No - Tumblr Posts

(Whumptober Day Three) HAIR'S BREADTH FROM DEATH

Warnings:

Spoilers for SMT IV: Apocalypse Bad Ending (Siding with Dagda

Mention of Blood

Character being Impaled (Not describe)

Major character death (The characters are not named but with context clues you will know who if you played/seen the game)

You breathe heavily as you are on your knees. Surrounding you are your friends. Dead. Bloody, burn, frozen , filled with holes… The friends you met on your adventure. You turn to the towering figure. A friend, at least what they used to be. Not after being a puppet to Dagda. You didn’t try to reason with him like how the others try to do.

You close your eyes as you brace yourself, “Go ahead Nanashi…Get it over with it.”

The only thing you felt is the pain of being impaled by his sword.

🎃Whumptober Day 3: Journal🎃 (SMT IV: Apopalypse x Reader)

It had been a tough couple of weeks, but it is finally over. We can live without demons and angels trying to kill us every day. Never in my life I will see this day! Nanashi have been quite moody for a few weeks. So hopefully this will lift his mood up greatly. Tomorrow is the celebration of the victory, so I have to go to bed. I am tired anyway from all the fighting. -(Y/N) (L/N)

🎃Whumptober Day 3: Motion Sickness (Phantom Thieves x Reader)🎃

Note: From Persona 5 Scramble. Also vomiting is mention but not describe

You had never been on a boat before, so you were excited. Despite the unfortunate event of having to fight shadows again, you guys still have time to do all the stuff you all originally going to do. So here you are, on the boat...vomiting in the toilet. It was an unwanted surprise. The others decide to support you through your personal hell. Pats on your back, some easy to digest food, and occasionally playing video games, mostly with Ryuji and Futaba. It won't be long till you all get to the island...wait then you have to get on the boat again to get back.

Ah shit.

"We all start out the same, with simple naive trust.

Shielded from the many ways that life's not fair or just.

But then there comes a moment;

A simple truth that you must face.

If you depend on others, you'll never find your place.

And as you take that first step upon a path that's all your own,

You see it all so clearly;

The best way to survive is all alone."

~

-Open Up Your Eyes, Emily Blunt

Whumptober No. 3

She was supposed to be the one to save them all, but here she was, unable to save herself.

(Click for better quality)

Day 1, 2, 3, 7 13, 15-Bakugou "doesn't get sick"

Trying another whumptober whoo hoo! I got a new job, a great one for the first time in my life lol, and I've got a lot of time to be able to sit down and just write. So I'm gonna try my hardest to finish this whumptober, I've been writing as much as I physically can haha

prompts- swooning, thermometer/delurium, "make it stop", "can you hear me", cold compress, "I'm fine"- fever, passing out, sick Katsuki, todobaku pre, shower scene ;)

Feel free to find this on AO3- https://archiveofourown.org/works/50196034/chapters/126773227

This is a long one, so I'm gonna put it under a cut.

Katsuki had been hot and sweaty all day, which is normally something he encouraged for his quirk to work at its highest potential, but today it just felt wrong. He wasn’t sure why, he always took very good care of his body, but something just wasn’t adding up. It was spring, and the weather was supposed to be very nice, but it felt like he couldn’t cool off no matter what he did. He felt like the sun was projecting pure heat through the window as he sat uncomfortably in class, trying his best to pay attention through one of the worst headaches he’d ever had in his life.

To make matters worse, Katsuki had been assigned fucking Todoroki as a partner for an upcoming hero research paper. He hated group work in the first place, but assigning him goddamn Todoroki (even if Aizawa claimed it was random, he never believed that bullshit, Aizawa lied to them all the time) was just adding insult to injury at this point. But he never shirked from his academic responsibilities, he was going to graduate top of his class, so he still had to actually try on this stupid assignment even though he didn’t want to work with the half-n-half bastard. His headache would just have to wait. The sooner they were done, the less he had to talk to IcyHot.

“We’re finishing this as fast as we fucking can,” Katsuki had hissed at Todoroki, who only stared back blankly. Bastard. “I don’t care if you have plans tonight, I’m coming over to your fucking room and we’re finishing this tonight.”

“Aizawa distinctly said we should not do this in one night.” God, even his voice irritated Katsuki. Everything about the bastard irritated Katsuki, from his stupid hair to his stupid muscles to his stupid blank face that never showed any thought Katsuki could pick up on. Kaminari had teased him over ‘how obsessed you are over Todoroki’ and how it ‘sounds like you liiiike him’ but he shut up when Katsuki pushed him off his chair.

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “He was talking to the idiots who wait until the last minute to do the work.”

Like the idiots he couldn’t help but call friends because… well, he didn’t know what else to call them. They wouldn’t leave him alone, always forced him to participate in their activities, and every time he tried to leave the group chat they’d set up, he’d just be added right back in and chastised lightly as if he’d just made a small mistake. It had been hard to admit, but sometimes, only sometimes, Katsuki enjoyed their company, and even had fun once or twice. He would never admit to it, especially since he didn’t know how to feel about it, and he refused to be laughed at because he was unsure of these new feelings.

“I suppose we’ll find out when we attempt the assignment.” Todoroki said, which only infuriated Katsuki more, which caused his headache to spike. He wanted to argue some more, but having done it in the past proved its inefficiency. Todoroki never fucking reacted to anything he did, even when he was purposefully antagonizing the bastard just to see him make some kind of facial expression.

“Whatever. I’m coming over right after dinner,” and didn’t that sound disgusting, “so be ready.”

Todoroki nodded, and Katsuki almost felt cheated since Todoroki never reacted to anything he said. He’d seen Todoroki make facial expressions for fucking pathetic Deku, Katsuki was way better than him, why didn’t he get those reactions? Katsuki was ridiculously past good enough to get one of those stupid ass smiles or little puffs of laughter. Katsuki deserved that more than Deku ever would.

Getting through the rest of the day had been difficult, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He just had a headache from dealing with everyone’s bullshit, and the day was a fluke of being too hot, and he just had to get through it. Katsuki was the strongest person in this entire class, he could handle anything. It got easier after school when he took off his uniform and could put on a simple tank and shorts. At dinner, he forced himself to have some congee rather than his normal, nutritionally balanced meal, but the thought of food was so unappealing that forcing himself to cook and eat his routine foods almost outweighed his knowledge that he had to eat dinner in the first place.

When he went to put the half he couldn’t finish in the fridge, Kirishima was in the kitchen, burning whatever he was trying to make. Usually Katsuki could tell by smell alone, but this time he couldn’t smell anything but it was obviously burning. Even worse, Katsuki knew how to salvage his dinner and he didn’t have a reason not to tell him.

“Your heat is too high. Take it out now and it’ll only be slightly burnt.” Katsuki grumbled, rolling his eyes both at himself and his idiot best friend. He couldn’t believe he was best friends with someone who could barely function like an independent human being.

“Thanks, bro!” Katsuki had given up on Kirishima calling him ‘bro’, it seemed to be a core aspect of the redhead’s personality. The chipper smile directed at him as Kirishima did as he said kinda made up for it. Making his friends happy wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever done. “Are you done already? Usually you’re in here cooking up a storm, I was surprised not to see you.”

Kirishima then saw the congee in his hands as he put it in his tupperware, and he frowned. “Dude, is that all you had? Aren’t you the one always yelling at us to ‘make better dinners’? Are you okay?”

Katsuki bristled at the question, his pride flaring up in defense. “I have to work with fucking IcyHot on a dumb fucking project I don’t need a partner for, and apparently I can’t have a simple dinner for once without everyone jumping down my throat! The fuck do you think?”

“Okay, okay, sorry, bro.” Kirishima held up his hands in defense. “Just wanted to check in. You haven’t seemed yourself today.”

Katsuki glared at him. “I don’t need you to ‘check in’. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“If you say so, bro.” Kirishima shrugged. “We’re gonna have a smash brothers tournament at Denki’s tonight, you wanna join in?”

“You shits are lucky I can’t destroy you tonight.” Katsuki rolled his eyes. “I’m doing my fucking report, which is what you should be doing. When it’s two nights before it’s due, and you still haven’t done it, don’t come crying to me. I won’t help you.”

He would help them. His friends struggled with schoolwork, and if he was going to be seen with them then they had to live up to his reputation. Unfortunately, they couldn’t do that without his help, and he didn’t like watching his friends struggle and seeing them upset over their grades. That stupid feeling he hated outweighed his annoyance at helping them, so, he didn’t really have a choice if he didn’t want that stupid feeling he got when he saw his friends get upset. He didn’t know how, but somehow his idiots had figured that out, and they still came to him every time, and every time, despite him telling himself that he wouldn’t help them this time, he helped them regardless. They were all the worst and he hated them.

But for now, Katsuki was too busy hating the elevator’s stupidly bright lights to hate his friends anymore. Katsuki leaned against the metal, the coolness of the metal a balm on his overly hot skin. He’d never been so glad that the entirety of Heights Alliance had air conditioning. The day had been way too hot today, Katsuki had always been sensitive to hotter temperatures since he couldn’t cool his body through his sweat like other people did, which is probably why he hadn’t heard anyone else complain about it. But he could take anything, any temperature, any obstacle, because no hero worth their salt would let a thing like a hot day stop them so he refused to let it stop him.

Even though he really didn’t want to be doing this, he’d much prefer to just take a cold shower and go to bed early so the day would finally be over, he still pushed forward and went to Todoroki’s room. He went to just walk in, not like the bastard didn’t know he was coming, but the door was locked. He jiggled the door handle a little violently, clearly seeing the light was on under the door, but it still didn’t open. Katsuki’s eye twitched.

knock. knock.

It was the stiffest knock of his life, but apparently that was enough for Todoroki, who finally opened the door. “You knew I was coming, that was a dick move.”

“So is barging in unannounced.” Todoroki replied, raising an eyebrow. Katsuki’s eye twitched again.

“We should get started since you want to finish tonight.” Todoroki said, and Katsuki just growled, and then just set his stuff down on the tiny ass table Todoroki had. Sometimes, Katsuki had to choose his battles. Most of the time, he chose all battles, but this one he had to let go since he didn’t want his grade to suffer.

“I’m taking this pathetic excuse for a chair since you’re apparently so fine with being on the floor.” Katsuki said, referring to the mat Todoroki slept on. Todoroki didn’t protest, he merely just set the mat next to the thing that couldn’t even be called a desk really since it was too damn small. The room didn’t seem to have much in terms of temperature control, as the elevator had been much cooler. It was probably because Todoroki could regulate his own temperature, so he didn’t need the ac unit to do it for him. That was annoying as fuck.

The headache that Katsuki had been working very hard to ignore was becoming more and more of a problem as they worked. Katsuki could at least appreciate the monotone right now since it was quiet, and he spoke slowly enough that Katsuki could hear him despite the pounding in his head. A hammer was slamming into his head with every beat of his heart, and it just got worse as they kept going, the material not interesting enough to get past the pain. He would’ve given up and gone to sleep if he didn’t have to do this damn paper with Todoroki. The bastard couldn’t keep a secret for his life so in order to keep his reputation, he had to keep going, even through the worst headache he’d had in a long time. But with every beat of the hammer, he was losing his resolve. It was only his drive not to be weak that kept him going.

“Bakugou? Did you hear what I said?” Todoroki said, startling Katsuki a little.

“Of course I did. I was just thinking.” Katsuki snapped, trying to brush it off, ignoring the fact that he actually hadn’t heard what Todoroki had said. He hoped it wasn’t important.

“Thinking.” Todoroki echoed, but it wasn’t a question or a challenge. It was just a statement.

“That’s what I fucking said.”

“Are you alright, Bakugou?” Todoroki asked, and Katsuki could almost hear a touch of concern in the monotone. It pissed him off, though he wasn’t sure exactly why. “You’ve been strangely quiet today.”

“I’m fine.” Katsuki sneered, a violent threat in his voice.

Todoroki pursed his lips at him, but only continued on with what he was saying. Katsuki struggled to keep focusing on it, Todoroki’s voice was soothing in its quiet volume, but he couldn’t process the words the bastard was actually saying.

Dammit. He couldn’t keep doing this. If he actually turned in the report they were working on now, Katsuki would get the worst grade he’d ever gotten in his life, even though he very much understood the topic. His headache was just too bad, and the room had only gotten steadily hotter as they’d worked, and Katsuki couldn’t take it anymore, his reputation be damned. He’d just blame it on Todoroki not properly cooling his room and sweating him out of it.

“I’m done, I’m going to bed.” Katsuki said, gathering up his stuff as quickly as he could. He was a little uncoordinated in his haste, but he blamed it on the heat. “We’ll just do this tomorrow.”

Todoroki didn’t even show his surprise beyond a raised eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to do this in one night.”

“It’s not my fault your room is like a sauna and your voice is like a fucking icepick in my head!” Katsuki snapped, absolutely done with today. The room was so hot he was starting to get a little dizzy, and standing just made his vision swim for a moment. “How the fuck am I supposed to focus on court cases and legalities when the room is a million degrees and you won’t fucking shut up?”

That seemed to actually surprise Shouto, though it still only showed in his eyes. “Bakugou, my room isn’t hot. And I was only talking since you wouldn’t. You’ve barely said anything tonight.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, and then had to pinch his nose and shut his eyes when the room blurred, playing it off as annoyance. Dammit, he was so fucking hot. “You wouldn’t notice, you have that stupid temperature thing because of your quirk.”

“I turn on the ac when I have guests, Bakugou.” Todoroki said, and Katsuki scoffed. He was sweating far too much for that to be true. He didn’t doubt that Todoroki was lying, but there was no way the ac was actually on right now. The bastard must’ve just set it to the wrong setting, he wouldn’t be the first in their class to struggle with the thermostat, to his perpetual annoyance.

“Bakugou, I may not be an expert, but you do not look well.” Todoroki said, which only infuriated him more. If he was suddenly going to care about Katsuki, the least he could do was fucking show it. Katsuki knew not everyone wore their emotions on their sleeve, but Todoroki never seemed to have any emotion at all, not even when dealing with Katsuki.

“I’m fine.” Katsuki hissed, parroting what he said earlier, with the same vitriol.

“You clearly are not.” Todoroki said firmly. “I can regulate my own temperature, you’re correct, but I can still feel the temperature around me. My room isn’t hot, and you’re sweating like it’s summer. I think you should see Recovery Girl.”

Katsuki growled an incoherent shout. “I don’t need that old bat, there’s nothing wrong with me beyond suffering from dealing with all you idiots. Fuck off!”

Katsuki turned to leave, but his vision swam so quickly that he had to stop mid-step. His hand came to his eyes, trying to steady himself, forcing himself to push through the heat. But before he could get his body to work, his backpack slipped through his fingers as his vision went black.

“-ugou. Bakugou. Bakugou.” Someone was shaking him, insistence in their voice. He groaned lightly, his eyes fluttering, his head pounding even harder than before. He squinted, and Todoroki then came into focus. He was wearing a look Katsuki had never seen before. It looked almost like worry, but Katsuki couldn’t tell.

He groaned again, and then he felt something blissfully cool against his forehead, easing his headache and the unbearable heat he was trapped in. He sighed, his eyes managing to stay open now. He was in Todoroki’s arms, with Todoroki’s right hand pressed against his forehead. He remembered that Todoroki’s right side was cool, and Katsuki wanted to just sink into him.

“Wha- happen?” Katsuki said, the act of speaking a struggle it had never been before.

“You passed out.” Todoroki said, a frown tugging at his lips. “You have a fever. I’m going to take you to Recovery Girl.”

Todoroki began to push them both upwards, but Katsuki shook his head. “No! No. ‘M fine. Just… just need to sleep it off. ‘M fine.”

“You are not fine, Bakugou.” Todoroki groaned, and Katsuki could’ve sworn he heard concern and frustration in Todoroki’s voice. But that was impossible, Katsuki never got emotion from Todoroki, no matter how hard he tried. “You literally just passed out. You’re sick, Bakugou.”

“I don’t get sick.” Katsuki said, and that was completely true. Katsuki got sick so rarely that he couldn’t even remember the last time. “Be fine. Just need sleep. Don’t need help.”

“You can’t stand on your own.” Todoroki said, deadpan. Katsuki frowned at that, and he opened his mouth again, but Todoroki cut him off. “If you say you’re fine one more time, I’m going to throw you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and drag you to Recovery Girl.”

Katsuki pouted at that, and stayed silent for a moment, knowing Todoroki was just as serious with his threats as he was.

“I don’t get sick.” He repeated. “Just need to sleep this off.”

Todoroki pursed his lips again, clearly torn between what to do, before he sighed, obviously coming to a decision. “Fine. I’ll take you to your room, but only for now. I can’t tell if this is just your pride or if this is actually how your body works. If you get worse, I’m taking you to Recovery Girl no matter what you say.”

Katsuki nodded, and went to get up, pushing himself up on noodly arms. He immediately fell back into Todoroki. Thankfully, Todoroki didn’t comment on his weakness, he just wrapped Katsuki’s arm around his shoulder and pushed them both up. With Todoroki’s support, Katsuki could mostly walk, his feet dragging a little as he couldn’t raise his feet off the ground very high.

The elevator ride down to the fourth floor was silent, almost awkward. Katsuki couldn’t find the strength to say anything, but Todoroki didn’t seem to mind the silence. Right now, he just wanted his bed more than anything in the world.

Their next obstacle was Katsuki’s door, as he always locked it when he wasn’t in his room. He couldn’t remember where he put his keys at first, patting down his pockets. Suddenly a hand reached into his back pocket and he yelped a little at the surprise, his reaction was too slow, but he still hated being startled with touch. Had for a long time. Todoroki then handed him his keys, with a sheepish look on his face. “I saw them in your pocket. Thought I’d save you the trouble.”

Katsuki took the keys and opened his door, using the door handle to keep himself up, trying to keep himself upright on his own. Todoroki went to follow him in and Katsuki growled again.

“No one goes in my room.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Todoroki said, a little snippy, uncaring that he was stepping into Katsuki’s space.

Todoroki turned on the lights, and Katsuki hissed as his headache spiked, unconsciously pressing himself into the nape of Todoroki’s neck. Todoroki immediately turned the light off with a quiet “sorry.” before he started walking again.

Katsuki flopped into bed with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, but his bed was cool (he had special sheets so he wouldn’t overheat as he slept, his parents had designed them for him) and that was all that mattered to him. He rolled onto his side, felt something lift his legs into the bed, and he was out as soon as his head hit the pillow, just barely feeling a cool hand brush his sweaty bangs out of his face.

“- been asleep for a little while… nothing’s changed…”

“- not sure, Todoroki. He really doesn’t get sick that often. I think the last time was over five years ago. Even I don’t really remember.”

He knew that voice. Goddammit, he knew that voice and he went to glare at fucking useless Deku, but he was still squinting in the darkness he’d woken up in, lessening its effect. Todoroki had left the door open a little, the hall lights shining in his room far too brightly for his headache. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but his mind wasn’t as fuzzy as before. Still way too fucking hot though.

“You got fucking Deku?” Katsuki growled, refusing to admit that it sounded more like a whine.

“I didn’t know anyone else who would know how your body works when it’s sick.” Todoroki said matter-of-factly, coming back over to Katsuki’s bed. He was mostly forgiven when he put his cool hand back on Katsuki’s burning forehead, getting a soft noise Katsuki didn’t even know he made.

“Well, his parents will know, for sure.” Deku said to Todoroki. Katsuki glared harder. “I can call them, figure out where to go from here.”

Todoroki nodded.

Deku then handed Todoroki a rather big box that Katsuki surprisingly recognized. Auntie Inko knew how injured they got in training, especially since Deku wouldn’t fucking stop constantly breaking all of his bones, and had gifted him the same first aid kit that Deku held in his hands. Actually, it really wasn’t a first aid kit but a mini hospital, with so many things Katsuki didn’t know when he’d ever use some of them. (Seriously, Auntie, when was he gonna need a goddamn stethoscope?) He’d only taken it because his mother would’ve been mad if he made Auntie cry, not that he could handle her tears anyways, and, well… secretly he could appreciate the gesture. He never understood why Auntie continued to try and take care of him even though he really wanted nothing to do with her son, but he supposed that’s just how she was. Deku too, but he was way more annoying about it.

“You should take his temperature, if he’ll let you.” Deku said, still talking to Todoroki and not him. “You’ll have a way better chance with him than I will.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” Katsuki shouted, immediately regretting the loudness when he made his own headache worse.

“Sorry, Kacchan.” Katsuki just glared at him, fighting off the wince he’d just given himself. “I- I’ll just go call Uncle Masaru now.”

Deku stepped out of the room, and Todoroki set the kit down onto his nightstand, digging through it with one hand, keeping his right hand on Katsuki’s forehead.

“There are three thermometers in here.” Todoroki stated, seemingly a little overwhelmed by Auntie’s overprotective nature. “And they’re all different.”

Katsuki made a noncommittal noise. Something then pushed gently at his mouth, and he turned his glare to Todoroki.

“I can’t use the other ones, I’ve been cooling you off too much.” Todoroki said, poking him again. “They won’t give accurate results. This is the only one left.”

“I can do it myself.” Katsuki said, trying to move his mouth as little as possible.

Todoroki sighed, definitely sounding frustrated. “Bakugou, will you please just put your damn pride aside for two minutes? I just want to help you. You’re my friend. Let me help you.”

This was the first he’d heard about them being friends, though he supposed he had started paying more attention to Todoroki after their supplemental classes. He hadn’t thought it had been reciprocated though. But even if they were friends now, this was something he couldn’t allow. He wasn’t weak, he didn’t need help, not even Todoroki’s.

Not even if a dark part of him wanted to accept it.

Moving his body was like trying to move through molasses, but he did eventually get his arm out from under the blanket (when did he get a blanket?) and he reached for the thermometer. Todoroki sighed, but gave it to him. This time, the silence was awkward as they waited for the thermometer to beep. He wasn’t sure why this time was so different.

Deku was the one who broke it when he came back in. He still didn’t like anyone in his room, but he didn’t have the strength to blast the fucker out, even if he did have the sweat.

“Uncle said that there’s not much we can do except keep him cool, the illness just has to run its course.” Deku frowned, trying not to talk directly to Todoroki and failing. “And. um. Auntie Mitsuki said, um, not to take any of his, uh, ‘bullshit’. Her words, not mine.”

Todoroki just nodded. Katsuki didn’t know what that meant.

Once the thermometer finally beeped, Todoroki withdrew it without asking permission. Oh, that’s what that meant. Damn hag, and damn Deku. Todoroki took everything too literally, Deku should’ve fucking translated his mother’s stupid words.

“39.27 (102.7)” The monotone was back. Katsuki felt an emotion he didn’t know how to describe, but it wasn’t pleasant. “That’s higher than I was expecting, though unsurprising.”

“Yeah, Uncle said when Kacchan gets sick, he really gets sick.”

Katsuki growled at him again, wanting to yell and blow him up but trying not to be stupid and repeat past mistakes. His head was still throbbing from the earlier shout.

“I-I-I should go, Todoroki.” Deku said, shrinking away from him. “I think I’m just making it worse. He doesn’t want me here.” No. No he didn’t. Especially since he wouldn’t stop talking about him like he wasn’t there in his own fucking room. “Do you want to come with me? I’m sure Kirishima wouldn’t mind looking after him.”

The beat in between Deku’s question and Todoroki’s answer made the emotion he had worse.

“No. I’ll keep him cool for now. It’s no trouble.” Katsuki didn’t know whether that made him happy or annoyed. God, he hated emotions, they were literally the worst. It was so much easier to just be angry all the time.

“Don’t forget to not overuse your quirk, Todoroki. Just let one of us know if you get too cold. We’ll figure something out.”

Todoroki just nodded and Deku very quickly left the room. If Katsuki was more childish like his friends, he would’ve flipped him off as he left. But Deku didn’t deserve what little energy he had, and closing the door until very little light was left was at least the decent thing to do.

“You can leave, IcyHot.” Katsuki grumbled. “I’m-mmph.” Suddenly Todoroki’s cool hand was over his mouth. Katsuki did not like that, he didn’t like anyone touching his face and it had only gotten worse since the-incident-that-shall-not-be-named. He nipped at Todoroki’s hand, and it quickly returned to his forehead, but the message to shut up was loud and clear.

“Stop saying you’re fine.” Todoroki snapped, and Katsuki thought he almost sounded angry. Katsuki didn’t know that Todoroki could even get angry. “Stop lying to me. I don’t care about your stupid pride, and I cannot understand why you won’t let it go for two seconds for your friends. I want to help you but I can’t if you won’t let me. Why won’t you let me? Do you… do you hate me?”

Grand displays of emotion were hard for him. Grand displays of emotion coming from Todoroki were another beast entirely. Katsuki had no idea how to respond to this, and if he wasn’t sick, he wouldn’t have responded to it beyond anger. But right now, with a fever he could no longer deny, his mind didn’t immediately go to the rage he used to shield him from emotions he didn’t like. It just took much energy that he didn’t have, and he hated himself for his weakness.

“No.” Was Katsuki’s response, and it was a lot more awkward than he’d wanted it to be.

“Then why won’t you stop lying to me?” Todoroki said, looking just as uncomfortable as Katsuki was. But apparently, not uncomfortable enough to shut up and let this go. “I thought you respected me, at least a little.”

Shit. Katsuki did not like letting people know when he respected them. They never responded in  a way that Katsuki liked or could handle, either acting all smug about it or like it was obvious that they deserved it. Both reactions drove Katsuki up the wall.

Thinking about this was too hard, even with the soothing coolness Todoroki was projecting. He didn’t do emotions, and everything he was feeling right now just made him even uncomfortable in his skin. He’d take the fever and headache over this any day.

“I didn’t lie to you, I’m fine by myself.” Katsuki said. “I can take care of myself.”

“Except you won’t.” Todoroki snapped again and Katsuki internally cursed at his mother for putting this idea into Todoroki’s stupid head. “Taking care of yourself would’ve been canceling our plans, or going to see Recovery Girl. You refused to do either. That’s not taking care of yourself. You couldn’t even admit to me that you weren’t feeling well after you literally passed out in my arms. You’re lucky I was there to catch you, what if you weren’t with me? What if it happened when you’d stepped into the hall and I hadn’t followed you? You might’ve gotten a concussion or worse. If you don’t hate me, then why can’t you let me care about you?”

Katsuki unconsciously curled a little into himself, his quills puffing up, ready to lash out at any moment. His head hurt, and even with the frosty air Todoroki was creating he was on fire, he just couldn’t deal with this right now. Being sick for the first time in years was already way too much for him, he’d never felt so shitty in his life, and having fucking Todoroki of all people see him this weak made him so uncomfortable he didn’t have a word for it. Katsuki didn’t understand why Todoroki was so upset, and thinking about it hurt his head too much. He didn’t even have an answer for Todoroki. He didn’t have an answer when his friends asked him the same question after they were fed up with his insistence on independence and refusing to accept their help. He’d learned the hard way that sometimes he had to depend on other people, but that hadn’t made it any easier to deal with. So he’d rather just not deal with it at all.

After a fair amount of silence, Todoroki just sighed, sounding resigned. This was the most emotion Katsuki had seen out of Todoroki since he’d met the bastard. Katsuki thought that was very rude, and he should’ve gotten this a lot earlier. Though, he could do without the annoyance and anger. “You should get some sleep, Bakugou.”

Well, now he was purposefully not gonna do that, even though he was exhausted. Once spite was activated there was no stopping it. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Then stop being an idiot.” Todoroki hissed.

Katsuki glared at Todoroki but it didn’t matter since Todoroki still wasn’t looking at him, only straight ahead.

“Don’t fucking insult me.”

“I’ll do whatever I want, thanks.” Todoroki said, matching his energy. “Since that’s all you do, I get to do it too.”

“Oh fuck you!” Katsuki snapped, absolutely done with this stupid bastard, throwing his own words in his face was the last straw. “Get the fuck out of my room! Leave me the fuck alone!”

It was quiet for a minute.

“Fine.”

Todoroki ripped his hand away from Katsuki’s forehead and stood sharply. He walked out without another word, and Katsuki expected the door to slam and prepared himself for it. But Todoroki caught it just before it did, and he closed the door quietly behind him.

Katsuki stared at the door for a moment, almost in disbelief. Todoroki never got angry, let alone to this extreme. He thought even Deku hadn’t seen that before, the damn nerd would’ve said something. Even though Katsuki liked antagonizing Todoroki, liked seeing if he could get the bastard to show emotion, even if it was negative emotions, this didn’t… this didn’t make him feel good. The emotion he hadn’t been able to describe twisted in his gut, making his chest hurt in a way that it never had before. He wanted to get Todoroki riled up, it’s why he talked to him the way he did, the way he purposely tried to push the bastard’s buttons, that was his end goal. He wanted to see Todoroki show some sort of emotion, any sort of emotion.

So why did that make him feel so shitty?

Getting what he wanted never made him feel bad in the past. It was a point of pride for him that he basically always got what he wanted, that he’d earned what he’d wanted. Katsuki was always so sure of himself, he always knew what he wanted, and he did everything he could to get it.

Was this… actually what he wanted? Somehow, he didn’t think so. Which never happened, Katsuki always knew what he wanted, and he never regretted anything. (Well, he regretted a few things but he never let himself think about them so that was basically the same thing.) But the more the silence of the room echoed in his ears, the more he regretted saying any of those things, and not just because he’d lost the hand that had been keeping his headache at a somewhat manageable level. The icepick in his head only seemed to make his actions seem worse, and Katsuki did not like that. Even though he knew he was an asshole with no filter, and no intent on getting one, this felt like he’d gone too far. He’d gone too far a couple of times in his life, and this felt worse than all of them.

With the door closed, heat was starting to build up in his room, and the blanket that he still didn’t know how he got was kicked around to his legs. His hand flopped around to his nightstand, opening the drawer and grabbing the remote for his ac unit. He turned it down several degrees, and didn’t have the energy to put it back. His hand just fell to his bed, and his eyes closed on their own accord. Even though he’d wanted to stay up to spite Todoroki, despite the fact that he couldn’t remember why anymore, his body just started to shut down on its own. At least sleep would be a reprieve from the overwhelming pain in his chest and his head, so he surrendered to the thick haze of sleep and hoped he’d wake up without this agony.

Blood. Blood and screams and death and fear. Katsuki spun around, lost and scared, wanting to run but unsure of where he could run to. Screams rang in his ears from all directions, each one different yet full of the same agony. Each one echoed their pain into his heart, overwhelming him with emotions he couldn’t handle. Unable to take anymore, his legs took off running without thinking, his chest heaving as the torturous screams pierced his chest.

He skidded to a stop as an image flashed in his mind, his own scream blending into the background. Deku’s body was still crackling with energy, his green lightning dying as Deku lay still. His arms and legs were both black, bent in horrific ways, and Katsuki’s stomach lurched as his gaze finally landed on Deku’s chest. His ribs had pierced through his skin, his chest cavity a mess of blood and bone, surprise still written on Deku’s lax face, his green eyes dull and lifeless. Again, Katsuki’s legs took off without his consent, tears streaming down Katsuki’s face as nausea built in his stomach.

His arms flailed as he slipped on something wet and sticky, crashing into some sort of small building. Looking up, Katsuki screamed again, seeing Kirishima spread eagle across the top, his head hanging down, his neck brutally slit open, dripping blood into the fiery red hair he was so famous for. Katsuki slipped again in his haste to get up, realizing with a sickening jolt that he was slipping on Kirishima’s blood.

“Make it stop.” Katsuki sobbed. “Make it stop.”

He finally got up again, only to freeze in place. In front of him was Ashido, lying in a heap, her neck bone protruding from her skin as her head twisted the other way. As more and more tears spilled down his cheeks, he turned and turned and turned. Jirou, her own earphones wrapped around her red, raw neck. Sero hanging from his own tape, his limp hands still stuck from trying to free himself. Kaminari’s head soaked, water still dripping from his motionless mouth. His world began to spin, and he crashed to the ground, curling into a ball.

“Make it stop.” Katsuki covered his ears and shut his eyes, trying to block it all out. “Please, make it stop.”

The world went silent.

Katsuki warily opened his eyes. Vast ground filled only with empty space. He was too scared to try and speak, terrified that the death and screams and blood would come back. No matter where he looked, all he found was emptiness until he came across Todoroki, laying on the ground too, facing away from him.

He crawled over hesitantly, his mouth moving to speak Todoroki’s name but his vocal cords refused to make any noise. Katsuki’s hand hovered over Todoroki’s body for a moment, not seeing anything on his red side. Maybe he was just unconscious? His hand finally landed on Todoroki’s arm, frowning as it was cool. No, no, his red was his fire side, he should’ve been warm. His hand jerked as he pulled it back, causing Todoroki to roll over.

Katsuki screamed again, his voice laden with agony as Todoroki’s head lolled to the side. His white side had completely disappeared, charred to ash, his skin covered in burns matching the scar on his face. He cowered away, his hands dragging him away from Todoroki’s dead body. He slipped again, curling back into a ball, sobbing.

Everyone he had ever cared about was gone, and Katsuki was alone. Emptiness beat in his ears, the silence louder than any of the screams had been. His sobs echoed across the vastness, his breath the only other sound. He longed for his friends, wanted someone to still be with him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. That he would have more than himself to keep him company, to make him smile just a little, to make him let out a breathy laugh. To watch with amusement as they did something stupid, being far too noticeable when he was socially awkward with his stupid confused face, silently sitting with him when they knew he wanted company but couldn’t take any more noise. Grabbing him in one arm hugs, ruffling his hair and dodging when he swatted at them, squishing him when they were all crammed together in too small of a space to fit all of them. He wanted that back, he wanted them back so badly, he’d do anything.

“Anything, huh?” The back of his neck burned, and he was lifted off the ground. He writhed in the grip, sludge rising from the ground to latch onto his body, forcing him into submission.

“No, no, please, stop!” Katsuki wailed, the sludge only growing stronger, binding his body in muck. The heat on the back of his neck increased, and another hand forced his head forward, his eyes only able to focus on Todoroki’s lifeless body. “Not like this, not like this!”

“Aw, I thought you said ‘anything’.” The voice taunted. “Don’t you love them? Wouldn’t you do anything for them? You know we have an offer for you, you remember our last one.”

“Can’t.” Katsuki wanted to shake his head, but the grip was too strong. “Won’t betray them.”

“Then die with them.”

Katsuki couldn’t move, his entire body now encased in the sludge, could barely talk as the goo began to tease at going in his mouth and down his throat. 

“Not again.” Katsuki gasped, feeling the horrid taste of the sludge as it crept slowly, maliciously, into his mouth. “Please not again.”

A mocking laugh, and then the sludge forced itself down his throat, cutting off his air. Katsuki panicked, writhing with great strength, but useless, so uselessly. The world spun one last time as he grew dizzy from hypoxia, and he fell into darkness with taunting laughter echoing around him.

Katsuki jolted up in bed, a silent scream on his lips. His eyes rolled at the heat of his room, just as dizzy as he was in his fever induced nightmare, practically seeing the waves of heat energy radiating from his furniture, his walls. He had to cool down. If he didn’t cool down, he thought he was going to die, his body melting into his bed.

His room had a shower. The door was right there. He just had to get there, the water could cool him down. He pushed himself up, his arms too shaky to hold him for long. Maneuvering his body was like trying to walk straight in a gyroscope. He stepped forward with his left foot, shaking as he stood, desperately trying to go forward. His right foot was next, but it was still tangled up in the blanket of unknown origin. He tried to pull it free, but another strong bout of dizziness sent him tumbling to the floor.

The world faded in and out as he lay on the floor, his arms trying to push himself up, but he crashed back down every time. He just didn’t have the strength to get up, the attempts draining what little he had until he just gave up. His vision flickered in and out, his sweat soaking into his carpet, his heart carrying agony all over his body, igniting each nerve with a bonfire, his head pounding like a thunderstorm’s rage.

“Sorry to disturb you…”

“Eh, no worries, Todoroki. If Bakubro needs me, then I’m there, no matter what.”

Even though the door was closed, Katsuki could still hear the voices through it. The dorm walls carried sound better than any speaker.

His door quietly creaked open, driving another spike of pain into his head. “Bakugou? Hey man, are you- oh shit!”

Light blinded him for a moment, before he felt a cold arm heave him up, cradling him in iciness. He whimpered, the sudden shock of frigidity making him wince. A warmer hand came to his forehead before jerking back with a hiss.

“He’s burning up.” Kirishima gasped, cursing again.

“Kirishima, get Recovery Girl.” Todoroki ordered, taking charge of the situation. “I’m gonna try to cool him down.”

Kirishima nodded, his face set in his ‘serious mode’. His best friend should’ve been a comfort, but seeing Kirishima’s frown and furrowed brow just made him a little scared. Kirishima was one of the smiliest people he’d ever met, and Katsuki always told him that his face would get stuck like that. It was always laughed off, bringing out that same smile, which always made Katsuki roll his eyes. But he still liked seeing it, and when it was missing, Katsuki didn’t like it, not one bit.

“Don’t use your quirk, use his shower.” Kirishima said, standing. “Anything lower than room temperature is too cold, you’ll send him into shock.”

Todoroki just nodded, and Katsuki wondered if he’d already known that, or if his temperature regulation thing kept him from getting fevers. Kirishima bolted out the door, his steps thudding down the hall then the stairs.

Another arm came to his knees, and he was lifted into the air. His vision swirled again, able to tell he was moving but unable to process anything else. His legs were gently placed on the ground, but then the sound of a massive waterfall assaulted him and he turned back into the soft, wintry physique. But then he was pulled away from it, and he didn’t know whether that felt good or bad. The waterfall then disappeared, and he saw that Todoroki had switched the tap to shower.

The arm came back to his knees, and another dizzying bit of motion finished with water pelting at him, as he was pressed against something that didn’t feel hot or cold. Even though the water droplets were needle-sharp, they were cool, and Katsuki sank into it, feeling the water soothe the bonfire under his skin. He wasn’t sure how long he was under the spray before his mind finally cleared enough to focus on his surroundings. Katsuki was laying against Todoroki, who was holding him up by his waist, in Katsuki’s shower. Katsuki decided to be embarrassed about this later, when he didn’t feel so shitty and when Todoroki wasn’t keeping him from drowning in his own shower.

“‘roki?” Katsuki groaned, his voice weak and quiet. But thankfully Todoroki still heard him.

“Yes, Bakugou?”

“I don’ feel so good.” Katsuki said, looking up at Todoroki. He must’ve looked like a drowned cat, his hair soaked and stuck to his forehead, his clothes soaked to the skin, his skin showing through his white tank top, Katsuki didn’t think he’d ever looked so pathetic in his life.

“No shit.” Todoroki muttered grumpily. “You couldn’t have said that a few hours ago?”

Katsuki ducked his head a little, his cheeks were already flushed but the pink got a little stronger. “Couldn’t. Can’t be weak. Specially not in front of you.”

That made Todoroki pause, and then meet his eye again. “Me?”

Katsuki nodded shakily.

“Why?” Todoroki breathed, the shower louder than both of their voices.

“Because… you’re so strong.” Katsuki mumbled, the fever that still raged within him loosening his tongue. If he were coherent, he’d rather be caught dead than saying shit like this, but he was still so hot and the water felt so good and his mind felt so worn thin that he just kept talking. “Noticed the first day I saw you. Never met anyone like you. Stronger than me. Pissed me off.”

Todoroki scoffed. “Of course it would.” a sigh. “But why would that mean you can’t be ‘weak’ around me?”

“Weakness doesn’t get notice. ‘N like that. Wanted notice.”

There was another beat of silence. Katsuki turned his head into Todoroki’s cooler side, using him as an ice pack for his still aching head.

“Are you saying that you thought I wouldn’t notice you if I thought you were weak?” Todoroki murmured, his voice low and uncertain.

His body was starting to get wracked with tremors, but he managed a nod through it. He couldn’t tell if he was shivering or shaking, just feeling his body vibrate, and the bonfire inside him was starting to win the battle against the water. His body went limp as the fire began to consume him, his eyes rolling around in his head.

“I, I… Bakugou? Bakugou, what’s wrong? Bakugou!” Todoroki’s voice jumped in emotion, in worry, but Katsuki could no longer differentiate the emotions. Todoroki was little more than a red and white blur now, Katsuki’s world spinning faster than a top, black spots dotting his vision, growing larger with each rotation. His mind lost all sense of reality, darkness swirling around him like a maelstrom. Voices again rang in his ears, but he couldn’t distinguish one from another.

“-hear me? Bakugou, can you hear me?”

“He was talking a minute ago, but…”

“-unresponsive -get him to the infirmary- covery girl can- hurry…”

Someone grabbed his arms, hauling him into the air, and the sudden movement had him blacking out entirely, falling into the black hole the maelstrom had created.

~~

Consciousness was murky, muddying his perception into something unintelligible as he slipped in and out of the darkness always on the edge of his mind. He wasn’t sure how long it took for his mind to clear, but the longer time went on, he sluggishly began to become more aware of his surroundings. He discovered new pain in his hand, but the agony in his head had subsided a great deal, though it wasn’t entirely gone. He was laying on something familiar but uncomfortable, his body propped up against it. To his immense relief, he found that he wasn’t on fire for the first time in what felt like days. 

Dazedly, he opened his eyes, immediately squinting at the bright overhead lights. It took him a minute to adjust, but the light didn’t increase his headache much, so he managed easily enough. White walls came into focus, along with cool, white sheets on the bed he couldn’t remember getting in, with a light blue canvas on his chest. He pulled lightly at it, confused, and pulled his hand up to his vision. No wonder it hurt, there was an IV stabbed through his hand, drawing out a noise of discomfort. He felt like he hadn’t slept in years, his mind struggling to keep up with the world around him.

Footsteps had his head immediately turning, his instincts sharper than any discombobulation, and he made another discovery, movement didn’t make him dizzy anymore. But that didn’t answer the question of what had happened, but the old woman walking towards him at least contributed to it. He knew this room, this was the infirmary, but he couldn’t remember how he got here.

“Ah, young Bakugou, I was wondering when you’d come back to us.” The old bat said, sounding far too cheerful.

He frowned at her, trying and failing to process her words in time as Recovery Girl walked up to his bed. His head still swam in uncertainty, cognizance lagging out like one of his friends’ video games. She stood on one of her little step-stools, coming up to his level, patting his hand gently before putting something uncomfortable in his ear. He groaned, attempting to turn away, but she cupped his cheek, gently but firmly keeping him in place.

“Keep still, it’s alright.” Her voice was as gentle as her hand, but that didn’t soothe him much. “Just a few seconds more.”

A quiet beeping and she kept her word. “38.44 (101.2). Much better, considering you came in at 40.5 (104.9). Any higher and you might’ve had permanent brain damage.”

Oh shit. That was bad. That was very bad. A brief flash of fear ran up his spine, a spike of anxiety panging in his stomach.

“Wha’ happ’n?” Katsuki asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“A stress fever.” She replied, handing him a little paper cup of water. His hand was shaking a little as he took it, but he kept her help to a minimum. “Unsurprising, considering the amount of stress you all are under, you especially. Normally, they’re not an issue, and they fade rather quickly, but you’re a special case. As you know, your sweat can’t cool you down like most people so you’re easily affected by fevers. Since you didn’t come to me, or do anything to reduce it, your fever just worsened and worsened until your body couldn’t take it anymore. You’re very lucky that Todoroki and Kirishima found you when they did.”

Jumbled memories came to the forefront of his mind, of Kirishima’s voice in his room, a hand on his forehead, of Todoroki carrying him, holding him as they lay in the shower. Fuck, that was embarrassing, and the chastising Recovery Girl was giving just made him feel even worse.

“Didn’t notice.” He said, needing to defend himself, his pride leaving him unable to do anything less. After all, it wasn’t like he’d done this on purpose. He may hate being in this damn room, but he wasn’t stupid enough to not seek medical help when he was seriously sick. He just honestly hadn’t noticed something was wrong until it was too late. He’d dealt with plenty of hot and uncomfortable days before so he thought yesterday had been no different. “Not til af’r dinner. Don’t get sick.”

“Yes, young Midoriya said that.” Recovery Girl sighed. “As did your parents when I called them. They said since they’re currently in Madrid, they’d do their best, but the flight home is rather long, even without layovers. Hopefully, by the time they do get here, you’ll be fever free.”

Well, his day just got a lot worse. Katsuki hated it when his parents had to pick him up from school. He didn’t need his parents to come and fuss over him, he wasn’t a baby.

His unhappiness must’ve shown on his face, since Recovery Girl just tutted at him. “Give them a break, you gave them quite a scare. You’ve gotten very good at that.”

Katsuki huffed, definitely not pouting.

“Really, I should’ve expected something like this to happen.” She muttered. He cocked his head in confusion. “It’s been a week since I’ve had one of you in here, and if someone from 1A isn’t in here, something is very wrong.”

He had to admit, that seemed like solid logic. He was classmates with the biggest dumbasses he’d ever met, and they were all klutzy and accident prone, and that was off the battlefield.

“Speaking of your classmates,” ah hell, what do those idiots want now? “when you’re feeling up to it, you’ll have plenty of visitors.”

Oh fuck no, he was not doing that. His classmates were so emotional, crying and pitying and all sorts of terrible shit he hated being around. He got uncomfortable when one of his friends was upset, he couldn’t take the whole class. Leaving before Recovery Girl said he could sounded like a much better option. He’d rather get yelled at than deal with all of his dumbasses.

“Try to get out of this bed and I’ll sedate you.” Recovery Girl said bluntly. Katsuki deflated, miserably becoming resigned to his fate. Obviously, this was just going to be one of the shittiest days of his life and he couldn’t do anything about it.

“I’ll keep them from overwhelming you.” She said sympathetically, patting his hand again, and that was at least something. Normally, he would’ve snapped that he didn’t need her pity, but he could tell it wasn’t pity. He didn’t quite know what it was, but anything was better than pity. “But for right now, you should get some sleep. Let your body’s natural processes heal you. I’d much rather have your body heal itself, I don’t like how high a dosage of fever reducer I have to give you to help you fight this. I want to take you off that as soon as I can.”

Ah, that explained the IV, and why his mind wasn’t working right. He’d seen his idiot friends on too much cold medicine before, he’d just never experienced it himself until now. It was a lot more disconcerting than he would’ve thought. Next time, he’d have to watch more closely when one of his idiots got sick, this fucking sucked.

Sleep did sound like a fantastic idea, though. Keeping up with this conversation was taking far too much energy than it should’ve, and Katsuki was just fucking done. Even better, if he slept the rest of the day away, he could avoid all of the extras and idiots who wanted to ‘visit’ him and annoy him with their presence. The medication was no doubt keeping his spite under control, as when Recovery Girl stepped down to do other shit he didn’t give a fuck about, he could just close his eyes and let the exhaustion that been on the edge of his mind since he woke up take him without much resistance.

DAY 3: Did You Get Me Some Pie?

Dean is going to die, Sam doesn't know what to think about it.

I think this story is one of my favorites, it was just so interesting to write. It was also a bit complicated, I wanted Sam to have an asshole vibe at the beginning but I'm not sure I succeeded. I also know nothing about the American justice system and capital punishment, I tried to do some research but it wasn't very conclusive. A bit of context for this story, it takes place in the Lebanonverse (I think that's the name) where John disappears in 2003 to go to the future. As a result, Sam becomes Kale!Sam and Dean is, we don't really know, a criminal, a hunter? Trigger Warnings : - Discussion of Capital Punishment - Major Character Death - Heavy Angst (That Shit Is Sad As Fuck) - That's It? Fandom : Supernatural (TV 2005) Character(s) : Sam Winchester Relationship(s) : Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Words Count : 3,624 No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

And this is hard to hear – performing at your best requires all of your mental energy. Every last drop. You see, it’s just not compatible with something like, uh… hobbies or, uh – or even having a family.

Sam slammed the car door behind him hard, drops of water falling from his hair onto the leather seat. He gripped the steering wheel in his hands, exhaling loudly. The rain fell heavily outside, hitting the roof of his car in a steady melody. It reminded him of nights on the road in the Impala, Dean humming in harmony with the rain, lulling him to sleep.

Back then, he felt like nothing and no one could touch him as long as he was with his family. Now, Sam knew it was his family that brought danger. It had been over fifteen years since Sam had last spoken to Dean, since he had refused to go with him to search for John. They didn’t even share the same last name anymore.

(It wouldn’t have been great publicity for a renowned lawyer like him to have such an obvious connection to a wanted criminal.)

Sam tugged at his turtleneck uncomfortably, pushing all nostalgic thoughts from his mind. Leaving Dean and John behind had been the right decision. Every wanted poster plastered with the face of the man Sam had once called his brother reminded him of that. He could never have accomplished what he had done today, his family would have slowed him down, prevented him from succeeding.

Sam meant every word he said during his conventions, performance, the pleasure of a job well done, nothing was more important. Everything else was secondary. And Jess had once agreed with him.

That didn't mean it was easy . But all the sacrifices Sam had made to get to where he was in his life had been worth it. He had the life he had always wanted as a child, the recognition of his peers, the pursuit of knowledge, the stability of a job.

Sam had no regrets about the choices he had made.

Sam ran his hand through his damp hair, brushing it away from his face, and turned on the engine. The radio automatically started, and Sam froze as he heard the last words of the news bulletin.

“The death penalty has been handed down for serial killer Dean Winchester, known for the mass murder of a dozen FBI agents in Monument, Colorado–”

Sam didn't hear the radio host finish their sentence, the blood pounding in his ears drowning out their words. He couldn't have said Dean . Sam would have known if he had been arrested, the whole country would have known. Dean had terrorized the United States for years. And it shouldn't have affected Sam, because he didn't know this Dean Winchester. He wasn't the same person who took care of him and protected him from monsters in the dark.

Really, he had no reason to change his perfectly established routine for a stranger, a criminal .

Dean and Sam Winchester didn’t know each other anymore.

Sam turned off the radio, the silence more brutal than he could have imagined. Sam was used to silence when the day ended, even welcoming it. It was synonymous with efficiency, tranquility, and security. He turned the radio back on, selecting a classical music program.

Starting the windshield wipers, Sam headed for his apartment.

Arriving home, Sam did something he hadn’t done since his divorce from Jess a few years ago. He pulled out a bottle of wine that a client had given him and poured himself a large glass. If anyone asked, he’d blame Dean. He sat on his couch, ignoring the urgent files waiting for him on his desk. If he was entitled to a night off, it was tonight.

Even after years, Dean was disrupting the life he had created for himself. Sam had fought so hard to get away from his family, but he felt like he could never completely escape them. But he had been right to do so. Where would he be if he had followed Dean? Probably in a nearby cell, also waiting to be executed.

In the distance, he could picture Dean behind bars—the one from the wanted posters, not the one from his childhood—his face blurred like an ancient memory, covered in scars, with a sharp smile and a glint of madness  in his eyes. Sam never could imagine himself being by his side. Whether they were face to face or thousands of miles away, those bars always separated them.

And now, they were going to be separated forever. Because Dean was going to die .

Logically, from the perspective of the frightened child who wanted to escape the monsters and his family and the monsters that were his family, this should have been a good thing. 

Sam wasn’t so sure.

Could he let Dean die? Could he let Dean live ?

Dean was a killer.

Years ago, Sam could have assuredly said that what Dean, John, and he were doing was a good thing. Now, he no longer saw the brother he had loved in the hardened features of the man on television. And a part of him thought it was possible that Dean had lost his way so much that he had actually committed the crimes he was accused of.

Blood was blood, and Dean had never known when to stop while there was still time.

Sam got up, unable to stand still when his mind couldn’t seem to stop meandering, and stood in front of the clear window. Below, darkness stretched over the city, hiding monsters and those who hunted them. Droplets of rain trickled down the glass, distorting the red and white lights of the city traffic.

Under the moonlight, the wine swirling in his glass looked like blood. Sam had been a killer too. And Dean had once been the one to wash the blood off his hands with all the devotion of a brother. Sam finished his glass in one go, red staining his lips and teeth.

Ignoring the late hour, he called his assistant. “Cancel my appointments on Monday and Tuesday, I have a… family emergency.”

XXX

Getting a last-minute visit shouldn’t have been this easy, but it had been for him . His name was synonymous with power, not the kind John would have wanted, but powerful nonetheless. Sam was capable of changing things, of making the world a better place.

A car with tinted windows came to pick him up and escort him to the prison, and after a pat-down that Sam submitted to without issue, he was issued a visitor’s pass. He left his black umbrella in the hallway and tightened his tie.

(It had been Jess—not John or Dean—who had taught him how to tie his tie. They were still just friends at the time; she had found him in the bathroom at the university, panicking before a meeting with his advisor. Gently, she had taken his hands and tied the knot for him, patiently explaining each step.)

(Jess and he were no longer friends.)

Fiddling with the two rings on his left hand—both for people he had loved, both now obsolete—Sam followed a guard through the unknown but familiar hallways. This wasn’t the first time Sam had gone to a prison to visit a prisoner. It was the first time he went for a personal reason.

It was the first time he went without the intention of getting the person he was visiting released.

The guard glanced at him every now and then, his face hesitant as if he wanted to question Sam. Sam’s commanding gaze made him turn back each time. Sam encouraged curious and eager minds, but not tonight . Not on this subject.

(This part of his life – the darkest part – was his. (Dean’s. John’s.) And if he wanted to forget it, to consign it to the furthest part of his mind and never think about it again… that was his right.)

(There was still time to turn back.)

They stopped in front of an armoured door, accessible only with one of the keycards the guard held in his hand. Behind the door was an airlock and yet another door, one that Sam could open freely this time.

Behind it was Dean.

(There was still time to turn around.)

"At your request, your conversation will not be recorded," the guard recited. "However, given the prisoner's security level, we ask that you respect the security instructions you have been given. Do you need them repeated to you?"

(There was still time to turn around.)

"That won't be necessary," Sam replied.

"Very well," the guard said, unlocking the door. "You have one hour, knock if you want to get out before the time limit."

(There was still time to turn around.)

"Thank you," Sam said politely, crossing the threshold of the door.

The door slammed shut behind him. It was a step, maybe two, to the next door. Sam forced his body forward, his hand hesitating over the handle.

(There was still time to turn around.)

"It's a little late for a lawyer, don't you think?" Dean scoffed as Sam opened the door, not even looking at who was entering the room.

(There was still time to turn around.)

"Sammy?"

Dean’s green eyes locked on him, a whirlwind of emotion—overwhelming and vivid—that Sam didn’t dare comprehend. But above all, hope . Dean laughed hysterically at the sight of Sam, as mad as the media portrayed him, but Sam couldn’t ignore the relief in his voice.

(It was time.)

Sam closed the door behind him.

“Don’t call me Sammy.”

The defense mechanism was automatic—forgotten but never gone, like the silt of a pond rising to the surface after someone threw a rock in it—and only made Dean laugh harder.

“Oh man,” Dean sighed, happy tears welling in his eyes. “I didn’t expect this.”

Dean had wrinkles now, and scars too. Sam knew that, he had seen them in pictures, but he never thought that time could have an effect on Dean.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr. Campbell ?" Dean asked when Sam remained silent. "For someone trying to run away from his family, you're pretty bad at it. I didn't take you for a sentimentalist."

As he always did, Dean struck first. He had never known how to leave Sam alone. Always reaching out to him, dragging him along, forcing him to move on.

"Death row inmates get one last meal," Sam replied, putting a white plastic bag on the table.

But Sam had never let himself be pushed around, had always hit back, blow for blow - just like Dean had taught him - and his favorite pastime had always been wiping the arrogant smile off Dean's face. 

Dean's face darkened at that, the shadows on his face harsh under the industrial light of the prison. Sam wondered if he'd made a mistake. This wasn't the Dean he knew, his big brother, this was a stranger who shared the same blood as him.

(Dean was a killer.)

“So what? You’re here to get me out of here?” Dean’s tone was sharp, like he’d never stopped fighting, like he didn’t know how. “Because I’m afraid it’s impossible, even for you, Sammy.”

“No,” Sam sighed, pulling the chair in front of Dean, the metal scraping against the floor with a shrill thud. “No. I just wanted to… It’s been a long time.”

Sam was a brilliant lawyer and orator. He wielded words the way he once wielded blades, coldly, precisely, never missing his mark. People feared and respected him.

In front of Dean, he was a scared little boy.

(Leaving had been the right choice.)

"Sixteen years," Dean retorted with just a hint of reproach in his voice. "I see you've done well. Lawyer, that suits you well."

"And what about you?" Sam asked, not knowing how to behave around his estranged brother.

"Still in the family business," Dean grinned roughly. " Someone needed to take care of it after Dad disappeared."

"You didn't find him?" Sam asked surprised.

If anyone could find John, it was Dean.

A second later, it hit him. John was probably dead. Sam waited for his heart to clench at the news, for a weight to lift from his shoulders, for a tear to roll down his cheek. Nothing happened.

John was dead. Sam wasn’t sad, or relieved, or angry.

“ Oh .”

“Yes, oh!” Dean bit out, the anger unmistakable in his voice this time.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, his words sounding more like a question.

Dean sighed heavily, running his hand over his face, the immeasurable weight of the years seeming to fall on his shoulders mercilessly. For the first time since he had entered the room, Sam looked at Dean.

Dean had hunted alone for a long time, without someone to cover his back, and it showed. His face was covered in scars, some still fresh, red-purple and blistered. A cut peeked out of his t-shirt along his windpipe, bloody and raw, and bruises dotted his arms under the tattoos and burns.

He looked tired. He looked ready to fight.

"What are you doing here, Sammy?" Dean asked. "Have you come to absolve me of my crimes? Have you come to beg for forgiveness?"

"I… I don't know," Sam confessed. "I just wanted to see you one last time."

“It's a little late for this, don't you think?” Dean laughed cruelly. “But it's not like you had sixteen years to do it.”

“Dean, please–”

Some truths were universal: Sam Campbell always won in court. There were creatures from your worst nightmares lurking in the shadows. Dean Winchester would do anything for his little brother.

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean agreed. His tone was kind but rough, as if without Sam by his side he’d forgotten how to be. “One last time for the road. I hope you got me some pie!”

Sam’s eyes flashed almost gold with mirth, coming to life for the first time in years. “See for yourself,” he suggested mischievously, pushing the plastic bag toward Dean.

Dean laughed again, with joy for the first time, and oh how he’d missed that sound. If Sam could live in one moment forever, this would be it, Sam decided. His big brother excitedly ripping open the plastic to reveal a supermarket pie, his smile aligning with his facial features in harmony, as it always should have.

“This is awesome ,” Dean said. “I haven’t had pie in months.”

Dean grabbed one of the plastic forks, the chains of his handcuffs clicking loudly against the table, and took a comically gargantuan bite.

“As delicious as always,” Dean said through his mouth full. “Would you like some?”

“No thanks, it’s—” Sam cut himself off, ‘ it’s too much sugar’, so what? “You know what, why not?”

Sam grabbed the second plastic fork and cut off a more reasonable portion before bringing it to his mouth. It was sweet , disgustingly sweet. Sam could feel the cavities attacking his teeth. He took a second bite. 

It tasted like his childhood. Sam ignored the sting of tears in the corners of his eyes.

“I’m not brushing my teeth and I’m going to die tasting pie,” Dean exclaimed with conviction.

“What?”

Sam’s hand froze in mid-air. Dean’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I thought you knew. It’s today,” Dean said gently, like he used to talk to Sam when they were kids. Dean cleared his throat, forcing all emotion out of his voice. “Today is the day Dean Winchester dies. For real this time.”

Sam put his fork down on the table, a knot tightening painfully around his throat. He felt like he was going to throw up his heart. Sam knew Dean was going to die. But not now .

(He thought he still had time.)

“It’s too soon,” Sam said, unable to keep the whining tone from his voice.

“I’ve been incarcerated here for almost a year,” Dean said. “It was a long time coming. There’s not a person here who doesn’t want me dead.”

( Me ! Sam wanted to scream. I don’t want you to die. But his words stuck in his chest along with his bleeding heart.)

“Escape then!” Sam exclaimed, slapping the table with the flat of his hand. “You’re a hunter, we’re trained to get out of situations like this.”

“You think I didn’t try?” Dean retorted. “They won’t let me escape this time. I’ve had about ten tracers injected under my skin since I set foot here. But I guess that’s what you get when you blow up a police station.”

Sam’s blood froze painfully in his veins. For someone who had desperately clung to the certainty that Dean was a killer, he had forgotten it pathetically quickly.

(The eyes Dean looked at him with—bright green and more alive than Sam’s could ever be—were nothing like the man on the television. Sam didn’t know which ones were real.)

“But you didn’t do it, did you?” Sam asked.

“If even you doubt me,” Dean laughed bitterly, “how do you expect me to tell the people outside that it was Lilith, the first demon who was trying to free Lucifer?”

“What?”

Sam was repeating himself tonight. The situation was slipping out of his hands at breakneck speed, the rope burning his fingers as he tried to cling to it with no results.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” Dean replied sadly. “But I don’t want to talk about that. Tell me about your new life, about Jess.”

Sam forced a smile as he watched Dean wiggle his eyebrows suggestively.

“We got divorced a few years ago,” Sam replied, swallowing painfully.

(His vision was still blurry through the tears.)

“Oh, shit, I didn’t know. Sorry Sammy,” Dean apologized.

“That’s… You couldn’t have known,” Sam stumbled over his words in frustration, hiding his face in his hand. How could Dean apologize for something as ridiculous as his divorce? Dean was going to die .“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

(He thought they still had time.)

Sixteen years of hard work and sacrifice were crumbling like a precariously erected house of cards in less than an hour in his brother’s presence. How weak he was, the powerful lawyer.

“Sammy,” Dean said, reaching his chained hand across the table to rest on Sam’s. “Everything’s going to be okay. It should be easy for you, you don’t even love me anymore.”

Dean’s joke—if it was one—fell flat in the dead silence of the room. Sam’s eyes filled with tears, silently streaming down his cheeks, burning like acid rain.

“I’m sorry I wasted so much time,” Sam whispered, biting back a sob. “I should have come with you.”

Dean stood, spreading his arms as wide as his chains would allow.

“Come here.”

Sam rushed to his brother, clinging to him like a lifeline in the raging ocean, a thousand-year-old, unbreakable rock. Dean closed his arms around him and Sam thought – selfishly perhaps – that Dean needed that embrace too.

“I’m proud of you, Sammy. For going and fulfilling your dreams. You have the life you always wanted, the one you fought for,” Dean whispered, a secret between him and Sam, the last one. “Don’t forget that.”

“I can’t do this alone,” Sam said, shaking his head negatively.

“Yes you can,” Dean replied, smiling sadly.

“Well, I don’t want to,” Sam refused.

Why was he realizing all this now? When it was too late to make a difference. If only he had done something sooner. If only he had left with Dean 16 years ago.

If only—

(He thought they still had time.)

Before Sam was ready to let Dean go, someone knocked on the door twice in quick succession. The knell tolled.

“Time’s up.”

Dean let go of Sam first, pushing him toward the door, the freedom and life that had been stolen from him—

It was Dean who had driven Sam to the bus stop when he left for Stanford. The ride had been in tense silence, neither of them knowing that they wouldn’t see each other again for a long time, for their entire lives. (Sam wondered if it would have made any difference.) But Dean had come.

– with his big brother watching him leave once again, Sam walked away, as scared as when he was eighteen.

“Sammy!”

Sam turned around (this time). He knew it was the last time.

“Can you come?” Dean asked. It was the first time he asked Sam something. Sam wished he had never asked. “I don't want to die alone.”

The tears on Sam's cheeks hadn't had time to dry before the guard closed the door, leaving Dean alone in the room, leaving Sam alone in the one next door.

XXX

Sam Winchester watched his brother die. He looked him straight in the eyes—bright green and full of life for the last time—never failing.

This was something the world would never know. Something that would haunt Sam until he died. Dean Winchester died with tears in his eyes, sugar on his cheek, and three words on his lips, spoken to his little brother through the window.

"I love you."

When Sam walked out of the jail, a few hours and a lifetime later, it had stopped raining. The sun was peeking through the clouds, a rainbow bridging the road as he started the Impala. A ghost settled into the passenger seat and the radio started.

Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole. Sam could make an exception this time.

Carry on, my wayward son

There'll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry no more

They make me physically ill, why is it so sad? They haven't seen each other for sixteen years. Sixteen years! And when Sam finally realizes that he needs and loves his brother, it's too late. And if Dean hadn't told him it was today, Sam would have left without knowing that it was the last time he spoke to his brother. Like the two times before! They had so many chances and they didn't take any of them. And Dean. He watched his little brother leave him twice (three times if you count the time after John disappeared) because he knew that ultimately it was the best decision for Sam. Argh. I break my own heart.

Keep It Undercover

Whumptober, Day 3 (Manhandled, Held at Gunpoint, Forced to Their Knees)

AO3 Link

“Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Peter glanced up, careful not to move his head while Natasha brushed some sort of contouring powder on his nose. “I am. I have to be.”

Natasha clicked her tongue. “Hold still.”

Peter had moved without realizing it. He straightened his head, keeping it still while his eyes moved down to watch Natasha’s face wrinkle with concentration as she blended the makeup against his face. Peter had only worn makeup a few times, when MJ wanted to practice eyeshadow on him. Once as a dare, he’d let her do his whole face (not that it had taken much convincing; Ned liked to laugh about how malleable Peter could be when it came to MJ.)

“You know what you have to say?”

“Mhm.”

“Tell me again,” Natasha ordered, pulling her brush away and staring him down.

Peter resisted the urge to sigh --- knowing that with Tony’s life on the line, they couldn’t be too careful.

“I’m a buyer from Manhattan. Zach Angelo. Nineteen.”

The real Zach Angelo had been detained by Steve earlier. Peter would be going in his stead, and the makeup was to make him look older. With limited resources, Peter hoped it would be enough. Luckily, the underground alien-weapon industry tended to be more on the anonymous side.

“What do you have to do?”

“Meet with the handler,” Peter answered robotically. “He will take me inside, and I will plant the flash drive to disable the security on the outside.”

Not for the first time, Peter wished that Tony was there. Not only did he always have a wealth of tech that was perpetually useful, especially considering that Peter, Nat, Steve, and Sam had next to nothing helpful, but the thought of Tony being held captive in a shady weapon warehouse while being subjected to God-knows- what made Peter sick to his stomach. 

They’d targeted Tony on purpose. That was the worst part. They’d needed a genius, an expert weaponeer, a Merchant of Death, and they’d gotten it --- it hadn’t mattered that Tony had left his old weapons industry far, far behind him. The mission had turned into an ambush, and despite the panic that had clawed him up from the inside out, despite the surge of strength and adrenaline that had gotten Peter most of the way across the makeshift battlefield, Peter hadn’t gotten there in time. They’d taken Tony and Peter had been left behind with the others, helpless.

Peter still couldn’t look at Steve without feeling a flash of anger. Steve had been the one to tackle Peter down and drag him away --- kicking and flailing and screaming himself hoarse. And if Tony didn’t make it out of this…. Peter didn’t think he’d ever forgive Steve for that.

Peter blinked when Natasha prodded his side with the end of a makeup brush. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Natasha eyed him expectantly. He flushed.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Then what?” Natasha prompted.

“I keep them distracted. Keep the eyes on me while you guys slip in.” Natasha tilted her head and he amended himself. “Keep myself safe, while the eyes are on me.”

He took a deep breath before continuing, “Locate Tony if I can. Let you guys know through the comms.”

“Last step.”

“If things go to shit, get myself out.”

Natasha squinted at him. “I can hear the hesitancy in your voice.”

Peter’s eyes flicked between Sam and Natasha before he sighed, looking down at the threadbare couch in the apartment they’d “rented” and picking at the loose threads. “I don’t know how I can leave him there.”

Natasha stood up, wincing a little and hands twitching towards her ribcage. Peter could see the edge of a bandage peeking out from underneath her tank top --- evidence of the nasty hit she’d taken right before things had gone to complete crap. 

Despite the undertone of pain on her face, Natasha’s eyes were hard when she said, “Peter, you and both know that Tony would not want you in there with him.”

“I know---”

“And I’m making sure,” she said. “Walking into this, you are expendable, get that? Tony is the one they want alive. If you get caught, you’re done.”

Peter was opening his mouth before his danger sense could warn him bad idea ahead. “You don’t know that.”

Natasha’s eyes flashed. “If you aren’t going to listen, then we figure out another plan.” Peter would have thought she was being a little too harsh if she had not added, eyes determined. “I am not sending you into that facility to die. That is my one condition, understand?”

“I understand.”

Natasha’s eyes softened and her shoulders slumped. “Thank you.” She glanced at Sam, who straightened, then back to Peter, who was on his feet in an instant. “Go change. We leave in ten.”

-+-

Peter stuck his hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he’d had to borrow from Sam, fingers twisting around the flash drive stitched into the inside of his left pocket and the quarter-sized communications unit stitched into his right. His enhanced hearing meant he didn’t need the comms to be next to his ear, and he could still talk to Natasha and Sam and Steve if he figured something out, or if things got dicey.

The weapons facility was nothing more than a few warehouses bunched together and fenced in by barbed wire that wouldn’t stop any determined person with a bolt cutter or a disregard for their personal health. So no --- the barbed wire wouldn’t stop anyone. That was what the cameras rigged to lasers were for.

The facility was also on the docks of the harbor. Peter could hear waves rushing like the blood in his ears and particularly large ones smashing against rocks. The air was damp and salty. Peter got the vague feeling that he was in a bad movie. Except these guys were way more prepared than any villain Peter had ever seen in an action movie. Alien tech was a real piece of work.

When Peter was almost near the entrance, he slowed down. Kept his gait loose, and casual, if not a tiny bit tense to compensate for the fact that he was theoretically making a highly illegal weapons deal. 

Peter winced when he triggered the lights --- they were a blinding yellow that had Peter throwing his arm up to shield his eyes. Natasha had already made one thing clear: let the handlers come to him.

A few seconds later, two men did, emerging from behind large wooden crates stacked in front of the facility. Peter tracked their predatory movements towards him carefully. He worked with criminals enough on the daily to notice the almost imperceptible bumps in their dark clothes --- disguised weapons that Peter didn’t want to end up on the wrong end of.

With the lights in his eyes, Peter couldn’t see their faces, which was surely their intent. One stepped forward, a little taller, a little bigger than the other. He cocked his head.

“It’s a little late for people to be hanging around here,” the thug spoke carefully.

Peter straightened. “I think I took a wrong turn on Angel Street. Any way you can help me out?”

For a moment, Peter was worried that somehow, the passphrase he’d overheard when they’d staked out the building earlier that day was wrong. The thugs shared a look and Peter subtly braced himself, ready to run or fight if it came down to it.

But his hearing hadn’t failed him. The thugs relaxed. The one who’d spoken earlier stepped forward and patted Peter’s upper arm, keeping a grip on it that Peter thought was probably supposed to come off as casual but Peter knew to be threatening. 

“Zachariah,” the man breathed, both of them flanking him and leading him towards the gates. Peter spotted movement around them: men with glowing purple guns that had Peter’s spider sense flaring dully. “I’m Darrell. This is my buddy Jones. We’ll get you set up.”

Thank you, is what Peter would have said ordinarily. But there were different rules here --- rules that Peter was too afraid to break. “Let’s keep this quick.”

Darrell laughed harshly. “Fuentes pretty much operates on his own schedule, but we’ll see what we can do.”

Peter nodded stiffly, coming to a halt at the same time that Darrell and Jones did. Darrell dug into his pocket with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Peter’s bicep. Peter eyed him sideways, tensing a little, but Darrell only pulled out a small remote with a glowing teal core and aimed it at the gate in front of them.

Peter kept his surprise at bay as the edges of the fence lit up before swinging open. Darrell pocketed the remote and they kept going. Peter couldn’t resist eyeing him and saying, “Nice tech.”

Darrell shrugged. “This ain’t the half of it.”

Peter believed it, but before he could take another step forward, Jones’ arm shot out and hit his chest. Peter whipped his head around as Jones tilted his head dangerously.

“The bag,” Jones explained. “We’ll have to search it. And you.”

Right. The backpack Peter had also borrowed from Sam. He shrugged it off into Jones’ hands, watching with what he hoped was a neutral or even bored expression. Jones eyed him suspiciously.

“Want to tell me what’s in here first? Feels kinda heavy.”

Peter smiled coolly. “See for yourself.”

Jones narrowed his eyes but unzipped it, reached in, and went slack jawed at the contents: bundles upon bundles of cash, neatly labeled. So much of it that even Peter had not seen so much physical money until Natasha had presented it to him. He couldn’t exactly pose as a weapons buyer if he didn’t have any cash. Luckily, it was all fake --- but really, really good fakes. At least good enough to last while he was inside.

Darrell whistled appreciatively. “Somebody’s come prepared.”

“I’ve been looking forward to this deal,” Peter responded with an uncomfortably mean glint in his eye. “Now if I could see that until later…?”

Jones reluctantly handed it back to him and continued the search --- Peter could tell it was a lot less strict. Money talks, as Mr. Stark sometimes said. When they were satisfied, they resumed their walk inside.

They passed more men who eyed them curiously as Darrell and Jones led Peter to the biggest warehouse. 

Peter didn’t know what he was expecting when he walked inside, but it wasn’t this: a massive room with shelved walls --- as high as the ceiling --- packed full of tech. Large tables and engineering equipment filled most of the space --- Peter could see people in protective masks hunched over the tables, sparks flying around them as they welded together pieces of steel and chunks of salvaged Chitauri parts. Peter was startled to see that at least of the workers were barely older than he was. Peter wondered how the hell they'd gotten themselves wrapped up in this.

“This way,” Jones muttered for the first time, grabbing Peter’s elbow and pulling him past rows of tables that he had to force himself to look away from. “Boss is dealing with a new… employee if you will.”

Him and Darrell laughed harshly, as Peter’s mind raced, linking the possibility that they might have been talking about Tony, who had to be somewhere past the winding hallways up ahead.

Peter wished he could crane his head around the hallways and check. Or better yet, get somewhere quiet and listen. 

“ Peter, ” he heard Natasha hiss from the comms in his pocket. “ Don’t do anything stupid. Stick with the plan. ”

But his mouth was already opening as he whipped his head around to face Darrell. “Do you guys have a bathroom anywhere?”

Darrell’s face went slack. He glanced at Jones, who tightened his grip on Peter’s arm. Peter forced a nonchalant smile.

“If you don’t that’s fine,” he said quickly, heart pounding. “It’s just been a long drive down here, you know?”

Darrell squinted and Peter thought his heart might explode at that point. “I guess we can take you to the bathroom before you see ‘im. Lucky you asked us, though. Fuentes is not as patient, especially with new clients. I guess you know that, though, since he’s your cousin.”

Peter almost choked and for the first time, he was struck with real panic that he desperately snuffed out before it could play on his face. Inside, his mind was reeling. He hadn’t overheard that they were cousins --- he was screwed. Fuentes was going to call him out as soon as he saw him, and most likely, he’d kill him if Peter couldn’t think up a good reason for being there. But now, he was insanely glad that he’d asked for a detour. He furiously hoped he could come up with a new plan, maybe even sneak away and break Tony out himself, but Jones and Darrell were watching him and he couldn’t afford to gain any of their suspicion before he met the actual boss guy.

Maybe if he was lucky, he and Fuentes --- the head of operations, apparently --- were really, really estranged cousins.

Even Peter wasn’t naive enough to think that his Parker Luck would let that happen.

They veered left, down a hallway that had been partially obscured by shelves the same height as the ceiling --- which was at least forty feet tall. Peter almost winced when he saw the poster of Spider-Man halfway down the hallway: pinned to a dartboard and full of puncture holes.

“Not a fan?” Peter asked lightly before he could stop himself. 

Darrell glanced where Peter had been looking without slowing down and scoffed. “You could say that.”

Jones cast a dark look Peter’s way. “I’d kill him if I ever got the chance.”

Fun, Peter thought to himself as they finally reached a set of doors.

“Same,” he managed weakly.

Darrell laughed. “You’re a funny guy, Angelo.”

Nothing about this is funny. 

Peter was pretty sure he was well and truly screwed when they finally rounded the corner and were met with a wider hallway with labeled bathrooms. He almost cried when he saw that it wasn’t just Darrell and Jones in the hallway. A decent amount of people were lingering in this hallway, which smelled like cigarette smoke.

Jones gestured to the bathroom up ahead. “We’ll wait for you out here.”

Peter slipped the backpack off his shoulders and leaned it besides the door --- a peace offering, or maybe some fake insurance so that Darrell and Jones wouldn’t suspect him of doing anything fishy (which, to be fair, he was about to try to do.)

“Thanks, man,” Peter said with a tight smile, fingers brushing against the silver knob.

Think. Figure something out.

Peter’s mind remained tantalizing blank of ideas. How was he supposed to slip away when he was surrounded by people? He never had a chance to open the door. Right as his fingers were curling around the handle, shouts broke out a few yards away. Peter turned his head in sync with Jones and Darrell, just in time to see the fight break out.

“Holy shit,” Peter said without thinking as two guys basically mauled each other. 

Darrell and Jones weren’t making a move to intervene --- until one of the guys pulled out a silver gun, clearly of alien descendancy, and fired it.

Screams went up then from the small crowd gathered around. Purple light blasted everywhere, and the lights went out in the room, bathing them in pitch darkness. Peter watched as glow in the dark, neon purple acid crawled across the floor, dissolving it.

He glanced at Darrell, whose face he couldn’t see enough to read but was stanley rigider than before. “Is that normal?”

“No,” they both breathed, and when the fight continued --- blasts of purple lights creating a headache-inducing strobe light (and distracting ) display, and Darrell and Jones both ran towards it with a thrown back, “Stay here,” Peter made his move.

He wouldn’t have done it if the lights weren’t down but they were and this was his only chance --- Peter sprinted down a hallway, narrating what he was doing in quiet breaths to Natasha and the others.

Peter didn’t know where he was going, but he followed the sound of what he was pretty sure was computer fans and monitors whirring and didn’t stop until he was in front of a door labelled SECURITY.

Peter didn’t waste one second, he threw it open and was immensely grateful he didn’t have to knock anyone out. The room was empty of life, was basically wallpapered in screens and tech, but Peter’s eyes spotted a small warning screen that read: Restoring lights. 45 seconds… 44 seconds…

He fumbled for the flash drive in his pocket, ripping the false pocket seam open, and shoving the thing into the first drive slot he saw on the main monitor. He waited five seconds before Nat yelled through the comms, “ We’re in! Get the hell out of there. ”

Peter spun around on his heel and booked it for the room he was in before, heart pounding at this point. He tried to keep a mental countdown in his head and started to panic when he realized that he might not make it back to where he was --- that everything might be ruined then and there --- but he made it. Barely.

When the lights came back on, and the two guys were ripped away from each other with exhausted curses from the other bystanders, Darrell and Jones were just then loping up towards Peter, who was standing in front of the bathroom door with the backpack thrown over his shoulder and a pained smile on his face.

“All done,” Peter said. “Where to next?”

“Here should be fine,” Jones answered, walking Peter back towards the crowd, which was rapidly dispersing. “Boss is already on his way over. He doesn’t tolerate workers using his tech to fight.”

Peter blanched. “Understandable. And where---”

“Jones,” a commanding voice said from in front of them, a man emerging through the remainder of the crowd that wordlessly parted before him, then stopped to observe the interaction that Peter was rapidly starting to be afraid of. “Darrell. Mickey said you were with my cousin.”

Fuentes not only managed to be physically imposing, but everything about him took up space, even in the wide, airy hallway intersection. Maybe it had something to do with his Armani suit, like something Tony would wear if he shopped at Italian Mobster21. His flinty eyes glided right over Peter, not stopping --- like he didn’t recognize him. Peter bit his tongue hard. He didn’t know what to do.

Fuentes’s eyes drifted back to Peter, head tilting dangerously. The man glanced at his lackeys, nodding his head towards Peter between them. “Who is that?”

“Peter, can you get out of there?” Natasha was wasting her breath --- Peter was stuck.

Bile climbed up Peter’s throat as Darrell shot Peter, then his boss, a confused look. 

“This is Zach Angelo, sir.”

Fuentes laughed --- cold and dangerous as his fingers drifted towards his waistband. “Is that who he said he was?”

Peter blinked and there was a gun aimed at his face. He swallowed, brain short-circuiting. Fuentes’s finger twitched towards the trigger.

“I’ll ask you this one time,” Fuentes said slowly. “And I want the truth before I blast your head open. Who the hell are you?”

Peter’s heart dropped.

-+-

Tony had to admit: a makeshift cell in a cheesy warehouse was not where he had planned to spend his evening. It was stuffy and rank and barren and borderline hypothermia-inducing, but unfortunately, Tony had seen worse, and the weapons dealers who had taken him probably knew that. 

The demands he’d been given were clear, the threats even more so, so Tony had done a good job of looking busy outwardly while inside his mind spun, ranging from thoughts of rescue to how the hell do I keep stalling ?

At least he knew that rescue was coming. He may not be so confident if it had just been the others, but Tony knew damn well that with Peter involved, it was only a matter of time. He only hoped that it was soon.

Three sharp raps sounded against the six inch thick steel door. Tony looked up and groaned, dropping his pencil sloppily on the table pushed sloppily against the left side of the room. He had to say that the fake sketches he was coming up with, and the equations he’d scribbled around them, were pretty impressive --- but he didn’t want to test their patience anymore than he needed to (they’d already shown him what they were capable of after he had pushed them too far in the first few hours, and Tony now had a mosaic of bruises on his chest and arms that proved it.)

“I’m going,” Tony droned, glaring at the door. “It’s not my fault you gave me a shitty inventory to---”

He straightened and stopped when he heard the sound of the lock scraping as it was pulled back. The door cracked open, and a guard entered, gun brandished and aimed at Tony’s chest: Tony who quickly put his hands up and stepped back.

“What’s the problem?” he asked quickly, glancing between the black barrel and the plethora of sketches scattered on the table to his left.

“Back against the wall,” the guard ordered, and the mean expression and twitchy trigger finger didn’t give Tony much room to do anything but comply. He moved to the center of the room and backed up until his back was against the wall.

Tony had thought that he’d come to check in on how the sketches were doing, but instead of seizing the blueprints Tony had drawn up, the guard simply kept his gun aimed at Tony, expression cool. 

“Is this some sort of fear tactic?” Tony drawled, unimpressed. “Because if I am being honest---”

“Quiet, Stark,” the guard snapped, glancing between Tony and the door, still ajar. Tony would be a liar if he said he wasn't considering making a run for it. Eyes still on Tony, the guard reached one hand up towards his ear piece and spoke into the activated mic. “Stark is contained. Bring him in.”

Tony’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, but before he could even make an attempt at figuring out what the guy was talking about, the answer was dragged into the room between two guards.

Tony’s heart stopped. 

No no no no no. Not the kid --- anybody but the kid. How the hell did they get him?

The two guards that dragged Peter into the room had him by his hair and his arms, which were cuffed behind his back. Peter was weakly trying to pull free of their grip, face white with fear and dark with fresh, darkening bruises, and Tony couldn’t tell whether or not Peter was meaning to hold back.

For a split second as Peter was manhandled through the doorway, their eyes met. Peter’s eyes were wide and panicked, and a thrill of fear went down Tony’s spine. Clearly, Peter had not intended to end up with Tony. As it was, Tony stood stock still as Peter was shoved down onto his knees. There were two men holding him, and as Tony watched, one of them grabbed Peter’s hair, twisted his hand to get a painful-looking grip on Peter’s curls, and forced his head to stay down. Peter glared at the floor, breathing hard. If Tony had been in his suit, there was no doubt that he would have lit the two men up right then and there.

But he wasn’t in his suit; he didn’t have any of his tech. He was in a cell in the middle of a high tech, fully equipped weapons facility and now Peter was there. Peter who he couldn’t protect --- not really.

He’d have to play things differently.

Tony tore his eyes away from Peter as Fuentes strolled in --- his suit still a disgrace and his mobster haircut looking more gelled up than the last time Tony had seen the man  --- a cold smile twitching on his lips.

Tony eyed Fuentes coolly --- it was all he could do to pretend that his chest was not collapsing in on itself. “What’s going?” He eyed Peter with a carefully constructed air of disinterest. “Who is this?”

Peter tried to look up, but his head was shoved down again. He heard Peter let out a harsh breath.

Fuentes raised an eyebrow, gesturing vaguely towards Peter with a black handgun. “You don’t know?”

Tony squinted at Peter like he was thinking before glancing back at Fuentes. “I can’t say that I do.”

Fuentes cocked his head. “That’s funny. Because he said he knows you, Stark.”

A muscle in Tony’s jaw twitched. “Maybe he’s a fan.”

“Very funny, Stark,” Fuentes said. When Tony didn’t say anything, Fuentes sighed. “Well, if that’s the case, the boy has no use to me anymore, does he?” 

Before Tony could process what that meant, Fuentes crossed behind Peter and leveled his handgun to the back of Peter’s head.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, bottom lip trembling, and Tony’s breath hitched.

“Wait.”

Fuentes raised an eyebrow. “Got something to say, Stark?”

“You got me,” Tony said raggedly. “I lied, okay? Of course I know the kid. He’s my intern, so--- so don’t shoot him. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Fuentes’ eyes sparkled and he finally lowered his gun. “Now that’s what I like to hear.” He glanced at Peter, who was breathing shallowly and not daring to look up and then back to Tony, eyes hard. “I want those blueprints, Stark. And I imagine you don’t want me to see me put a bullet into the kid’s head.”

“Obviously not,” Tony grit out, clenching his fists so hard he thought he might break a knuckle.

“Then I suppose we’d better come to a compromise, shouldn’t we?”

Tony didn’t say anything --- he didn’t need to. Of course he would --- he would do anything for Peter, and that was probably why Peter was in front of him, alive and definitely hurt if the fresh bruises on his face were any indication, instead of dead for being caught sneaking into the weapons facility --- however the hell the kid had done it.

“I’m going to need a response, Stark,” Fuentes droned boredly. 

When Tony hesitated, Fuentes’ eyes flashed. Tony flinched at the gunshot that followed --- he hadn’t even see Fuentes move his gun --- and Tony’s heart almost ripped free of his ribcage at the bullet that embedded itself in the wall five inches above Peter’s head.

“Jesus fuck , okay!” Tony yelled, eyes wide with horror. Peter was squirming even more now. “I’ll do it, I already said that.” 

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Fuentes said with a smirk. He glanced at Peter who, as soon as he caught Fuentes’ gaze, glared at him. “Release him, but keep the cuffs.”

Tony eyed Fuentes narrowly, but Fuentes only shrugged. The other men obliged, stepping back with their hands dropping to their sides. When Peter took too long to stand up, Fuentes grabbed his hair, hauled him up, and basically tossed him towards Tony, who grit his teeth and gripped Peter’s arm to stabilize him.

“I’d advise you not to waste any more of my time,” Fuentes said as his guards filed out before him. “You have four hours. If you’re not done, the kid dies.”

Tony nodded curtly. Fuentes grinned before slamming the door shut behind him. The lock slid back into place from the outside.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter panted, voice shaky. “Are you okay?”

Tony swung around, heart jumping as Peter clutched his side, wobbling on his feet. “Peter. Kid. Talk to me, what’s going on?”

In reply, Peter weakly peeled back one side of his jacket, and Tony swore at the sight of the large dark wet spot staining his side. Blood. He hadn’t seen it against the black of the leather jacket but now he did and his heart palpitated. Peter was shivering, and Tony was quick to do what he could.

“Come on,” Tony said, voice strained, offering his arm out. “Let’s have you sit down.”

Peter nodded gratefully as Tony led him to the only other piece of furniture in the cell besides the table: a gray, threadbare twin mattress shoved in the corner. Tony helped Peter sit with his back against the wall before inspecting the wound.

“What happened?”

Peter grimaced. “Fuentes shot me. It’s just a graze, and it’s already healing it just--- ah --- hurts.”

Tony squeezed his hand but they both knew there was nothing they could do. Peter looked like he was telling the truth for once. “Where are the others?”

Peter cracked a grin. “On their way in, hopefully. Nat sent me in to plant a flash drive---” Tony’s heartbeat and his eyebrows rocketed upwards but Peter saw the look on his face and explained, “It was the only way. After you, uh, after you were taken, we had to go back to this dingy apartment and figure something out. We staked out the building and overheard someone talking about a buyer around my age that would be showing up tonight, so I pretended to be him so they would let me in---”

“Kid, hold on,” Tony said, eyes flicking up towards the ceiling where he had spotted the almost imperceptible cameras within five minutes of being tossed into his cell.

Peter followed his gaze sharply. “The cameras are down, Mr. Stark. I did plant the flash drive. We can talk.”

Tony’s mind was whirling. He could barely comprehend the idea that Peter --- his, his kid, basically --- had willingly entered this hellish facility to save him. Tony never would have allowed it, considering that Peter getting hurt was up there with his top five most frequent nightmares, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t a little proud, even if Peter had gotten hurt in the process.

“How’d you run into Fuentes?” Tony found himself asking.

Peter winced. “Yeah, so apparently the guy I was masquerading as was Fuentes’ cousin.” At the look on Mr. Stark’s face, Peter barked out a rough laugh. “Yeah, not my best moment. But I got the drive in and I’m with you, so…”

Tony’s eyes flicked down to Peter’s side. Peter noticed and bit his lip, shifting a little. “The guy’s a maniac, Mr. Stark, you had to have seen it in him. They were beating me up a little---” Peter glanced at Tony’s face and hurried on, “Fuentes pulled a gun out and kind of shot me---” Tony felt sick again at that thought but Peter somehow managed to ramble even faster. “--- Which you don’t even have to worry about because it’s fine even though it hurts like a um, a chic ---”

“I know you swear, Peter, I’ve heard you on the phone with Ted---”

“Only the good bad words, Mr. Stark,” Peter interjected quickly. “And it’s Ned. Anyways, I figured I could either, a) reveal my identity and get out---”

“I almost rather you would have done that,” Tony muttered under his breath.

Peter shook his head. “Uh, no you wouldn’t. They had a dartboard with Spider-Man’s face on it, Mr. Stark. I’m pretty sure I would have actually died if they figured me out.”

Tony vaguely wondered if Peter was aware that he had just set the record for how many mini heart attacks he could give Tony in five minutes. He didn’t seem aware.

“Or b),” Peter finished. “Offer myself up as leverage and see if they’d take me to you.” Peter looked up and managed a tired grin. “And here I am.”

And here you are.

Tony nodded thoughtfully, glancing towards the door and then at the table. His fake blueprints were rolled up on the steel surface. Tony would make sure that they couldn’t even hope to salvage those when he was done with the warehouse.

“There’s a lot of young people here, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, digging into his jacket pocket. Tony heard a faint ripping sound and tilted his head. “They were just building the weapons, I don’t--- they weren’t--- weren’t like Toomes.”

Tony didn’t know if he believed Peter completely, considering the kid always managed to see the best he could in people, but as long as Fuentes and the specific thugs who had hurt Peter were among the ones who were either imprisoned or slightly maimed, then Tony would make sure that they achieved some sort of reform or better option.

“ETA on rescue?” Tony asked, after the silence between them had grown comfortable and long. 

Peter pulled from his pocket a small black object the size of a quarter and held it up. “Nat says in thirty minutes.” Peter squinted and tilted his head like he was listening to something before glancing back at Tony. “Uh, actually maybe closer to an hour.”

Tony scrunched up his face. “An hour? We working with amateurs here?”

Peter laughed and passed Tony the comms. “I’m pretty sure she’s getting S.H.I.E.L.D or the FBI down here, Mr. Stark. It’s a big facility. But you can talk to her.”

Tony faux-begrudgingly took the tiny device and placed it in his ear. “Agent Romanoff.”

“ It’s nice to hear your voice, Tony,” Natasha said. “ How’re you hanging in there?”

“Poorly,” Tony said deadpan, glancing at Peter and watching him slip off his jacket. Tony scrunched his face and mouthed, What are you doing ?

Peter held up his jacket, balled it up, layed down, and used the thing for a makeshift pillow. “‘m taking a nap, Mr. Stark. It’s been a long day.”

Tony blinked, watching Peter genuinely get himself comfy stretched across the gross mattress. He had to admit that the kid made a pretty peaceful sleeper, and at least if he was sleeping, that was less gray hairs he’d be giving Tony in the next hour.

“ Is he seriously sleeping ?”

Tony shrugged, leaning against the wall by Peter’s legs and finally relaxing. He trusted Natasha to work things out from her side and he was glad to finally have something to do besides look busy. 

“What can I say? He’s had a long day.”

garak episodes are so fucking funny whats this guys problem

Whumptober Day 3: "Make it Stop."

Fandom: The Dragon Prince

Summary: Runaan is sent to deal with an Earthblood Cartel.

Warning: Character Death

    Runaan moved swiftly around the tree line of the forest. He was near an Earthblood elf camp. He was there to kill the ring leader of a shroom cartel. The gang has been nothing but trouble, killing the people who displeased them.

    So Runaan was there to shut it all down. Unknown to him, he has a visitor. As he approached the camp, he pulled his bow over his shoulder and scouted the area.

    Then he turned around. It startled him, seeing Rayla. She had followed him. How the assassin didn't notice, he didn't know. Maybe he just taught her well?

    "Rayla" Runaan whispered harshly.

    "I came to help."

    "I'll be fine."

    "Why can't I help?"

    "You don't know what you're doing! You're too young."

    "I'm 12! I'm sure it's fine."

    "Stay here."

    "Fine." Rayla sat at the base of a nearby tree. She crossed her arms and sighed.

    Runaan sighed. "Stubborn child" he whispered. "Stay out of trouble."

    "I will."

    Runaan looked back then started towards the cartel. He was nervous but not for himself. Rayla was young and now she was alone. Too many thoughts crossed his mind. But for now, he would just have to focus on his mission.

    He reached the edge of the village and snuck in using the moon's shadow. It took longer than he expected to find the cartel but that should only be a minor setback.

    Sneaking into the building Runaan hid near some stairs. Pulling his bow apart, he nabbed the first elf quickly and slit their throat. Blood fell to the ground as Rannan placed the stranger behind the stairs.

    As he made his way further into the building he carefully killed the members he had been instructed to and left the others knowing that they would rather be too scared or wanted out to begin with.

    Then came the last few rooms. There was screaming from the last room. It has only just come into earshot. The victim sounded young. 

    It startled Runaan. He walked past the few other rooms he had left and stood outside the door. Inside a deep booming voice spoke, "tell me where they are!"

    A small voice answered. "I don't know!" A little girl. Runaan almost broke the door. Children were his weakness.

    The girl was around 12, and looked just like Rayla. Her hair was a little bit shorter, her eyes a bit lighter, and her skin a bit darker. She had multiple wounds all over her body.

    Runaan knew the girl. Not by name but he had seen her around the village. He pulled his knife as the leader of the cartel pulled the girl up by her hair.

    The assassin saw red. As he got ready to attack a man grabbed him from behind. One of the most important rules of being an assassin crossed Runaan's mind, never get distracted.

    The leader grabbed something from a table, "you little bitch! You brought this fucker here!" The shine of a blade could be seen as Runaan fought the bastard that held him.

    The knife slid into the child's side. Runaan finally got the man off of him and grabbed his knife that had fallen to the ground. He ran it though the leader's chest making the rest of the drug deals stop with fear.

    Runaan swiftly executed the rest of the Earthblood elves that surrounded him and the girl. He neglected his own body, doing anything to keep the child safe.

    The remainder of the cartel members fled once they decide that they cared more about their lives than their dead boss.

    Runaan moved to take care of the girl. She lay, bleeding out on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. "It hurts!" Her voice cracked in a way that made the assassin's blood run cold.

    "I know." He tried to sooth her.

    "Make it stop! Please, make it stop!"

    "I" Ranaan paused. "it's okay." 

    "Make it stop!"

    "It's okay." He couldn't stop the pain. As badly as he wanted to there was nothing he could do to help her but hold the wound and pray he could get to a doctor in time.

    He wanted nothing more then to switch places with her. If he could take the pain, taking it from her and feel it all for her he would.

    It didn't take long for the screaming to turn to turn to just heavy breathing. Then nothing at all. It stopped. Her pain, her screaming, her heart, it all just stopped.

    Runaan picked her up gently and stumbled to his feet. Her pain may have stopped but his didn't. He didn't think it ever would. He walked out of the building and back into the woods. There he met Rayla who had fallen asleep against the tree.

    He sat the girl's body down out of view and kneeled to wake Rayla up. He shook her lightly and she began to stir.

    "Oh you're back" she spoke.

    Runaan didn't say anything instead he just grabbed her into a tight hug. It was the only time Rayla would ever see the man cry. He held her for a while before letting her go. "Let's, go home."

Whumptober Day 2: Regret (Alt Prompt)

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Summary: After a long day, Luke starts thinking about his decision to join Kronos while trying to get ready to take a shower.

    It had been a long day. Luke walked into his room, a place he hadn't been in over for 24 hours. He slammed his sword down on his desk and sat down on his bed, putting his head in his hands. After a moment, he stood back up and walked over to the closet that was tucked into a corner. As he grabbed a towel he walked back into the middle of the room.

    Kneeling down, Luke unlaced his boots. Then he took off his shoes and socks. Placing them by the door, the demigod grabbed his towel and walked to his bathroom. When he walked in, he turned the light on and then the water. The man didn't touch the cold water handle.

    Leaning against the wall, the lieutenant sighed. After tugging his shirt off, he slowly pulled bandages and wraps off of his arms and hands. Luke stared at his arms. They were lined with scares. Some, he remembered where they were from and others he didn't. They weren't pretty, at least not to him.

    Looking up, Luke met his own eyes in the mirror. Then his eyes looked down. Scars stained his body. They reminded him of everything that had happened to him and if everything he had done. Slowly, he looked back up at himself. Staring back in his blue eyes, Luke's eyes glanced over at the scar over his eye. It was larger than it had been years ago when he had gotten it.

    Before he thought about it, Luke raised a hand to his face. Gentler then had been to himself in a long time, he traced the scar. Holding up the sky had torn the wound back open. The demigod remembered the dragon's claw and he remembered trying to get the slash to stop bleeding.

    Looking back into the mirror, he thought about the second time he had to fix the wound. Thinking about the blood that poured down his face made him angry. Thinking about the Gods had him angrier. However, thinking of the way he was treated with Kronos's forces made him resentful of everything he stood for.

    All the sleepless nights and excessive training that had been destroying him, the thought of not being in control of his own body, and the memories of the family he had left behind for something 'great' all hit him at once. Before Luke knew it, his fist was in the mirror. There were small, sharp shards of glass in his hand and blood dripping down his arm and the mirror.

    Pulling his hand away, the demigod looked at the remaining glass on the wall. His left eye reflected back at him.

    How could he do this? Had Luke really let anger destroy him? How could he let this happen? Looking at his shaking and bloody hand, the man slid down the wall. Tears fell from his eyes. The steam in the bathroom made it harder to breathe.

    It wasn't the first time the demigod regretted his decision. Luke was tired and worn. "This isn't right." He thought. 'I should leave.' Going to stand, Luke fell back to the floor, overwhelmed. Pulling himself against the tub wall, he turned the water back off. Then he sank back to the floor.

    Slamming his head against the wall, he sighed. "I don't want this." As the truth settled in his heart, Luke knew he had made a grave mistake. Looking back at his hands, every sin he had committed painted his pale hands red. The blood may have been his, but it didn't feel like it anymore. It felt like sick symbolism that made his want to watch the blood cover his floor until he bleed out. "I don't want this."

Whumptober Day 3: Set up for Failure

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Warnings: Multiple character deaths, violence, and strong language.

Summary: What if after The Battle of Manhatten, the Gods decided that the half-bloods were too dangerous to be left alive? Even after winning the war, they could fail to keep their lives.

    No one tells what you are supposed to do after you win a war, especially when you have been preparing for it your whole teenage life. Percy stared at the water. The battle had been over for two days now. Everything was settling down.

    It was noon by the time anyone realized something was wrong. Dionysus was pacing on the deck of the big house. It wasn't uncommon to see him distressed since Caster died. The god had taken it harder than expected. He seemed to be arguing with someone that was just out of sight.

    Annabeth walked down to the beach to meet Percy. They sat together and watched the waves get higher and higher. "Is that normal?"

    "Not really." Percy said uneasy. "Maybe Dad's upset about something?" Lightning flashed in the sky. "That's familiar."

    Looking at each other, Annabeth and Percy felt the need to go back into camp. They stood and ran back as the waves started to rise higher.

    Inside camp, things were a mess. Not that they hadn't been anyway. There were people grieving and weapons that needed to be put away. Funerals were still being planned for some and for others, send offs with no body.

    The sky darkened. Travis walked by Annabeth and Percy. "Did Mr. D give up on the weather or something?"

    "Something's wrong." Annabeth said matter of factly. The two stopped walking as the grass around the Demeter cabin started to rapidly grow.

    "You can't do this!" Dionysus yelled. His voice was loud but still far away. "It's not fair to the kids! They fought our war, leave them alone! You can't just break your own rules!" Anger seemed to motivate the tone of his voice as well as heartbreak.

    Looking at the big house, Travis, Annabeth, and Percy froze. "What the hell?" Travis whispered.

    Grape vines grew on the deck of the big house. Chiron left from the front door and started to make his way to the Demeter cabin. At the same time, the door was being overgrown with plants. Connor had been nearby and ran to the cabin. "What's happening?"

    "I don't know! I can't stop them!" Katie yelled back. "Get to the window!"

    The two cabin leads went to a back window where they started to evacuate the building. Chiron said something to them when he got to them. Tears fell down Katie's face and Connor looked betrayed. "Come on!" He yelled to Katie as she got the last kid out of her cabin.

    "We need to help them!" Percy started to run to the cabin. As the three half-bloods ran, the cabin started to crack.

    "Take my hand!" And Katie tried. Vines grew around her ankles and legs. She screamed as they overtook her body. As the cabin was completely taken over by sharp vines, Conner tried one last time to reach her. His hand touched her arm before he fell back into the ground.

    It took a moment for Connor to process what happened. Chiron dragged him away from the cabin as he tried to go back to Katie. The boy looked down to see a large amount of blood in the grass. Looking for the cause, Connor realized his hand was tangled in the weeds. "My hand." He said breathless.

    "Connor!" Travis screamed. "Where the fuck is your hand!?"

    Slowly Conner looked down and realized his right hand had been cut off by the overgrown vines. Trying to process everything that happened, he just stared blankly where he hand should have been. Quickly Chiron pulled off his jacket and tore off a sleeve. After that he handed the torn sleeve to Percy and gave the jacket to Connor. "Tie that around his arm as tightly as you can." He told Percy. "Travis, get your brother to the hospital."

    "Why not the infirmary?"

    "Camp is no longer safe for you. The Gods," the Centaur looked pained as he spoke. "The gods believe the demigods are too dangerous to be left alive after the war. They believe that you might try to rise against them."

    The teens looked at each other. "You mean to tell me that we won their war for them and now they want to kill us!?" Percy yelled.

    "Oh so they can kill us but not help us?!" Annabeth shouted. She felt betrayed. After so long of trying to defend the gods, they decided to stab the demigods in the back.

    Trying to move the demigods away from the Demeter cabin, Chiron continued. "It's unfair, yes, but nothing can be done about it right now. They kept Dionysus and I away from the conversation or we would have fought for you."

    The ground shifted as Percy fished tying Chiron's shirt sleeve to Connor's arm to make a tourniquet. Connor hadn't stopped watching the Demeter cabin. Quick and thick vines snapped to the top of the wooden cabin. It snapped under the pressure, sending pieces of wood flying through the air. The remains started to be pulled under the ground.

    "No no." Connor whispered. "No, Katie!" Struggling to get to his feet, the boy tried to go to his friend's cabin. Percy grabbed him and pulled him into a trap hug. "Katie!" The demigod yelled, his voice breaking. "Katie!" Pulling him to the ground, Percy tried to calm him down. "We are supposed to go to college after this! Percy let me go, I need to help her!"

    "She's gone buddy." Travis fell to his knees, trying to comfort his brother. "We need to get out of here. Someone has to take care of you."

    "Please no." Connor sobbed. "She was the only one left. We were supposed to go to college. We were-." The boy could no longer talk. Instead he fell into his brother, sobbing uncontrollably.

    "Annabeth, go grab some wood. We need to make the tourniquet tighter." Chiron helped Connor off the ground as the girl found a piece of the Demeter cabin to tighten the tourniquet with.

    "Here." Travis took the wood from Annabeth and then grabbed his brother.

    "Come on. I'll get you out of here." Travis took Connor into his arms. "Percy, take care of our cabin please. I'll try to get him somewhere safe and come back to help."

    That was the first time the group decided to look around. The stray pieces of cabin and stuck campers. Many of them were Demeter's own children and most of them had been killed. Annabeth tried not to cry. After so long, you would think the demigods would just be used to this.

    "What are we going to do?" Percy turned to Chiron. Annabeth ran over to one of the surviving Demeter kids and helped her.

    "Evacuate camp."

    "But then we have to fight gods and monsters!" The son of Poseidon argued.

    "Not all the gods believe you should die. They will protect you. Lady Artemis has offered the assistance of her Huntresses and you have the fun support of Dionysus."

    "Great." Sighing, Percy looked around. "We should split up." Chiron nodded then went to meet Annabeth.

    On the deck of the big house, Dionysus looked over camp. The yelling had subsided. A crack of lightning  pushed the god up against the railing. He fell to his knees as he was struck by the unkind hand of his father, Zeus.

    Anger filled Percy but he knew he couldn't do anything for him. He watched as Dionysus tried to get up but was met with another strike of lightning. Then the God didn't move. The quick thought of Mr. D being killed crossed Percy's mind but gods can't be killed.

    Clarisse sent her cabin member out of the cabin. One of them approached Percy and asked where any of the Apollo kids were. "I'm not sure. We need to find them."

    As if the gods had heard them, the Apollo cabin caught fire. There was screaming from the cabin but it didn't last long. One after another, the Ares and Hephaestus cabins also caught fire. The fire in the Ares cabin spread the slowest while the other two cabins were engulfed in seconds.

    Young Will Solace came running from the infirmary to see his cabin in flames. "No!" He screamed out in terror. Like his older brothers would have, he ran towards his cabin. Grover, who had just come from the infirmary for a nail in his hoof, caught Will before he could get too close. "Austin and Kayla are still inside! They went to get some blankets!"

    Grover pulled him into his arms and away from the building. "It's okay. It will be okay."

    In the Ares cabin, Clarisse tried to get her brother away from the wall as the fire spread. He had been leaning against the wall when he was implied by debris from the Demeter cabin. It had come through the wooden walls of the cabin and pinned him to the wall.

    "I'll get you out of here." Clarisse started to cough as smoke filled her lungs. The fire crept closer and closer to them.

    "It's okay. You should go." The teen struggled to talk.

    "No. I'm not just going to leave you here to die." The cabin leader's voice shook.

    "If you can't get me out safely, just pull me off the wall."

    "That's crazy. It'll kill you!"

    "So will the fire."

    Taking a second to make her decision, Clarisse sighed. "Alright, let's do this."

    Outside of the cabin, Percy helped any injured Hephaestus kids. "We need to get the infirmary evacuated!"

    As Annabeth and Percy ran to the building, there was an explosion inside it. The blast knocked the two back. They could hear Will's distress. People had left their cabin by now to see what was going on. Helping each other up, the demigods looked at each other for a moment.

    "Is this really happening?" Annabeth said with tears in her eyes. Had they been set up for failure by their parents.

    "Maybe Luke had a point." Annabeth didn't seem very amused by Percy's comment. Looking at the fire, Percy dragged them away from the infirmary.

    Grover tried to keep from crying. Will didn't need that. As soon as the boy had seen the fire that engulfed the infirmary, his knees gave. The satyr lowered him to the ground as the boy screamed.

    "Nice of you to join." Percy said sarcasticly as Thaila came out of the woods.

    "What the hell happened?" The huntress started to run with them.

    "The gods never intended for us to survive past the war!" Percy yelled. "If we lost, we died and if we won, we died."

    "I'll get the girls to help." Thaila said.

    "Thank you." Annabeth started. "Percy, where are we going?"

    "Chiron said Mr. D was on our side. Thaila, your dad just did a number on him. We need to see if he could help or if his still laid out in the deck."

    "Alright."

    "I think Percy and I handle that. Thaila, can you go help them." Desperation filled Annabeth's voice. Camp had been her home and she had trusted the gods.

    "Okay." Thaila ran off as the Athena and Hermes cabins started to be overwhelmed by vines. The Poseidon cabin was stuck by lightning, setting it on fire.

    "That was personal." Percy joked.

    "Come on, let's go."

    The fires started to spread to the ground and the woods. Clarisse and another Ares kid came out of their cabin. Blood poured to the ground. The cabin leaders got her brother to the ground. "I need a medic!" She yelled. Then she looked around. Almost every cabin was on fire. The infirmary had gone up in flames and so did her hope of saving her bother. "Damn it!"

    Looking back, Percy tried to distance himself from the situation. Most people had left their cabin when the buildings started to catch fire. As the Aphrodite cabin caught fire, the last person who needed.to leave the cabin came out with blankets and some kind of medicine. It was like someone had been protecting him from the fire.

    Camp half-blood was in chaos. Kids were running everywhere, just trying to survive. Percy looked back at the deck of the big house. Mr. D was nowhere to be seen. The thought that he had left them invaded his mind.

    "Pollux!" A pained voice yelled out.  

    Percy looked to see Dionysus leaning against a tree. It looked like he had been crying. The demigod knew the god had a responsibility to his own child first and he had to respect that. "Come on, we gotta help everyone else."

    "Pollux, come here!" Dionysus screamed, just hoping he would be heard. In the midst of all the chaos, he reached out for his child. The teen raised his head when he heard his name.

    "Dad!" He yelled out. Then he stopped running and looked for his father. When he found him, he sprinted to him. Wrapping his arms around him, Dionysus grabbed his son. The two looked at camp as tears fell down Pollux's face. Not letting him go the god pulled his son away from the battle, letting him bury his face in his shoulder.

    No one could blame them. After all, they were all tired of fighting.

    "Dave." Clarisse spoke. "Just hang on."

    "It's getting cold. Clarisse, you can let me die. I'm tired it's okay."

    Tears attacked her eyes. "Dave."

    Reaching his up to her face, he sighed. "You did everything you could." His breathing started to slow. It wasn't long before he was gone.

    Standing, Clarisse joined Percy and Annabeth. "Are you okay?" Percy said, concerned.

    "Fine." She spoke harshly. Annabeth stopped running and Percy and Clarisse stopped. They scanned camp. "Is everyone out?"

    "Maybe. Camp just got way too quiet that fast." Percy was talking quickly.

Travis startled them when he walked up to them. "I'm back. I got two of my brothers to help Connor." Thaila joined them as well.

"The girls are ready to help if need be. Lady Artemis says she'll take anyone she can."

"Okay. We need to get out of here." Clarisse to few steps forwards. She turned to face the others. Grabbing Annabeth's hand, she pulled the two being a tree and to the ground. "Get down!" The others ducked as lightning went over their heads.

"Oh come on!" Percy yelled.

"Let me talk to him." Thaila tried. "You need to get out of here."

"I'm not doing that again." Annabeth said. "I'm not letting you sacrifice yourself again."

Sighing, Thaila pushed her sister into Percy's arms. "I'll distract him."

"No, we stand together." Clarisse grabbed her sword.

Pushing the sword down, Percy sighed. "How about we run together instead? That works too."

"Fine."

"This way." Annabeth took Percy's hand and guided them out of camp. After all, she knew the camp the best of all of them. The group grabbed Grover and Will, who had hidden in the woods near Thalia's tree.

"Where do we go?" Clarisse asked.

"My home. We can figure it out from there. I'm sure Mom won't mind that much." He looked back at camp. The boy saved the Gods for their children and this is what they get? The first real safe place Percy had, gone. Most of the people he cares about are gone. Percy sighed and started to lead the way to his home.

Part 2: soon

Mom says u have to stop calling me names

bro stop screaming

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you.”

Hi, here is my contribution no.3 for Whumptober !

A bit of context : Helios is a delusional, tyrannical and powerful demigod who seeks to build a family by “adopting” (i.e. kidnapping) people. Justine is one of the people he’s trying to adopt. She’s a 14 years-old teenager.

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

Justine is beginning to think she's good at controlling her reactions. Or maybe she really is getting used to the situation, which is a more unpleasant thought than she can tolerate at the moment.

However, she can't repress herself when the officer who's supposed to bring back a translator invites Helios into his office.

She's never been one to scream when she's in the grip of strong emotion, but everyone has their exceptions, and she throws herself out of her seat to slam against the wall, screaming in panic when the demigod immediately moves towards her, hand outstretched.

-No, no! NO!

The officer studies the scene with a relaxed air, watching as the tall, intimidating man grabs the handcuffed teenager by the arm and pulls her towards him with harsh words in another language. The girl sobs and tries to wriggle free, but the adult's strength is far superior and he shakes her a little, his voice sharp, until she gives up and bows her head, trembling all over.

Helios turns away to exchange sentences she doesn't understand with the officer, a member of the militia, supposed to protect and serve the citizens, supposed to hide her and help her join her father. The mage keeps a painful grip on her upper arm, holding her so close to him that she almost has her nose in the light tunic he's wearing.

The officer approaches and unlocks the handcuffs with a chuckle in response to what Helios tells him. Both men's tones are relaxed, even if Justine detects a hint of tension in the mage's. He tightens his grip as soon as the cuffs drop and she bites her lip to keep from letting out a sound of pain.

He's going to punish her. He's going to kill her. No one cares. The militiaman has seen her reaction to the demigod's entrance. It's not the reaction of a runaway child, but that of a girl terrified for her life. He sends her back to her nightmare without the slightest hint of guilt. How much were they paid to ignore their duty ?

Helios turns to her :

-If you behave even a little less than perfectly on the way home, I'll kill everyone involved and make you regret it. Is that clear ?

It takes her a moment to find the words, long enough for him to press his fingers into her flesh, causing her to yelp in pain.

-Is that clear ?

-Yes ! Yes ! I'm sorry ! the girl adds hastily, desperate to find the answer that will make him release the pressure.

His grip loosens as a fresh wave of tears wells up in her eyes.

Instead, he takes her hand and slips the militiaman a few more coins before leaving.

Justine keeps her eyes lowered to her feet until they reaches the carriage, crossing the building without attracting more than a glance from soldiers too busy to notice her distress, unless they actively choose to ignore her.

Helios pulls her up beside him, not in front of him. He still doesn't loosen his grip on her hand either, though it's more cautious than the one on his arm. She doesn't dare try to free herself, afraid of the outburst of violence this might provoke.

The first few minutes of the trip are spent in stony silence. Justine is unable to completely stop her hiccups, let alone the uncontrollable trembling that runs through her. Her quiet cries are the only sound in the cabin.

Then Helios lets out a long sigh and slumps back against the seat. He stays like that for a minute, then turns to consider the absolutely terrified child beside him. Her scruffy hair hides her face, and he leans over to clear it a little. Justine lets out a loud sob at the touch. Her eyes are closed and she tenses in anticipation of a violent gesture.

He doesn't hit her, just looks at her intently.

-I warned you.

She cowers a little.

-I told you I trusted you to behave. I told you that you didn't stand a chance and that you'd be punished if you tried to run away.

-I'm sorry, murmurs the child, almost too low for his superior hearing to pick it up.

Oh, Justine's a smart kid. Unlike some, she rarely hesitates to tell him what he wants to hear to ensure her safety. Unfortunately, he's no fool. She also doesn’t hesitate to try to flee when the opportunity presents itself, and now she has to face the consequences. Learning that their actions have consequences and setting limits is essential in the development of a well-balanced child and in their relationship with the people who take care of them.

-If you must know, the arresting officer didn't even recognize you until he got his hands on you. Normally, they don't bother bringing a thief to the barracks for such a small amount of food, so it's lucky he remembered your face.

She got captured for stolen food ? Is she going back to that hellhole because she couldn't get that potato galette quietly enough ?

The idea nearly sends her into a fit of hysterical laughter, which immediately dies in her throat as Helios leans towards her.

-Every member of the militia knows what you look like. They all know who to contact if you end up in one of their barracks.

The demigod is an imposing, menacing presence hovering over her.

-You never had a chance to escape, a velvet voice breathes softly in her ear.

-I've told you this before, but it seems you learn better from practice than from theory.

Helios straightens up so abruptly that the movement makes her flinch again. The grip on her hand tightens briefly.

-Well, I guess you weren't ready for this level of freedom. It looks like we'll have to give up the outdoors for a while. And of course, probably some extra homework, since you're so full of energy.

And Justine should be relieved that these are her only punishments (if she doesn't count the throbbing pain in her upper arm, which is already starting to bruise), but it's not just access to the outdoors that she's lost. All the fragile freedom she'd gained by dint of obedience has just vanished in the space of a failed test. Almost two months of delicate construction crumbled before her eyes.

-Clearly, the trust between us is more fragile than I thought, comments Helios. A little closeness can only do us good.

His thumb has begun to gently rub Justine's palm in what could be a comforting gesture.

-I can't wait.

My appreciation of well written villains, has turned to me becoming deeply unwell whenever a character aligned with the protagonist(s) is shitty on purpose and written well. The more fucked up the better. Preferably in a non justifiable way. Extra points if the root of their bullshit is highly sympathetic/empathetic though. Give me depraved mfs 😌

eye for an eye (657 words) by whatno Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Donatello & Leonardo & Michelangelo & Raphael (TMNT), Donatello & Leonardo & Michelangelo & Raphael & Splinter (TMNT) Characters: Raphael (TMNT), Leonardo (TMNT), Michelangelo (TMNT), Donatello (TMNT), Hamato Yoshi | Splinter, Splinter (TMNT) Additional Tags: Whumptober, Whumptober 2023, Episode: s03e16 Clash of the Mutanimals, Brain Worms (TMNT), Implied Future Blindness, Raphael-centric (TMNT), Raphael Angst (TMNT) Summary:

Raph’s been having a pain in his eye recently.

whumptober no. 3: “Make it stop”

Whumptober day 3 - Delirium

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

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

There were honestly a lot of reasons Tony didn’t like board meetings. To start with, they were either incredibly boring or, if they weren’t, they tended to be incredibly frustrating. Not to mention they brought back plenty of unpleasant memories having to do with either Howard or Stane, as well as unpleasant memories of the way previous members of the board had treated him when he was younger.

Right now, though, one of the reasons he disliked board meetings the most was the fact that it meant interacting with people, which meant catching their illnesses.

Which was why he was currently hiding away from the other Avengers and feeling increasingly terrible.

Being ill had always been a bit of an issue for him, especially since both of his parents had made it fairly obvious that they did not appreciate him being more of an inconvenience than he already was. Jarvis, in contrast, had always been more than considerate.

As a result, he tended to isolate himself from most people when feeling unwell. On the other hand, he had a tendency of being very clingy and affectionate with the ones he did trust.

Tony whimpered, trying to find a way to lie down that did not somehow hurt. Fever always made his skin more sensitive than usual, and even his expensive sheets felt like sandpaper at the moment. Wet, uncomfortable sandpaper that was either too hot or too cold. He just wanted it to be over already, to be able to think properly again and to be able to get up without getting so dizzy he had to lie down again immediately.

“I have sent DUM-E up with something for you to drink, Sir,” JARVIS informed him. “If you do not ingest some liquids within the next half an hour, I will be forced to call for assistance.”

Another whimper escaped him, and he could feel the way his thoughts were slipping. He found himself simultaneously wishing that someone would be there to help, to make him feel better, and wishing to be left utterly alone in his misery because he’d just be a burden to everyone else.

He sobbed softly, turning around yet again in hopes this position would be marginally more comfortable. It didn’t work, unfortunately.

Soft beeping from the doorway alerted him to DUM-E - no matter what else, he’d always know that sound, and he managed to bring up a trembling smile as the bot approached far more slowly than he usually would. In his claw, he was carefully holding a bottle of water with a straw in it, for easier drinking.

“I can’t,” he found himself sobbing - it was too much, too hot, too cold, too painful. He couldn’t bring himself to even hold up his arm to grab the bottle, and the thought alone of trying to drink made him nauseous.

DUM-E’s soft beeping became a little more insistent, and he tried to lift his hand to grab the bottle, only to miss. Later, he could only be grateful that DUM-E was still holding it, meaning he only spilled a little of it, but it was enough. The cold water hitting his face hurt, and suddenly he was back in Afghanistan, face wet and hurting all over and feeling trapped.

There were voices - one, at first, and then more of them, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying. The words sounded foreign, unfamiliar, and he gritted his teeth in order not to whimper. “No,” he insisted, trying to sound so much stronger than he felt. “No.”

But there were hands on his arms, holding him down, and he cried out. He couldn’t… He couldn’t. He’d barely survived the first time, he couldn’t do this again, please.

Everything hurt, and he was stuck right back in one of his worst nightmares.

Cold hit him, and he whimpered with pain. It was good, because he was burning, but it hurt, and he had no idea what was going on and he wanted all of it to stop. And then, blissfully, slowly, he started sinking away, the fear and the pain and the heat and the cold slowly backing up until there was only peaceful darkness.

The last thing he heard was a soft “we’ll take care of you, Tony.”

Whumptober: Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones But...

When their friends had questions, it was usually a normal question; “How are you?” “What’s going on?” “Do you guys need anything?” But sometimes, it was something more touchy, and definitely something harder to talk about. Such as the scar on Raph’s face, reaching from the edge of his jawline down to right above his plastron.

None of them wanted to talk about it, obviously, but when Casey or April set their mind to something, they were determined to succeed.

Michelangelo, when asked, smirked, started to tell the story, then dodged the question with some kind of prank or a distraction, brushing it off with light-hearted jokes and fun times.

Donatello got flustered, stammering and trying to find something to say before mumbling about a project he needed to get done and locking himself away in his lab.

Leonardo reacted far more calmly, meeting their gaze and saying that he was supposed to be doing something, he needed to train, needed to sharpen his swords, he was really overwhelmed and wanted to meditate, had to help one of his brothers with something, and for the most part, he was telling the truth. For the most part, they left him alone afterwards.

Of course, for obvious reasons, they never went to Raphael himself to ask him about it, most likely believing it to be something sensitive to him.

And, sure, he was thankful, but sometimes it got frustrating. Seriously, why couldn’t they just ask? It wasn’t like he’d be sad about it, he thought the scar was cool.

See, it went something like this-

%%%

They were thirteen, a reasonable age to be getting into trouble. At that age, the lair was never quiet, somebody always up to something.

This time, Michelangelo was being an idiot. He pulled a prank on Raphael, and, even though it was just meant to be fun, had accidentally brought the wrath of the hot-head upon him.

Per usual, that prank ended with Michelangelo getting chased down by the second oldest and screaming at the top of his lungs while trying to gather up pillows as he went by the couch to defend himself. Raphael, being bigger and faster than the proclaimed youngest, tackled him down to the floor in a decking that would’ve made any hockey player proud.

Also per usual, it was up to Leonardo to interfere, getting a hold of Raphael and, quite literally, dragging him off of Michelangelo while he screeched about something unintelligible.

But, Raphael did not need Leonardo trying to soothe his frayed nerves right then, he was an inferno at the moment, and only wanted violence.

“Oh my God!” Raphael exclaimed, elbowing Leonardo in the shin to the best of his ability, “Do you mind? You’re not better than us, Golden Boy! Stop acting like you are!”

“Wh-” Leonardo blinked a couple times, clearly astonished by this outburst, then yelled back, “I am not! I don’t act like that, I’m just trying to keep you from beating the living crap out of Mikey!”

“Then why don’t you fight me? You’re acting pretty confident right now.”

Splinter, in the background, watched on, silent, to see how they would react to the fight within the team, even as Leonardo looked to him for help with Raphael’s temper.

There was a long-suffering sigh as Raphael’s struggles died down and Leonardo’s grip loosened before he nodded in agreement.

"Fine, Bonehead.”

Raphael let out a victorious laugh and wiggled up to his feet, marching off to the dojo while Leonardo rubbed his temples to ward off the rapidly approaching headache before following shortly after.

When Leonardo got there, Raphael already had his sai out, twirling them and wearing a crooked grin as he waited for Leonardo to draw his swords.

“Raph, you frickin' idiot.”

Raphael only smiled wider and crouched, delighted when Leonardo mirrored his movements with an exasperated sigh.

As soon as the elder was ready, he lurched forward, slamming into Leonardo full-force. The blue-clad grunted from the weight of the other, then pushed back with his katanas to shove Raphael off of him.

Chasing after the younger brother, Leonardo brought the katanas down in a long slice to force Raphael to raise up his own weapons so that he could catch the attack, trying to force him into a corner and keep him on his toes, moving faster so that the hothead wouldn’t even have the time to strike back.

Raphael struggled, trying to dart in and get a good hit at Leonardo, but he definitely hadn’t expected Leonardo to be so serious about this fight. Then- He saw his opening, Leonardo made the mistake of leaving his right side open for an attack, and he took the chance.

Raphael darted forward, slamming the hilt of one of his sais into the other’s side, and grinning when Leonardo staggered, a short gasp leaving him. Now the tables had turned, and Leonardo was getting forced up against a wall by the hothead. Back, back, back and-!

The hothead froze and hopped back as a katana went flying by his head. He watched as it embedded itself into the wall, almost up to the hilt, and forgot all about the spar until he was going down, the other blade still held by his brother, and pressed to his throat.

Leo had the audacity to smirk after that unfair win, before he pulled the sword away.

“Really, Raph, if you were so intent on winning, you would’ve kept your eyes on me, and not the loose katana-”

The mentioned brother grit his teeth as Leonardo taunted him, then stood up and glared like he wished he could kill the other with his eyes.

“This is what I’m talking about! You’re acting like you’re better than me right now, like you wouldn’t have done the same! I just-” Raphael cut off in a wordless scream, grabbing the sides of his head before turning on his heel and storming out. He didn’t care where, he just had to be out of the lair.

There was a certain area they couldn’t go past without explicit permission from Splinter, but it was far from home, so he went there, looking for somewhere far, far away that would allow him to calm down.

And. There was a ladder. They weren’t supposed to go up to the surface, but it was even farther and-

No, no. He was not supposed to go up, so he wouldn't. Raphael looked away and started pacing, hands curled into tight fists, but, his gaze drifted back to that ladder, then up to the manhole.

What the- He grit his teeth and silently scolded himself for considering it again. He really needed to move away from that thing if it was going to be a temptation-

He looked back, one more time, and sighed. It would just be a short trip to the surface, nothing quick or serious. Once he had calmed down, he would come back into the sewers, go home, and everything would be alright.

Raphael grabbed one of the rungs of the ladder and glanced up before slowly beginning to climb, testing how sturdy it was before moving up higher.

After an experimental push at the manhole cover, he was pleased to see that it went up without a problem. And, as he slowly crawled out, he paused to gape. The sky was almost black, lit up by a dim orange, but the city itself was brighter than the moon, lights sparkling like stars.

He was taken aback, mouth half open before he realized that he shouldn't just linger there. So, he crawled out, slowly set the manhole cover back in its place, and stood straight up. But once he was done gawking at the surface, his anger came back full force. What a way to ruin his moment of peace.

He tested the fire escape to his right first to make sure it wouldn't fall apart as soon as he tried to pull himself up, then went racing up it to get to the top. Raphael breathed in deep, enjoying the cool breeze from the rooftop before beginning to pace, muttering about his insufferable brother.

And then, there were some dudes cackling. That shouldn't have been so alarming, but something in Raphael screamed that it was wrong, he needed to go see it. 

As Raphael approached the edge of the building, he squinted at the people below, and immediately felt the rage boil up in him. It was four grown men harassing one girl. From the looks of it, they were mugging her.

His lip curled up in a snarl as he felt around his belt, looking for a kunai or throwing star or something like that. Once he had it, he tossed it down and heard it clatter. The men turned to look, giving the girl a chance to run, and after they had realized it was a weapon, they glanced up to where he was hiding, although they couldn't see him yet.

"Who's there?" One of them growled, one with a big, winding tattoo over his neck and right shoulder.

Raphael dropped down, not thinking clearly about the odds of the battle. After all, he had been training all his life, what could they do?

One or two of them paused, eyes widening at the sight of him before shaking the initial shock off, getting ready. The others were already stanced up, ready for a fight.

...Needless to say, it went badly. They were many, he was alone. They were adults and he was barely even a teenager. He was way in over his head, and ended up held down by a pair of them while one looked him over, and the other examined his sai. 

"Jesus..." The one to his left muttered, looking him over while he kicked and writhed.

"This thing," The dude in front of him, Tattoo Guy, crouched and reached his hand out, "Is ugly as-"

He yelled and pulled his hand back as Raph reached forward and snapped at his hand.

"Stupid-" he growled, rubbing his hand. Then, he turned to the dude still holding Raph's sai and held his hand out, "Hey, hand me one of those, aight? I'm gonna teach it a lesson for bothering us."

Raphael's stomach dropped, a chill running down his spine. He thrashed harder as the weapons were exchanged, trying to get away, they were gonna hurt him-

"Hold it still, don't wanna kill it."

Somebody grabbed his head, restraining him and forcing him to look up. He squeezed his eyes shut as the weapon was raised, and-!

A scream tore its way from his throat as they carved it through his skin, leaving a burning cut from his jawline to the tip of his plastron. Raphael began to writhe, pushing against them as they stood up and kept their grip on him. Somebody kicked him and then he was getting dragged along the concrete and shoved into the back of a truck.

He could hear them laughing while he shrunk into a corner, shivering and afraid.

Were they- Were they gonna take him? He should have just stayed home, then he could've avoided this whole mess-

They cackled in the front of the truck, he could hear them through the wall, and the engine started up before they started driving. He wasn't entirely sure how long it had been, but eventually, they stopped and the doors to the back opened.

Raphael got grabbed roughly by the arm, their grip tightening almost to a crushing point as they dragged him out, into the back alley, and then kicked him down.

Those sadists were definitely having fun with it, throwing him down and kicking him around while he was injured and unarmed. When they got bored and finished up, they opened up a manhole (his gateway to home, yes!) and threw him down inside before closing the cover after him and leaving.

He hit the ground hard, his shell contacting the concrete with a sickening thud, and knocking the air right from his lungs.

Raphael blinked, chest heaving even though nothing would enter his lungs. He laid there for a long moment, stunned from the fall, bruises throbbing and blood running down his face.

He. He didn’t want to go home, he realized after air started entering his body again.

Sure, there was help there, and it was definitely safe, but he didn’t want to have to face the others injured. Besides, they weren’t supposed to be going up to the surface, he knew that rule as well as any of his brothers.

Instead, he slowly propped himself up on his arms, taking deep breaths to try and get rid of the last of the shock from falling before standing shakily. Raphael teetered for a moment, and he had to brace himself on the wall to avoid falling back down. Once steady, he wandered over to the part of the sewers that he knew he had been supposed to stay in.

When he was safe, and somewhere that he supposed people wouldn’t find him, he raised a hand to touch the injury, wincing and pulling his hand away immediately after. Jeez- That was a lot of blood. Hadn’t Donatello said something about how much heads bleed? Maybe the nerd had actually said something useful for once.

Then he realized that there were footsteps and froze before pressing himself up against the wall, looking for a hiding place, somewhere he wouldn’t get caught-

“Raph?”

Oh. It was- It was just Leonardo. Of course it was just Leonardo, because he was always the one who found them first.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice impossibly soft, because it was Leonardo.

“Go away,” Raphael rasped, still holding the bleeding side of his face, “I don’t wanna see you right now.”

“Raph, look at me.”

“No.”

“I said look at me-!”

Leonardo grabbed Raphael, and before the younger of the two could even react, he had been turned around to face the oldest, and he knew that Leonardo could see the blood now, he could see the bruises and scrapes, and shoot, he looked concerned. Raphael could only feel bad, because now his brother went looking for him, already worried, just to find him hurt.

“Oh,” Leonardo said dumbly, probably at a loss for words, “I see.”

“It’s really nothin’ to be worried ‘bout, Leo. It’s not deep-”

Leonardo tightened his grip on Raphael’s shoulder to shut him up, meeting his gaze clearly. “You realize how long you’ve been gone? You left an hour ago, Raph. We all went looking for you, and we couldn’t find you, because there’s not much to be seen in this little space of sewer. Mikey got cold, Donnie had to check on something, and I stayed, I kept looking for you and even asked for permission to go further in the sewers, just in case.

And then? I found blood, Raph, I found your blood, leading here. You freaking scared me, I thought you were really hurt, or worse!”

And of course, Leonardo found his blood, that hyper-aware son of a gun- The nicknamed “Fearless” was afraid, for him- And his brother was still going, now bombarding him with questions about it.

“Who did this to you? Where are they? How’d this happen? You need to see Sensei or Don, are you alright? You look pale, we really need to get back, everybody is worried and-”  Leonardo cut off as Raphael sniffled, looking down and not at him anymore.

He rubbed his eyes, sniffled again, and then sobbed, crumpling down and taking Leonardo with him as he cried.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-! I just-” he gasped for air between the sobs, a low whine leaving him before he kept going, “I got so angry, and I didn’t want to stay down here, I felt trapped and I went up to the surface,” Leonardo's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything, thankfully, letting the younger tell his story, “I- I got up to a roof and I heard these dudes laughing, they were mugging this girl, Leo! They were gonna hurt her so- So I interfered, and I know you’re gonna say that was risky but I couldn’t just do nothing! They ganged up and took me down, and kicked me around some to rub it in,” he doesn’t mention that they were hurtful verbally, too. That part wasn’t important, “Then- Then they dumped me back in the sewers about a mile or two back, and I came here.”

He realized that Leonardo was digging his fingers into his own thigh, eye ridges furrowed as his jaw tensed. He was angry, and Raphael couldn't help but wonder-

“Are you mad at me..?”

Leonardo paused, and his facial expression relaxed. In fact, he almost looked hurt by the question, gaze softening as he looked Raphael over.

After a long moment of silence, he answered, his conviction clear in his answer, “...Not at you, I’m not angry at you, I’m the one who made you go up in the first place. I’m angry at them. They’re stupid and cruel, and you’re one of the coolest people I know.”

“...Leo, you only know four people.”

“Shut up and take the compliment before I take it back.”

Raphael sniffled again and then laughed softly, shoulders shaking from it. “Alright, fine, fine. I know I’m cool, anyway.”

Leonardo grinned, wide and happy, and Raphael was a little relieved that the other was feeling better. He was, too, he realized. Somehow, that dork had managed to cheer him up (and he’d have to thank him for it later, but not verbally. He’d find something nice or Space Heroes-related and leave it in his room for him).

“I’ll be right back,” Leonardo said suddenly, standing up and racing off.

Raphael paused, confused at the sudden disappearance of his brother. What the..? But he didn’t leave, he just leaned back and waited, picking at the bandages on his hands while he waited. When Leonardo returned, it was with some bandages, water, and disinfectant, and he was beaming, proud of what he had done.

Without speaking, he crouched back down, cleaning up the injury to keep it from infecting. Raphael hissed and winced from the sting as it fizzed, but he made sure to be nice and still while Leonardo worked on bandaging him up.

But, as he was finishing up- “I’m gonna kill those people..” Leonardo had muttered it, just barely loud enough for Raphael to hear, but it was definitely concerning to hear.

“Wait- What?” he had to double-check to make sure that he had heard the other correctly.

“What ‘what’? I didn’t say anything, we need to get home anyway. I’m sure if you’re honest, Splinter won’t be too harsh with the punishment for going up,” Leonardo brushed that off way too casually, standing up.

“No wait-” Raphael stammered, hopping up after him.

“I said, let’s go home, Raph.”

The First Call|M|661 Words

Read on AO3

Fandom: 9-1-1

Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley & Christopher Diaz & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Christopher Diaz & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley & Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV)

Characters: Eddie Diaz, Evan "Buck" Buckley, Original Characters

Tags: Whumptober 2024, "I warned you.", Kidnapped Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Streetfighter Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Phone Calls & Telephones, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Worried Eddie Diaz, Eddie Diaz Needs a Hug (9-1-1 TV), Angry Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley Takes Care of Eddie Diaz, Pre-Relationship Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Alternate Universe

Summary: The man who has Chris calls Eddie.

Whumptober 2024 Day 3: "I warned you."

Notes: Part 6 of the Kidnapped Chris AU, which is being posted out of order.