for a week.” Aizawa said, handing him some folded clothes. He took them, opening his mouth to protest, but Aizawa just held up a hand. “No. Lightning strikes can have several consequences, including paralysis and cardiac arrest. What your body needs now is rest, and you’re going to get it. The only reason that you’re allowed to go back to the dorms is because I know that you wouldn’t get any actual rest staying in here for a week. You need to be careful with yourself. Not many people survive what you just went through. Now get dressed, your classmates are already chomping at the bit to see you again.”

Katsuki frowned at that, he didn’t want to be swarmed with those extras, but he supposed if one of them got struck by lightning and almost died (gods he almost died) he’d want to see that they were okay. Not that he cared, because of course he didn’t, but just because a near death experience meant that he might have to deal with someone new. If one of those extras died, he’d have to deal with a replacement and they might be worse, so best to check to make sure that the extras he was at least used to were still alive.

The skull tee and comfortable leggings that only Kirishima could’ve gotten him, as he was the only one who Katsuki allowed into his always locked room, were a small mercy he appreciated. The hospital clothes he was in now were uncomfortable and ill-fitting, and Katsuki hated being in them. Aizawa patted his leg gently, and then headed out. Katsuki headed to the changing room, ready to be out of these clothes and out of this building. He hated that he was going to be out of class for a week over nothing, but right now, he was looking forward to lying down in his own bed. Katsuki was seriously tired of the beds in the infirmary.

Apparently the lightning strike had also set fire to his clothes, so he’d been given a pathetic hospital tent canvass and gym shorts, and he practically ripped them off. His arm and shoulder were still bandaged even though he’d been healed, but it wasn’t the bandage that caught his eye. It was what was coming out of it. There were a couple new lines of raised pink lines on his skin that hadn’t been there the last time he looked in a mirror. A quick touch had him wincing lightly, as it seemed like the origin of the pain still in his shoulder. Even though he knew he probably shouldn’t take the bandage off, his hands had already started unwinding it, revealing more pink as he went. Several lines of fresh scars decorated his shoulder now, branching out from his shoulder to his collarbone, all leading back to his shoulder. At the joint, there was a mass of them, a small blob of scar where all the branches ran from. This must be where he’d gotten struck, the scars all stemming from here. It was like a tree’s roots spread all over his body.

Katsuki’s breath left him for a moment. Even with the other injuries he’d ever had, including the final exam, there were never any scars left over. Recovery Girl’s quirk didn’t leave scars. This was the first scar he’d ever gotten in his life. His lungs stuttered in his chest, his heart skipped a beat, and then another. Gods… he could’ve died. He almost died. If he had shot himself up in the air just a little bit higher, he would’ve died.

Hastily, he rewrapped the bandages, pushing down the tears building in his eyes. He was fine now, he was fine now. It didn’t matter that he’d almost died, he didn’t. Gods, he almost died. A few tears slipped down his cheeks, and he scrubbed violently at them. Once the bandage was completely rewrapped, looking as if he hadn’t touched it even though his hands had started shaking, he shoved both hands into his eyes. Stop crying, he told himself. He was fine now, that was all that mattered. This pathetic display of emotion was unnecessary, and he didn’t like spending any time on unnecessary emotions. They were useless to him, so he stuffed them down as far as he possibly could, until he couldn’t feel them anymore.

It took another minute for his heaving breaths to steady out again, and he just put his clothes on, as if nothing had happened. He didn’t dare look in the mirror again. He couldn’t risk another bout of those horrible, and completely unnecessary emotions. He didn’t die. That was all that mattered. He just had to keep telling himself that until he believed it.

If his eyes were still red, then Aizawa at least had the good grace not to say anything. Katsuki was thankful for that. They walked in comfortable silence back to the dorms, the route unusually quiet for a Saturday night. Normally, the weekends had lots of people running around.

“Why is it so quiet?” Katsuki asked casually. “Everyone’s always out on the weekends.”

“That’s because it’s monday.” Aizawa sighed, pursing his lips. “You’ve been unconscious for a long time.”

Katsuki’s heart skipped another beat. His throat got a little tight, only able to make a small, affirmative noise, but he just shoved his emotions down again. It was fine. He was more upset about missing the weekend. That was definitely the bigger issue here. He hated missing out on good sparring time, and he liked to get in some good studying before the weekend was out. He distracted himself from the missing time with the thought that at least he’d get in plenty of studying time when he was resting.

The dorms were quieter than expected. Even on school nights, there were still some idiots, usually his idiots, who were making too much noise and staying up too late. But he couldn’t hear his friends laughing and chattering at each other, or even the other extras really. His constant scowl got deeper.

“He’s back!”

Katsuki couldn’t even process the shout before something hard slammed into him. Arms wrapped around his body, squeezing hard. Two arms became four, and then six, with two more lumps crashing into him. Katsuki’s eye twitched. He’d never allowed his friends to hug him before, and now he was completely trapped by Kirishima, Ashido, and Kaminari to where he couldn’t even move his arms. A seventh joined him, and Sero was at his side, squeezing lightly with one arm, as the other was still in a sling.

“Let. go. now.” Katsuki growled, completely overwhelmed by the sudden influx of touch. His skin was still crawling even when they let go. Katsuki just grit his teeth as they all bombarded him with their shouts.

“Are you okay?”

“We’re so sorry.”

“How do you feel?”

“Gods, we’re so sorry!”

Katsuki’s stomach twisted uncomfortably as he looked at his friends’ crying faces. Tears stained Ashido’s cheeks, Kaminari’s too, and Sero and Kirishima’s eyes were both red. While his friends had approached him first, he could feel everyone staring at him, looking him over silently. Dammit, he couldn’t handle this kind of attention.

“Just shut up, all of you!” He snapped. “I’m fine, it’s over. Doesn’t matter. Leave me alone.”

Instead of doing as he asked, Kaminari just attacked him again, hugging him very tightly, sniffling in his ear. “I’m so sorry, Bakugou! You weren’t supposed to get hurt, I’ll never ask you to do something ever again. I’m so sorry.”

Awkwardly, Katsuki patted Kaminari’s back as his electric idiot started sobbing into his good shoulder. He’d never been put in this position before, he had no idea what to do or how to get him to stop.

“It’s fine, pikachu.” Katsuki gritted out. “You can stop now.”

This time, Kaminari listened. He pulled back, still loudly sniffling but not crying on him anymore. That was at least some progress.

“I’m fine, back the fuck off.” Katsuki snarled, still very overwhelmed since his friends hadn’t gotten out of his personal space.

“Oh! I made you something!” Kaminari then exclaimed, running back into the dorms. Katsuki took that moment to get past the porch, and actually head back inside. Kaminari had run to the kitchen, and come back with a plate, covered with tinfoil. It was then thrust into his hands.

Katsuki didn’t know what possessed him to take it, but when he unwrapped the foil, he found misshapen cookies underneath. He couldn’t even tell what kind they were.

“They’re spicy, I put in extra chilly flakes.” Oh gods, these were going to taste horrendous. “And some of your coffee beans too.” Oh gods, these were going to taste horrendous.

But… he couldn’t deny his friend. As much as he was very annoyed and irritated right now with his friends’ actions, there was something in him that wouldn’t let him outwardly throw them away or disparage them. He couldn’t imagine being in Kaminari’s shoes, having someone getting struck by lightning because you did something stupid. Granted, he never did anything stupid (well, maybe not never, but it was very rare) so he’d never end up in Kaminari’s shoes, but… he couldn’t do it. Especially not with Kaminari looking at him so sincerely. In the past, he would’ve called it pity, but he didn’t think it was. He knew now what Kaminari looked like when he was upset, this was a lot closer to when he knew he’d disappointed Katsuki than feeling sorry for him.

“I’m not hungry.” Katsuki said, and he wasn’t. His voice dropped a couple octaves. “I’ll take them up to my room.”

Kaminari brightened a little at that.

“I’m going to bed, now leave me the fuck alone, losers.” Katsuki said, heading to the elevator. His friends followed just a little, wanting to hover over him, but they knew better thankfully, and didn’t follow him into the elevator. His bedroom door was unlocked, and he scowled at it, but he found a new set of keys on his nightstand. His keys had probably caught fire too in his pocket.

Morbid curiosity taunted him, and he took a small bite from one of the cookies. Immediately, he spit it out into the trash, gagging on the terrible taste. That was one of the worst things he’d ever had in his life. He had to figure out how to get rid of these without Kaminari finding out. It was definitely one of the worst foods he’d ever had in his life, but Kaminari wasn’t one of the worst people he’d ever had in his life, and he supposed intention is more important than the outcome.

Katsuki thought about changing into pajamas, but decided that he didn’t care enough to put in the effort, and he just flopped into bed. He took a long deep breath, and closed his eyes, ready to go to sleep. He wasn’t exactly tired, but it was late, and he had his routine to keep. 

His breathing became erratic, and he couldn’t stop it. Tears built up behind his eyes and he couldn’t push them down. The hands that he’d placed behind his head as he usually did when he was calming down to sleep slid down to grasp at his own arms.

Now that he was alone in his room, he couldn’t keep his emotions down any longer, and he curled a little into a ball and just started sobbing. He buried his face in his pillow, hiding his face as he cried, the shame of being unable to control himself was smothered by the grief and terror that flooded his mind like a broken dam. He almost died. The slightest change in any movement, and he would’ve died. He hadn’t felt anything like this since Kamino, but he’d been able to smother his feelings better then. He’d had adversaries, he’d had distractions. He’d been terrified for his life, but he refused to let the League see how scared he was. He’d been able to hide it so well he’d even hidden it from himself. But he couldn’t hide this, not when he could still feel the lingering ache in his shoulder, could still feel the raised pink lines now etched into his shoulder, and he couldn’t hide just how terrified that made him.

Gods, he’d almost died.

Katsuki wasn’t sure how long he’d cried, it wasn’t like he timed it, but eventually, he drifted into a sort of half-doze. It was a very light sleep, not deep enough to dream, his mind floating back up to consciousness occasionally but never waking him up fully.

A quiet knock startled him out of it completely.

“Um, Bakugou?” Ah. Kaminari again. He wondered when he was gonna get back to calling him Kacchan. It would feel like a return to normal, even if he didn’t like being called that.

Katsuki got out of bed, scrubbing at his face, trying to erase any sign of tear tracks on his cheeks. He opened the door and raised an eyebrow. “What, pikachu?”

“Um, about the cookies.” Kaminari said, and he saw the uneaten cookies on Katsuki’s nightstand. But before he could answer, say that he’d eat them later, Kaminari continued. “You don’t have to eat them. I know they’re gross. I had a couple left over that didn’t come out right, and we tried them and I think I poisoned Kirishima. so. you don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to get hurt twice because of me.”

The smile that Kaminari tried and failed to make just made Katsuki feel bad for him. Kaminari was always so happy and chipper, even if sometimes he was panicked about it, and seeing him feeling this low made the emotions he was still feeling flare up.

“Next time you feel like making cookies, don’t.” Katsuki grumbled, huffing quietly. Kaminari just shrunk at that, like a heavy weight had been placed on his shoulders. “And ask me for help first.”

Happiness bloomed on Kaminari’s face like a sunflower at dawn.

Thaddeus Ross goes after Tony because he won't surrender the location of the Rogue Avengers. Tony hides that Ross is trying to get him on charges of treason because he may be hiding the Rogue's location, but things become intense when Ross takes things into his own hands by sending agents into into Tony's home, arrests him, and kidnaps Peter at the same time. The avengers must band together to save the two before Ross kills them.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my plot.

Whumptober day 16 - Pinned Down

My sixteenth fill for @whumptober2019​, also available on Ao3.

----- ----- -----

“Should we surrender?”

Steve’s jaw clenched with stubbornness. “We are not surrendering,” he insisted. “They will not beat us. Not like this.”

“We have nowhere to go, Steve,” Clint insisted. “This isn’t a fight we should’ve started, and you know it. We’re out of ammo, and nowhere close to get any. We’re lucky we’ve got cover now, but…”

“The moment we leave it, we’re done for,” Sam agreed, though he sounded no happier about it.

They watched as Steve clenched his fists, trying to think of a way, any way, they could still win this. It didn’t look good, though.

“As much as I dislike agreeing with them, I must admit it seems we are at a disadvantage here,” Thor gravely told them. His hammer was mere feet away, but it might as well be an entire world for all that it would be of no use to them. “It would, perhaps, be best to admit defeat and submit to the tender mercy of our enemies.”

“Tender mercy?” As much as he agreed they wouldn’t be winning this fight, Clint had no illusions. There would be no mercy, not for them.

But despite everything, Steve retained his determination. “Clint’s right. There will be no such thing. And wouldn’t it be better to go down fighting, to be defeated honorably rather than to take the cowardly way out?”

It seemed to spur Thor on at least, but both Clint and Sam looked at him dubiously.

“Yeah, you wanna go down with honor, you go for it,” Sam told him dryly, “but I’m not taking any more hits because you don’t know when to quit.”

“Same,” Clint agreed instantly. When Steve looked at the both of them, betrayed, he glared at the supersoldier. “We don’t have your super healing factor, or your super stubbornness. What we have is common sense, and while I’ll freely admit we should’ve used that a bit sooner so we wouldn’t have ended up like this, at this point surrendering is about the only way I can see of getting out of this without ending up dead or worse.”

“You think they’ll be kind?” Steve asked dubiously.

“I’m mostly hoping they’ll be happy enough to have won that the consequences won’t be too bad,” Clint shrugged.

“So you won’t stand with me? Try one more time, one more push, and see if it can make the difference?” It was clear that Steve wasn’t going to surrender - it went against everything that he was to stop going before he’d given everything he had.

Both Clint and Sam shook their heads. “Sorry, Steve. This is the only way.”

“Thor? Are you with me?” Steve asked, back straight and eyes intent.

“One final stand,” Thor agreed, nodding. He held out a fist, which Steve touched with his own. “Together.”

With horrified awe, Clint and Sam watched as they both jumped out behind the sides of the couch with a loud war cry that was abruptly cut off by two pillows hitting the two of them straight in the faces, hard enough they both stumbled backwards a bit. It left them unstable enough that the next pillows took them down instantly, their war cry now transformed into a cry of pain.

Before they could be struck again, they both rolled back behind the couch, curling up to make sure any other shots wouldn’t hit any vital parts.

“Ready to surrender now?” Sam asked the both of them dryly, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. With two superhumans and a guy known for his impeccable aim, he’d thought he’d picked the right side in this fight.

As it turned out, he’d severely underestimated how much damage a team-up of Bucky, Natasha and Tony could do.

“We’ll surrender,” Steve finally conceded, gingerly feeling his reddened nose.

Definitely the wrong side.

Whumptober: I’m Better Off All By Myself (5/5)

A/N: Title from Toxic by BoyWithUke

~~~

Whatever Donatello was expecting, it was not for Leonardo to suddenly collapse like that. By some miracle, he caught the oldest, and noticed a few things. The first was a wound on his shoulder, just a small incision made recently. The second was the sheer amount of scars that littered his brother’s skin, looking more like a canvas drawn on with pastels by a toddler than something blank. The third was how light he was. For giant mutant turtles, they were really heavy, as long as they had been maintaining their health. However, he was worryingly easy to hold after he was caught, even while unconscious.

Raphael reached over on instinct, a little late, but there nonetheless.

"Wait what-"

"What's wrong, Doctor Donnie?" Michelangelo whined.

Donatello fixed his grip on Leonardo to pull him closer. "I've got a few ideas, but let's just get him in the lab for now. Set up a cot."

He shifted Leonardo to rest against his side and Raphael and Michelangelo disappeared. Donatello was assuming that it had to be some kind of exhaustion, definitely severe, but he'd have to be sure.

After laying the oldest down, Donatello stepped away to grab his tools, then returned, giving him a thorough once over. Dear God, what had he been doing in his time away?

"Well," he finally concluded, "I'm sure that he collapsed from severe exhaustion. There are multiple injuries from various sources all across his body, and residue of metal in his shoulder. There's also red marks on his wrists, most likely from restraints. He's been working under severe malnutrition, probably for some time."

Raphael took a sharp breath, Michelangelo's breathing hitched.

Oh well, they had to find out one way or another.

%%%

Leonardo blinked a few times upon waking, trying to gain his bearings. He was laying on a cot, he noticed first. And he was in a lab. Now, was the lab good or bad, and why was he-

"LEO!" Michelangelo launched himself onto Leonardo, wrapping him in a tight hug.

Donatello and Raphael followed shortly after, Raphael taking his hand and holding it tight, Donatello crouching beside him.

"Now, Leo," Donatello started. Oh dear. "I'd love to stay and celebrate, but WHAT THE ACTUAL F-"

Leonardo frowned and elbowed him hard before wrapping his arms around Michelangelo and sitting up.

"What happened? You literally collapsed in front of us!"

He flinched. They were really asking? Already?

Instead of saying something that would probably be more healthy, he smiled and said:

"Donnie, I just got back. Can't we wait?"

All eyes turned to Donatello, some neutral, some pleading, and the doctor huffed, clearly unhappy with this arrangement.

"Fine."

%%%

Leonardo, after he had gotten Donatello to stop asking questions, had been dragged to watch a movie with them for "quality bonding".

Actually, this scene kind of reminded him of-

Walking and walking, all across America. No way to get directions, unable to find home. He wanted to call home, but his phone was probably getting tracked, and he couldn't risk letting them find his home.

Maybe if he got the microchip out and his vitals band off, but he couldn't, not easily.

Back and forth, running and getting attacked, getting found over and over again because they were tracking him.

He had to get that bracelet off. If he could get the bracelet and microchip out and off, he'd be completely off the grid, they'd never find him again.

Leonardo grabbed a brick and slammed it down, over and over. He didn't care when he hit his own skin and busted open flesh, bruising and bleeding. He just needed it OFF. The band continued to wear down until it broke off, it's more delicate bits shattered to pieces. One down, one to go.

He was breathing heavily when he snatched up one of the broken shards, cutting open his shoulder and digging around to find it. His fingers bumped the little metal chip and he latched on, ripping it out, using the very same brick to smash it to pieces.

He was finally-!

Metal scraped against concrete.

They found him again.

"Hey Leo, you’re looking kinda distant, you good?" It was just Michelangelo. He was back.

"Mhm, I’m just gonna go to the bathroom."

Leonardo untangled himself from the pile they had made, excusing himself to the bathroom. After locking the door, he fell back against the tub and let out a short breath. The cold felt nice against hot skin. It helped soothe him.

He felt sick.

There was a roof over his head, he had his family, he was safe, and yet he was still scared. He was worrying them, like an idiot.

Somebody was knocking on the door.

"Hey, Leo? You okay? I'd uh- I'd also like to use the bathroom."

It was just Michelangelo. Nobody else.

Leonardo hurried to his feet, unlocked the door, and threw it open.

"Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to take so long."

%%%

Leonardo skidded in a sharp turn, nearly falling onto his side in the rain. He liked the feeling of the icy rain pelting down on him. It made him calm, it made him feel clean. He liked the cold, but he didn't like-

Thunder, rain washing blood-stained scales. A voice came over comms, startling him out of his thoughts. It was too loud.

"You have your target?"

"Of course."

He always had his target, like it or not. Leonardo released a low breath before slipping into the building. It was one more person, one more civilian. He didn’t know them and he honestly didn’t care to know them. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t see the fear in their eyes before death, the strangled scream that never got to escape, because they were already dead, harsh breathing coming to a stop from an untimely death.

His morals had been lost a long time ago, this only put up walls to prevent them from returning.

It didn’t matter though. He’d do anything as long as they didn’t go looking for his family to hold them at gunpoint and threaten him, or, worse, kill them.

Lightning lit up the sky, revealing silhouettes that waited for him to give them the all clear. He hated this job, hated being a hitman, it went against everything he had believed. But if he needed to, he would train his hands to never let go of the hilt of a sword, always have a weapon or something dangerous on him, prepared to kill anyone at a signal. If he needed to, he would only know blood and death, fear before a killing blow, and darkened skies.

He wasn’t standing in front of a body, covered in blood. He was standing in front of the turnstiles, soaked and too afraid to come in to get a towel because he didn’t want to leave puddles on the floor.

Pathetic.

Raphael paused, letting up the heat on the training dummy for a bit to come and greet him with a towel in hand.

“Where were you?” He rumbled, “We thought you ran off on us so soon after coming back.”

Hardened emerald green eyes, softening with guilt and fear as they were taken away. Wondering, desperate as they looked to the bound hands of their older brother.

Leonardo took the towel. It was soft and warm, like it had just come out of the dryer.

“Sorry, I just wanted to get out, and then it started raining.”

Raphael nodded like he understood. He probably did. Leonardo had seen the hot head leave to blow off steam enough times to know that he definitely did.

Once dry, Leonardo quietly thanked Raphael, took the towel right back to the washing machine, and left to go practice a couple of katas.

The dojo was, thankfully, nothing like-

An eerily silent dojo with a wooden floor that hurt to fall on, so he tried not to. Still, that was hard when he was fighting too many enemies. They wanted him to be able to fight a group, but they had already injured him beforehand and his blood stained the wood red. It was a test, and he was failing.

Somebody knocked him onto his plastron, and suddenly they were all upon him, pinning him down, hands on the edge of his shell to keep good control of him.

Then, by some silent command, they were called off. He was released and exposed to a different kind of pain. Electricity coursed through him from both the chip and his bracelet, hot and agonizing. Leonardo could only whine, too used to this treatment-

Leonardo was not laying on a wooden floor. He was crouched on a tatami mat, silent tears running down his face while somebody rubbed soothing circles on his shell, hushing him.

They… Didn’t ask about why he was crying or what was wrong. They just soothed him and respected his boundaries.

He didn’t think he had ever been more grateful for his family.

Whumptober: Field Care 101

The first time they had gone up to the surface, they had no clue what they were walking into. It had gone completely unnoticed that they had been stepping into a war, until they were almost killed by Shredder.

After that, all of them had thrown themselves into their training, learning both how to fight more efficiently while together or apart, and basic first-aid. Donatello still knew the most about medical things, but they, at the very least, knew how to handle themselves if they had injuries.

Donatello knew the most.

Which meant all of them were clueless when he got knocked down.

He went down hard, knocked over the side of a building, a few sickening thumps and cracks following as he hit a couple obstacles.

Leonardo's stomach dropped. He called to Raphael and Michelangelo to cover him and dropped down after the genius, where was he, where was he-

By some miracle, he was alive, laying on the concrete, oh God that was blood- Crimson, pooling around him staining bandages, his mask, everything. His staff was laying across the alleyway, broken. Leonardo dropped down beside him and lifted him up. Shoot, he was already unconscious? He didn't have much time.

Leonardo traced his hands down busted scales and torn skin, looking for the major source of the blood. It had to be somewhere that would bleed a lot, some kind of artery or, or-

Frick.

Frick.

Heads did bleed a lot, didn't they?

At least it wasn't deep, right? It couldn't be deep, it probably just broke the skin, so it was bleeding.

No such luck. Leonardo didn't know much about how skulls should look, but it was not like that. He needed Donatello, but that was who he was caring for, and he couldn't get answers.

Leonardo wrestled a cloth and some water out of the medicine bag they all had, wetting the cloth, dabbing away blood, and cleaning the wound as best as he could. He followed up with bandages, desperate to stem the bleeding, but trying to remain calm and composed. If he had learned anything from war, it was that panicking helped no one.

As the battle above ended, Michelangelo and Raphael climbed down almost frantically, seeing what was the problem.

"Is he alri-" Michelangelo began, then quickly cut off, noticing the pooling blood, thick and warm and sticky.

"He has a really bad head injury, and we need to move him. Now," Leonardo explained curtly.

He slipped one arm under Donatello's legs, his other under his shell, and carefully lifted him up. There was a low moan that Leonardo tried to ignore as he turned to his other two still standing brothers and tipped his head towards the manhole.

Michelangelo darted forward and opened it, and Raphael hopped down to help carry Donatello down. The thing they needed the least was to accidentally drop him and crack his skull open entirely.

The walk was painfully silent, everybody looking at Donatello every now and again to make sure he was still breathing.

As soon as they were home, they rushed Donatello into the lab. There had to be something that could help them, the resident doctor always kept something useful handy. Donatello was passed off to Raphael to settle somewhere while Leonardo dug through boxes and bins, over desks. It had to be somewhere around, it had to be. He couldn't keep wasting time when the bandages he used earlier were already turning red, when Donatello was getting paler and paler by the minute.

There it was, the heavy kit, reserved for emergencies. Now, he didn't know much, but he was fairly certain that a heavily bleeding head injury counted as an emergency. Leonardo ripped it open, taking what he needed and hurried back to where they had set Donatello up. Praying to whatever deity would listen, he crouched down and tried not to fumble with the needle and thread as he stitched up the wound. The blood flow would stop, and then Donatello would wake up later, right?

...He hoped so, but he tried not to keep his hopes up.

The bandaging process was familiar, the bottom layer soaked to keep the injury clean, and after that? They would have to wait and see.

"I'll keep the first watch," Leonardo murmured, pulling up a chair to sit. It would be a long, long night. "I just wish we had something better for him."

%%%

They swapped back and forth all night, and the next day, and the rest of the week, just taking care of Donatello.

Eventually, Leonardo had to say that he had most likely fallen into comatose, and wouldn't wake up for a long time, if ever. They were simply not qualified to take care of him, and he might never be okay.

Of course it was met with sobs, protests, questions that he could not answer.

When left with silence, though, Leonardo himself expressed frustration, silent tears falling down even when they didn't belong.

Rough Tackle|T|729 Words

Read on AO3

Fandom: 9-1-1

Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz

Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz

Tags: Whumptober 2024, Wound Cleaning, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Nurse Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Firefighter Evan "Buck" Buckley, Pre-Relationship Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Medical Inaccuracies, Injured Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz Takes Care of Evan "Buck" Buckley

Summary: A firefighter comes in with severe road rash and small asphalt pieces stuck in the wound.

Whumptober 2024 Day 16: Wound cleaning

Mustache Opinions|G|266 Words

Read on AO3

Fandom: 9-1-1

Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz & Howie "Chimney" Han & Henrietta "Hen" Wilson

Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz, Howie "Chimney" Han, Henrietta "Hen" Wilson

Tags: Flufftober 2024, Yes No Maybe, Mentioned Athena Grant, Team as Family, Firehouse 118 Crew as Family (9-1-1 TV), Eddie Diaz's Mustache (9-1-1 TV), crackfic, Crack

Summary: Eddie's mustache.

Flufftober 2024 Day 16: Yes, No, Maybe

gurney / flatline / Don't go where I can't follow (would you lie with me and just forget the world?)

Faye ran alongside the gurney as the medical staff pushed it through one set of double doors after another. She couldn't believe how fucking lucky Spike was. For a hospital to be literally across the street from the syndicate? The odds had to be insane. Unless... there was a good chance this hospital existed because of the syndicate. Not necessarily for the body count a criminal organization racked up, but more likely as an overture of kindness to the regular folk in this neighborhood - a way to try and keep the masses on their side. Whatever the reason, Faye was grateful.

One of the medical techs glared at her for not only keeping pace as they raced into surgery but for basically being in his way and keeping him from assisting with Spike. He'd flatlined twice in the time it had taken to get him from the stairs at the ruined height of the tower to this point en route to what would hopefully be a life-saving operation. She wasn't about to let the lunkhead out of her sight after that. Her own heart had stuttered every time that ominous tone rang out from the machine sitting beside him on the gurney.

But even as dedicated as she was, she couldn't fight off the security team at the door to the OR. Maybe if it had only been a couple people but this was like five or six burly men and she was covered in blood and fairly distraught, all things considered. Thrashing madly in their grasp, she kicked and pushed and slapped at the people keeping her from getting further.

Desperately, she cried out to Spike even though it seemed highly unlikely that he could hear. "Don't go where I can't follow! Don't you dare die on me now!" She sagged in the grip of the security team, sobbing inconsolably even as she continued to bat at them with tired, bloody fists.

*

"You're such a selfish asshole."

"You made me look like a madwoman."

"You absolutely ruined my outfit. I'm literally going to have to throw it out. There's no getting that much blood out of the fabric. So, you owe me some new clothes."

"Jet is furious with me, by the way. I stole his ship to get to you. Well, borrowed it... I'm gonna give it back, after all. It's much harder to maneuver than my ship."

"I can't believe you'd just take on that whole place by yourself. I'm not going there to die, Faye. Yeah? Remember saying that? Seems like a pretty big fucking lie when you look at the odds you were up against!"

He'd listened to her ranting and raving for hours, or days, or weeks maybe. It was hard to tell when he kept slipping in and out of excruciating pain. But something in him demanded he defend himself. Demanded he answer her accusation.

"...but... did I die?" His voice was raw. There must have been a breathing tube down his throat at some point. But faint and pained though it was, Faye heard it.

Her breath caught before she could launch into another tirade. Cool hands were suddenly fluttering around his face, his shoulders, ghosting over his abdomen which felt... not great. Even with however many painkillers he was on, he could feel the burn of the cut and the itchiness of the stitched up and healing skin.

"You couldn't have known you were gonna survive. It's a fucking miracle I made it in time to keep those syndicate brats from riddling your body with bullets. And the doctors were a fucking joke too - they let you die half a dozen times I swear! You waltzed off on a suicide mission after giving me some bullshit about yourself and giving me the desperate hope that maybe just maybe you actually meant to come back and-"

"Faye," He interrupted. He opened his eyes just a bit, surprised by her appearance. She was in nursing scrubs, a dark red color that seemed intentional - what better color to hide blood? - and she looked positively exhausted. Her voice had been as strong and scathing as ever, but to look at her was to see just how fragile she truly was. "Would you lie with me... and just forget the world? Just for a little while... please..."

A tremulous smile touched her lips. "They did give you an awfully big bed for one scrawny jackass..." She noted coyly. "But if they try to yell at me for this... I'm throwing you under the bus. It was your damn idea, after all."

He smiled as she began to clamber up beside him, carefully stretching herself out along his right side where he was least injured.

"Been... falling for you... for so long now... might as well... keep taking the fall." He told her in a breathy whisper as he closed his eyes to escape back into unconsciousness. He hurt too damn much to bother staying awake for long. There'd be time enough for conscious suffering in the future.

"You lunkhead," She murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple. It was the last thing he felt before succumbing to a restful sleep.