#magic with a cost

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 7: Only for emergencies, magic with a cost

Legend again! Legend angst lovers rejoice! And also Time because I love him and Legend as a duo and I’ve barely hurt him so far this year.

Warnings: violence, blood, magic exhaustion.

Ao3 link

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They always took a lot out of him. Legend’s medallions.

He never said it outright, but Time could tell after the rare occasions that he used them he was always a little more worn out, a little faster to sit down, hands shaking around his sword. The pure magic they used drained him nearly dry, and you didn’t have to be able to sense magic to see the obvious drain on Legend’s energy.

It was a lot like when Hyrule went too far with his own magic. Exhaustion, dizziness, a green potion or two, and a need for a good night’s sleep all obvious markers. Time was glad that Legend rarely resorted to using the medallions, but when he did he trusted the veteran to know his limits.

He shouldn’t have. So far Legend had used all three of them in this fight.

Time slammed his blade into a moblin, and watched in concern as Legend stumbled against a wall, using it for leverage as he stabbed a bokoblin. His face was as pale as the skin of the beasts they were fighting, and Time could see his legs shaking from here.

Trapped in a cave system by a portal spewing endless monsters, they were both exhausted. Magic whispered to Time from inside of his bag, but he ignored it for now, separating a stalfos’s head from its shoulders.

Not yet.

Only if things got really bad.

Time continued to work his way towards Legend, cutting past monsters with both normal blood and black. The majority weren’t infected, but enough of them were that it made the fight a lot harder. A clatter rang through the cave, and Time saw Legend’s sword go flying, torn from his hand by a swing from a poe’s lantern.

Legend stumbled, barely throwing his shield up in time to dodge a slice that would have taken his head off, and Time fought his way towards him even faster. He grit his teeth as he spun through a small cloud of keese, stabbed through a poe of some kind, and then ran forward just in time to block a slice that Legend wouldn’t have been able to dodge.

“Thanks,” Legend gasped, and Time nodded, quickly scanning the veteran before going back to the fray.

Legend was paler than ever, and his hands shook as he grabbed another weapon from his pouch. Time’s eye itched, but he ignored it as he viciously defended the veteran, refusing to think about it. Not unless there’s no other choice.

A roar shook the cave, and Time and Legend both faltered as two lynels ran into view, nostrils flaring. They weren’t Wild’s version of the beasts thankfully, but lynels were tough no matter the breed.

Legend’s eyebrows narrowed, and Time cursed under his breath at the look in his eyes.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said sternly, stabbing two blins at once.

Legend stumbled back against the wall again, and didn’t look at him as he began patting at his tunic.

“No, gotta... use it again,” Legend panted, hands fumbling as he tried to grab the cord around his neck. “Gotta...”

“Legend you can’t,” Time said sternly, throwing up his shield to block a swing. “There’s no way you have enough magic left to use that.” I’d rather use the mask—

“Too many,” Legend shot back, finally pulling the medallion from under his tunic. “Keep coming, gotta clear... clear p-path. Those lynels...”

Time had to look away to slash at some monster he didn’t recognize. “Legend we’ll figure out another way, do not—”

A wolfos lunged for Time’s face and he cried out as it threw him to the ground, fangs snapping at his nose. It bit down on his arm and he yelled, kicking up at it until he knocked it off. Time snatched his sword and stabbed it, breathing hard as the beast fell dead.

Magic prickled in the air, and Time whirled around. His eye caught on the medallion clenched in Legend’s hand, his teeth gritted and eyes screwed closed.

“Legend!”

Lightning crashed into the cave, monsters shrieking as electricity coursed through them. Most of them fell dead to the ground, but Time’s attention wasn’t focused on them.

He was too busy catching Legend as he collapsed.

The veteran crashed into his arms, completely limp, and Time scrambled to pick him up while the monsters that were still standing were stunned.

Blood trickled from Legend’s nose, his arms shaking where he still clutched at his necklace. Time had no idea if he was conscious or not, but he didn’t have time to check right now.

“Legend you fool,” he muttered worriedly, holding Legend tight to his chest, then bolted, leaping past stunned monsters. Legend’s actions had given them a window, and he wasn’t going to waste it.

The strongest monsters were already shaking off the hit, howling in anger as they realized their prey was escaping. One of the lynels had gone down, but the other was already getting to its feet, eyes blazing as they zeroed in on Time.

It bolted, and Time pushed himself to run even faster, stretching past his exhaustion, ignoring the stinging lines on his cheek begging him to give in. He was nearly past the portal, he just had to get outside the cave and find the others, come back with backup—

A different sort of roar came from behind him, and Time whirled, grabbing his shield and deflecting the fireball that burst out of the lynel’s mouth.

He didn’t stick around to see what it hit, but another roar rang through the cave as he bolted away. Legend was still motionless in his arms, and Time held him tight as he leapt sideways from a blade, twisting around another one.

Nearly all the monsters that had survived were chasing him now, and Time dodged and sliced, stabbed and lurched out of the way, all while Legend lay halfway slung over his shoulder.

Then something slammed into him, Time lost his grip, and before he knew what was happening he was on the ground, Legend gone from his arms.

“Vet!” he shouted the moment he realized, and scrambled to his feet, frantically casting his gaze around. And felt his heart stop as he saw Legend.

The veteran was lying motionless on the ground, the lynel’s hoof on his chest.

Time ran, ignoring his aching body, yelling as he sliced past endless monsters. They seemed to swarm to block him, and fear hit Time like a bolt of lightning as the lynel held out a blade, raising it above its head.

It was about to plunge it through Legend’s neck, Time was too far away, there were too many beasts, too fast too thick too many—

His pouch sang with urgency as Time’s eye burned and he didn’t even think as he pulled the mask out and slammed it onto his face.

His world narrowed, power rushed through his limbs. Someone screamed, a monster roared, a blade swung outward.

A spray of black.

Another scream.

Pain.

Then nothing.

(...)

Link floated.

He had a vague sense of moving, of muscles being used, his sword swinging in wide arcs. Muffled sounds reached him, but nothing distinct. Nothing clear penetrated the strange whiteness he was swaddled in, and so Link drifted, exhaustion keeping him under.

“...an...”

He stirred.

The whiteness pulled at him, cottony and safe, but Link pulled away a bit, listening.

“...ol...m...”

That sounded familiar.

The deep white pulled more insistently as he tried to listen more, sticking to his limbs, crooning and urging him to just sit back, let go, rest for a bit longer. But Link was waking up more by the second, and he began to struggle, pulling against the magic he could feel clinging to him now.

“...ime...”

Link had a vague awareness of his limbs now that he didn’t have before, one gripping something tight, his eyes staring at something. There was a greyish figure, too indistinct too make out, but the shape looked familiar.

The sight of it made something in Link’s chest pound, and he felt suddenly aware of the mask on his face, pressed tightly to his skin, meshing seamlessly with the markings on his cheek.

“Link...com...ack...”

Link raised a hand, the cottony magic turning sharp, wailing at him, begging him to stay down, stay safe, sink back into the protection he could offer, but Link fought past it.

“Almos...ere”

He raised his hand higher, ignoring the siren song of the magic coursing through him, vision still indistinct and washed out, then caught his fingers on his chin.

Then Time fell to the floor, the world snapping back in a wash of color, the clatter of a mask hitting the ground like thunder in his ears.

Time could only lie there for a moment, breathing harshly as his vision wavered. He felt exhausted and drained like he always did after giving in, and looked over at the mask, grimacing as pain streaked across the scar on his face.

Every time it was harder to let go.

“T...Time?”

Time turned his head the other direction, and saw Legend lying a few feet away, eyes half-lidded and full of worry. It was then Time realized that the cave was eerily quiet, and he slowly blinked, trying to get his vision to focus.

“They’re... gone?” Time croaked, and Legend nodded, dried blood coating his upper lip.

“All gone,” Legend breathed, his eyes sliding closed.

He coughed weakly, and Time dragged himself across the floor with shaking limbs, his eye burning. It took him a long time, but he finally managed to lean himself against the wall, and pull Legend’s head onto his lap, the veteran nearly limp as he moved him.

His vision was swimming enough that he couldn’t get a good look at Legend, but he was alive, and not suffering from any grievous wounds as far as he could tell.

It had been worth it.

Time closed his eyes, trembling with exhaustion as his breath wheezed. There was a sharp feeling in his ribs, his leg— he could smell blood, both monster and not, and he was sure he was coated in it. But he was alive. Legend was alive.

They’d made it.

“Hyp... hypocrite,” Legend whispered, and Time cracked an eye open, looking at him.

“Hm?”

“Hypocrite,” Legend repeated, giving him an exhausted glare. “You... chewing me out for... magic, then... using that m-mask.”

Time breathed out a laugh, and let his eye slide closed again, resting a hand on Legend’s head.

“You’re right,” he admitted, voice fading. “But... I don’t regret it.”

“Me neither,” Legend murmured.

Time ran a trembling hand through Legend’s hair, and the veteran didn’t resist, further relaxing into his lap with a sigh.

It wasn’t long after that that the both of them passed out, Time’s one hand in Legend’s hair, the other still holding tight to his sword.

[belovedwhump]

Beloved Whump Prompt #11

Using their magic came with a price. That was the rule of magic. Using this much magic at once would have grave consequences. Whumpee could feel them coming, building up inside them - but to protect Caretaker, they kept going anyway.

[brucewaynehater101]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPT #7

Only for emergencies, unconventional weapon, magic with a cost, "It's us or them"

Brief synopsis: Tim has a plan that Bruce can't find out about

Bruce would rather die than kill. It's his ironclad belief and a boundary he seemingly will never cross.

This is why he and Jason scream themselves hoarse or pummel each other on Gotham's rooftops. The younger man claims this is why so many of the Bats have died. Bruce's unwillingness to accept murder by his own hands or those of his children is ultimately their downfall.

This is one of the several reasons why Tim has contingencies Bruce is unaware of. That, and the man's consistent effort to shape Tim’s paranoia even against their family.

During a month-long JL space mission where Batman's presence is necessary, the other Bats stay behind to cover Gotham. Their relationships to each other and Bruce are wobbly, but at a higher point. They even have the occasional hangout and casual interactions.

Tim will initiate individual or small group gatherings, but he's never tried to jam all of the batkids into one room together. Not before this, anyhow.

Due to this reason as well as their current friendliness with each other, all of them agree to meet at Tim's Nest. He prepared a meeting table, chairs, snacks, pizza, drinks, and a projector in his version of the batcave.

He spends three hours lecturing them on several plans that Bruce is never to hear about. He starts off soft with stuff like safehouses, vehicles, and weapons Bruce doesn't know about. He then goes into truth serums, media strategies, and extreme force measures.

He ends the meeting with the one procedure he was nervous about.

“I could have kept this from you. In fact, you should be aware that I have contingencies some or none of you are aware of. Plans I hope to never initiate.”

He sighs as his eyes flicker back to the slide. “This would be the absolute worst case scenario with no other options. I would expect each of us to exhaust all methods before we try this.”

He glances at each of the batkids despondently. “I don’t care if you'd rather sacrifice yourselves. I can't lose you. I won't. Not again.” His eyes linger on Dick, Steph, Cass, Jason, and Damian specifically, but he tries to nonverbally communicate his unwillingness to lose Duke or Barbara either.

The others may not agree or be happy with the plan, but they allow Tim to have it. They accept their role in it as well. Given their work, all they can do is hope the need never arises.

~~~

Of course, the time occurs like they all feared it would.

Their father, Bruce Wayne, stares at his kids with open fear. He can't see a way out of this and he's already envisioning his children dead and dying. The World's Greatest Detective can't find a way out of this.

He would willingly sacrifice his life for his kids, but even that is not an option. His death would afford them mere minutes.

He’s watched all of his children, officially or not, throw themselves at the issue again and again. Each came up with more erratic and desperate plans. All of the plans failed or wouldn't work.

He also notices when each member finally gives up, as they, one by one, turn to Tim. Red frantically shakes his head and types faster, eyes flying over multiple computer screens as he tries to find any other answer.

“Red Robin.”

The vigilante refuses to acknowledge Nightwing. There must be another way. He will not utilize that spell, the one that will obliterate thousands of lives, unless he's absolutely sure there are no other avenues. They are running out of time, but surely there's another way.

“Tim-”

“No! I can find a way. I can!” He's not even looking at Dick as his eyes scour over the multiple computer screens. If he can just figure this out, he will soothe the dejected lines in Dick's face as well.

A hand settles on Tim's shoulder. “We're going to die.”

Finally, Red’s hands pause. He's frozen as the weight of the words and their hidden meaning cause his shoulders to slump in defeat. “Fuck.”

The others in the room refuse to make eye contact as they come to terms with their decision. Bruce's eyes dart between his kids with a puzzled frown. He's analyzing the situation but doesn't have all of the clues.

With the grave expressions on all of his children's faces, he is not expecting Red Robin to pull a pink rubber duck from his belt. Tim approaches Bruce with pressed lips and a guilty gleam to his eyes.

“This will help us stop the invasion.”

Although Batman doesn't move an inch, Tim nods at the man's incredulity.

“It's completely harmless to humans but lethal to their species.”

And now Bruce understands the guilty and hesitant stances around him. Batman can not and will not approve of murder, even to save the ones he loves.

Considering that all of the other Gotham vigilantes have deemed this the only road, Bruce will need to find a non-lethal option by his lonesome. He will need to secure the weapon and fight his way out.

Batman quickly performs a nerve strike on Tim's arm and swoops up the tiny pink duck. Only once it's in his grasp does he realize his mistake.

No one moved to stop him.

Batman's lens covered eyes glare into Red Robin's.

Red's stare bears down on him as Batman's knees give out.

“I'm sorry, Bruce. If I have to choose between the ones I love and an enemy, I will always choose my family. No matter the cost. I don't expect you to forgive me.”

As the sedative drags him under, Bruce falls asleep knowing his kids will be safe covered in the blood of their enemies.

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 7 - Magic with a Cost

Galadriel x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: Galadriel is weakened after Dol Guldur and you're charged with keeping her safe.

Warnings/Notes: None. Gotta admit I always wondered wtf happened after this scene so here's my rushed take on it.

Word Count: 1527

  Every being must at least once tamper with darkness. Even you had, dancing with the shadows in late nights where it seemed that was the only option left. But you didn’t expect the Lady of Lorien to turn so… terrifying.

  If there was anybody that could banish Sauron back to where he had come from, it would be her, but it didn’t go down how you would have imagined.

  Galadriel was already weakened from reviving Gandalf, her pale body draped loosely across the cold floor of Dol Guldur. But when the evil being began to reform in front of your very eyes, she was suddenly back upon her feet with a new strength.

  Instead of a warm light radiating from her body, it was dark, almost evil. Her hair flew behind her in murky blue strands as if she’d fallen down a well and reemerged soaked to the bone. Her face was dark, eyes wide and wild. You’d never heard a voice as deep and booming as hers as she banished Sauron from this realm with such a power you were almost cowering in fear.

  Though, the second the evil vanished, so did her power.

  Galadriel’s legs stood for only a second longer before she collapsed backwards with a cry. She would’ve fallen onto the ground had you not been there to catch her, slowly lowering her down so she was on the stone once more, her head against your shoulder and your arm around her back. She was shaking as violently as a feather in the wind, trying to catch her breath between weak gasps.

  “I’ve got you…” You whispered, maneuvering the weakened elf so her head could rest easy against your chest. Then you looked up at the others; Elrond and Saruman. “We were deceived.”

  Her shuddering breath tickled your neck, still trembling as the last remnants of her strength filtered from her body. “Sauron… his spirit endured…” She rasped in an airy tone. “We… we must..”

  Galadriel tried to stand but the sudden dizziness that swept her body dragged her back down. Her eyes fluttered shut and a weary moan escaped her lips as she sunk back into you. The idea of standing caused a sickening feeling to spread through her stomach. Oh, she was cold… so cold.

  “Stay still, my Lady…” You murmured into her hair, rubbing your thumb in soft circles over her back in a weak attempt to provide comfort.

  The other two continued their discussion about Sauron, but you could hardly hear them over Galadriel’s heavy but useless breaths. 

  “Y/n.” Elrond suddenly spoke, snapping you out of it. At once you tried to stand, but Galadriel grabbed your arm, leaving you half bent at the knee as she held onto you to keep herself from fully collapsing. “You need to take Lady Galadriel back to Lothlorien.”

  “Me?” You frowned, confused. Though you were Galadriel’s servant, yes, you were still nobody of importance. You’d come along because she asked you to, but the idea of trying to get her home in this state, alone, was terrifying. 

  Galadriel’s hand slipped from your arm but you caught it in hers, squeezing it tight. Her skin was usually quite cool to the touch, but now it was near freezing. 

  “I will help you get her there, but you must care for her after.” Elrond restated his words. His eyes flicked from yours to Galadriel’s as the ancient white being’s head fell onto your leg, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. “She needs healing, her strength has been all but destroyed.”

  You moved your hand to rest on Galadriel’s back, fingers trailing loosely through her hair. She could not stay here any longer, that was for sure, even if it seemed impossible to move her. But what other choice did you have? This was your lady, your boss, your friend… If the others trusted you enough to care for her in such a weekend state then so be it.

  “Okay.” 

  It turns out Elrond had predicted something of this manner would happen as he brought an extra horse. The two of you loaded Galadriel’s exhausted body onto the horse and you sat behind her, keeping her on the steed as you raced across the plains and through the forests.

  Lothlorien was only a day away, and with elven horses blessed by Rivendell, you arrived at a little less than that. 

  The healers whisked around you immediately once you arrived, practically carrying Galadriel away for healing. You were not allowed to see her until much later when she had been returned to her chambers.

  You peeked your head into her room, fingers clenched around the doorway. Your eyes fell upon the white shape in bed, asleep.

  With the quietness of a mouse, you snuck further into her room. You placed a tray down on her bedside table, pouring a glass of healing water and setting it aside for her inevitable waking. The healers had done well in changing her into a more comfortable gown but they left her other one folded horribly on the floor.

  You kneeled down to pick up the white fabric, shaking it out. You folded it back up and hummed to yourself. Then you placed the gown on her dresser when you heard her shifting.

  Galadriel’s face was still as pale as snow, though the softest hints of color were returning to her cheeks. She groaned softly in her sleep, eyes fluttering

  When you’d first arrived and spoke to one of the healers you had learned Galadriel had only ever exhausted herself this badly once, though they would not tell you why or how. They reassured you that she just needed rest. Lots and lots of rest. Using all of the power she did had drained her almost to the point of a magic-induced coma, but she was strong enough to fight the tendrils wanting to drag her down. 

  As far as you were concerned, Galadriel’s health and rest was the most important thing. After gazing at her slackened face you decided to have the cooks create her favorite meal so it would be ready when she woke up.

  But as you turned to leave you heard a soft voice.

  “Y/n…?”

  Galadriel’s eyes were hardly open, tiny slits of the ancient blue gazing at your blurry figure. Her soft cry was hardly more than a whimper. She tried to reach for your hand but fell short halfway through.

  You kneeled at her bedside and took her hand into yours. It was still chilly but not as icy as it had been before. A small smile spread across your lips as you looked at her. She really was healing.

  “I’m here…” You whispered. “I’m right here.”

  “I…” Galadriel was too weak to form any words but you sensed her need. You gently lifted her head as you held the glass of water to her lips, letting her drink until the glass was emptied.

  When you laid her head back down, her eyelids sank closed once more, but the corners of her lips were ever so slightly raised.

  “Stay…” She croaked.

  You moved one hand to gently touch the side of her face, fingers feather light across her skin. After you kissed her forehead, you nodded. “I will.”

  You stayed at her side the remainder of the day and even well into the night. Galadriel’s only fear at the moment was being alone, and you weren’t fond of the idea either, so you stayed with her as long as you could.

  By the time the next day rolled around she began to regain some of her strength though she was still bedridden and shaky.

  “Would you be able to stomach some soup?” You entered her room once more with another tray, a warm bowl of soup atop the metal platter. 

  Galadriel blinked a few times, lifting her head. A soft groan escaped her lips from the movement but once her eyes fell upon you and the soup, she smiled weakly.

  “Please.”

  You sat beside her once more, sort of propping her body up against yours. She was far too shaky to hold the spoon herself without spilling the hot liquid so you did it for her, feeding her until she was finished.

  Galadriel was not a fan of being unable to sustain herself but at your side she felt no need to protest. You were a safe presence for her, one she knew she could trust and be weak around. Plus… she secretly enjoyed the way you babied her, though she would never admit it.

  The soup seemed to do her some good as she could sit up on her own now but the idea of standing made her queasy so she stayed beside you in bed. Her body was still struggling to warm itself so at her request you cuddled with her, her head on your chest as your fingers ran gently through her golden hair, keeping her body and heart warm.

  You could certainly get used to a few more days of this. And so could she as the two of you drifted off in each others arms once more.

[ladtheove]

AU where Jason holds inside the most powerful energy weapon, forged through his own life force. One that eats at his years of life every time is used.

But in a place such as Gotham, how can he stay back when the danger to innocents is too great and there’s no other way? When those moments come, the one he trusts to wield his heart is no other but Tim.

His beloved.

(Inspired by the manga Utena)

Sad I don’t have the time for more, love this sketch. Might come back to it, once Whumptober ends, for painting.

[amethystfairy1]

"This is a very bumpy mountain..." - Scar, while trying to sleep, probably.

Todays Whumptober fic is up! With gorgeous art from @khoirkid! Please check it out!

And also happy late anniversary to Traveling Thieves! It would've been yesterday, October 6th, when I posted "I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes" which is the first fic of the series! So much has happened and changed since then, and the AU has just grown and grown, so thank you all so much for continuing to read and support it for an entire year, and I hope you will continue to stick with me as I keep building out this dark fantasy world! ☺️

[chaotic-orphan]

Whumptober No.7

Only for Emergencies

Unconventional weapon // magic with a cost // "It's us or them."

*~*~*~*~*

“Leader,” Medic cried, the usually stoic man so flustered as he half dragged a semi-conscious Rogue through the streets and into cover. “We’re not going to outrun them. Not like this and they’re gaining on us.”

Second strayed to the alleyway across from Medic and Leader, firing shards of ice like a canon at the enemies, crafting a thick wall of ice and making some cover. Even Leader could see they were tiring too, and their eyes, despite themselves turned to Whumpee.

Whumpee, sensing the weight of Leader’s gaze, raised their head. “No,” they said, shaking their head. “No, Leader, you promised.”

“I promised it would only be for emergencies, Whumpee. This is an emergency.”

“We can still—”

“We can’t do shit!” Medic cut in, growling. “I am at my limit. So is Second, Rogue is barely conscious and the enemy don’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.”

Whumpee stepped back away from them, as if slapped. The betrayal that crossed their expression pulled at Leader’s heartstrings, but they couldn’t disagree with Medic. He was right. They were at their limit. They didn’t expect Villain to come to the exchange with an entire army.

“This is Villain we’re talking about,” Whumpee whispered, tears pricking their eyes. “If I— If I…”

“If you don’t then we’re as good as dead,” Medic snapped.

Leader, always the gentle touch, walked over to Whumpee, taking their hands in theirs and getting on their knees. Whumpee stiffened as Leader looked up at them with tears in their eyes.

“It’s us or them, Whumpee,” Leader whispered. “Villain chose their side. They chose to betray us and they chose to lie to us about this exchange and their numbers. They don’t care if we live or die!”

They care if I live or die, Whumpee thought, and the guilt speared their heart. They couldn’t hold their life above the lives of their team, above Rogue and Medic and Second and Leader. Then they’d be no better than Villain.

But still… Villain loved Whumpee, they would never ask this of them.

Whumpee pulled their hand from Leader’s. Leader closed their eyes, their chin dropping to their chest defeated.

“You know what it will do to me,” Whumpee whispered, but they felt like they were screaming, every breath was an effort. Leader slowly rose to their feet. They dragged their gaze up to Whumpee’s, apologetic and guilty.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Whumpee swallowed the lump in their throat.

They were… they really were just going to let Villain win, out of their own pathetic selfishness but— if Whumpee unleashed their ability it wouldn’t just be Villain and their army in danger, it would be their team too, the world if they didn’t stop Whumpee in time, and Leader knew that.

Medic held his head in his hands, fisting his hair and yelled a long, low guttural: “FUCK!”

Leader placed a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder and Whumpee met their yellow gaze. Whumpee recoiled, jolting back but it was too late. They were under Leader’s command now, and their body wasn’t their own.

“Whumpee… I need you to use your power so we can escape,” Leader said. Whumpee’s expression bled blank until they were just staring like a zombie at Leader.

Medic raised his head, eyes wide. “Leader? Leader! What did you do?!”

Whumpee walked past Leader, past Medic and Rogue and out into the open as the ice wall broke, a green, ghoulish hue overtaking their body. Leader set their jaw.

“What I had to. Now, let’s go.”

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #7

Trope of the day: magic with a cost

_

Whumpee always promised Caretaker to never use their powers unless things are looking bad. And now it happened.

Things are looking bad.

Really bad.

Whumper is far too powerful, they won't be able to survive if they don't do anything. Fast.

Their heart is racing against their chest, Caretaker calls over to them to hide, but Whumpee has already decided to act. Rushing out catch Whumper's eye, they try staying calm.

The team depends on them, they have to do it. They have to do it now.

Taking a deep breath, Whumpee casts their spell, feeling the power building up inside their body. The spell is mighty, they all know it. Whumper tries to evade it, but it is too late.

Whumpee doesn't even see the effect of their spell as their knees buckle underneath them, collapsing to the ground. The taste of blood is on their tongue as everything turns dark around them, but Whumpee manages to stay awake, coughing as Caretaker rushes to their side.

"That was... impressive," Caretaker mutters as they get a piece of cloth to wipe away the blood that runs out of Whumpee's nose. Their body trembles, everything hurts. "You did it, kid. It's over."

A small smile pulls at their lips, another cough shaking their body.

It's over. It's finally over.

[foreverchangingfandomsao3]

te nuhaatyc a kyramla besbe’trayc (the invisible but deadly weapon) (2,377 words) by foreverchangingfandoms

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Stitch (212th medic OC)

Additional Tags: Whumptober 2024, Whump, Obi-Wan Kenobi Whump, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, That's Not How The Force Works (Star Wars), All Magic Comes With a Price, Well the Force comes with a price, Protective Obi-Wan Kenobi, POV CC-2224 | Cody, Worried CC-2224 | Cody, Worried Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi Gets a Break, Well he gets a coma I guess so same thing, Hopeful Ending

Series: Part 7 of Whumptober 2024

Summary:

The Separatists have a new weapon, one that kills everything in its path and Obi-Wan protects his men from it the only way he knows how.

My fill for whumptober day 7 - Only for emergencies (unconventional weapon | magic with a cost | “it’s us or them”)

[aprocessionofthoughts]

The Cost

whumptober24 day 7- only for emergencies, magic with a cost fandom- Danny phantom tw- Danny dies, but when does he not summary- the GIW are never going to stop

masterlist ao3

They wouldn’t stop. They were never going to stop. His parents would never get it. The GIW would never get it. It didn’t matter that the evidence was all around them. That ghosts aren't evil. That every second that they kept the portal open more and more ectoplasmic radiation leaked through and contaminated more citizens. They wouldn't shut the portal off. Why would they? It was key to their research. Without the portal where would they get the ghosts to study?

It didn’t matter that people were becoming contaminated to the point where they were developing abilities. That just meant more test subjects. After all, if you were ecto-contaminated then you fit under the Anti-Ecto Acts, and by this point, all of Amity was contaminated. Especially the children.

Danny was doing as much as he could. Sam and Tucker and Valerie were helping. But it wasn’t enough. People were disappearing, children were disappearing. And even though more and more people were turning against the GIW, it didn’t matter. 

The GIW were the ones with the weapons. The ones with the power.

Danny needed to end this. End the GIW. If he didn’t, then everyone would suffer and the contamination would just keep spreading.

He had been the one to turn the portal on, the one to start all of this. He had to be the one to end it.

And Danny was a halfa, born as the fabric between realities was torn. He was powerful, and he would be even more powerful one day. But they didn’t have time to wait.

Everything a ghost was and ever would be, was stored in their core. Which meant that all that power that Danny would one day have, was stored in his core. He just had to find a way to let it out.

He didn’t tell his friends. He knew they wouldn’t like the idea.

But if the portal had given him his powers, who was to say that it wouldn’t unlock the rest?

And so here he was. He had unplugged the portal before walking inside and flipping the safety switch to off. That’s what it had been. A safety switch his parents had stupidly put on the inside of the portal. Then he had plugged the portal back in and walked inside.

Now he was standing in front of the switch, the same thing that had killed him. Was he really doing this? He wasn’t even really sure it would work.

But… there were people suffering right now, people he could save if he was just a little stronger, a little better.

He clenched his jaw and opened his eyes. Then, he slammed his hand on the button and felt the energy tear through him.

He screamed.

—-

No one was really sure what had happened. The GIW had been getting worse and worse, carting people off to their base on the edge of the city. Everyone had been terrified they would be next.

But then…

A creature had appeared in the sky. Something that hurt to look at with too many limbs and too many wings and too many eyes and horns and teeth. It was the color of shifting galaxies, of stars being born before exploding into supernovas before collapsing into black holes only for new stars to take their place. No one could look at it for more than a moment.

But it tore through the GIW base, through the town. There were screams and the sounds of firing ecto-weapons. People bunkered down and prayed for the newest threat to soon be over.

And when silence finally fell and people stepped out of their houses, they saw that the only thing that had been destroyed was the GIW base. And as families and friends gathered they saw that everyone was there, even those who had been captured by the GIW. 

Only the GIW had disappeared, along with the Fenton parents who had recently joined their ranks.

And in the midst of the celebration, there were only four figures who no one noticed running to the Fenton household. They were the first to see that the portal had been destroyed along with the lab.

And while everyone else rejoiced in the coming weeks, happy to see that not only were the GIW not a threat, but that ghosts had also stopped invading, there were only three children along with the older Fenton girl who grieved for the youngest Fenton.

It was only those four who knew what had happened, what had been sacrificed for their freedom, for their salvation.

[psychologeek]

Whumptober #7: Psychopomp (pt. 2)

ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES | Magic with a Cost

pt 1

"It's okay," he says, mistaking her sorrow for pitty. "I... I always knew I'm gonna die young." 

He checks his phone. Still "no contact".

"Can you do something for me?" He asks. "Can you tell my fiancé I'm sorry? And maybe ask my brother to help her?"

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so, so sorry, Jay. But I can't do this. I can't let the living and the deceased talk."

In this form, her tears look like tiny candlelights, and they fade into nothing before they hit the ground.

"That's... that's not true," he struggles to say. "You were... I saw you. With Meg. You let her talk to me."

"Let her talk? Meg? I don't understan-"

Wait. Can it be...? But, he doesn't feel like that, but...?

"Jay," she asks. "Are you the Red Hood?"

Her ears are ringing in the tension. Because, if-

"I thought you knew?" His eyes are unfocused. "Isn't it why you got here?"

But, it doesn't make any sense -

"Jay," she says.

He doesn't reply.

"Jason!" She let out a short cry. 

He open his eye.

"Did you die, before?"

(And all of a sudden, they aren't in the library anymore. They aren't back in the collapsed building.

But there are ruins and fire and a constant laugh, like an old sitcom, a voice going

"Ha! Ha! Ha!"

And Jay, Jason, the brave and courageous man ahe knows, is cradled on the ground, tears in his eyes and his only his tongue moving, silently repeat mouthing:

"No, no, no, no" )

She pulls them out, but it's too late. They can't go back to safety now.

They are under the rabble, and her dying friend is crying, only whispering, "yes."

(Like it? I have more mini-fics Whumptober index | And full size fics on ao3. )

[cosmicobubisi]

Cosmic's Malleyuu Whump vs Flufftober: Day 7

ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES unconventional weapon | magic with a cost / Hoodie Weather

Yuu felt like screaming, but they didn't want to waste their breath.

The inky black monsters that were overrunning the island were relentless. They slid along the rocky terrain with startling speed, resembling more vicious ocean waves than the malicious creeping spirits that possessed them.

With this many, it was difficult to tell them each apart. That made it twice as difficult to dodge their attacks, and strike back at them.

Yuu had never felt more useless or pathetic in this one fight, which was impressive, because this basically happened every fight. Still, there was absolutely no way to fight the monsters through any non-magical means.

A pang of longing went through them. They wished their friends were around. At least it wouldn't have been so bad, if they were all suffering together.

But they were gone. Their friend group had been together when the monsters had struck, and, all of them being lower-level mages, had been unable to effectively counter the sheer number of blot monsters.

Now, Yuu just had Grim, and for once, he wasn't fighting them on who was the real dorm head of Ramshackle.

Speaking of Grim, Yuu was clutching him as they ran to higher ground. They'd tried the roof of Ramshackle, but when it threatened to collapse under the relentless attacks of the monsters, they fled.

Grim was beating back the monsters that got too close as Yuu scrambled up a tall tree. They frantically pulled their phone out of their pocket, hiding themselves in their hoodie to try and heat up a bit.

The air was chilly, and it suited Yuu's resentful mood. As they opened up the groupchat to get an update, they saw everyone's preparations.

Because of the warning that their group had been able to provide, the other dorms had been able to get prepared. A number of them had promised help, but none had arrived before most of their group had been struck down.

Yuu had to admit, they were dealing with a bit of a complex here at Night Raven. It was hard to be so lackluster all the time, and they often felt like they got overlooked whenever something dangerous was happening.

At the same time, it was hard to ask for help. Everyone always gave them a hard time over it, chuckling patronizingly and reminding them, for all their bluster, they were just a "normal human".

Yuu felt like they were being set up to fail, but by who?

"Hey," said Grim, tugging on their sleeve. "Look."

Yuu followed his outstretched paw to see the inky blot monsters down below. To their surprise, they saw the blot monsters struggling against the tree's bark, looking like they were trying to climb up only to slide down.

"Huh," huffed Yuu "The angle's too sharp for them."

The two of them smiled at each other and starting laughing, feeling they'd finally gotten their first big break of the night.

Which is, of course, when something went wrong.

The blot monsters hadn't been able to climb very well, but they had knocked themselves hard enough into the trunk that it had caused the thin branch Grim was on to fail.

"Grim!" Yuu dove as fast as they could to grab him, and while they were able to snatch him out of the air, they also managed to punch his wand out of his grip.

It fell into the writhing mass of ink below, and quickly fell out of Yuu's vision.

The blot monsters were too smart for Yuu, because, upon recognizing their newly-found success, rammed themselves into the tree again.

Yuu grabbed onto the tree, trying to find their balance in the slippery bark.

"What are we gonna do?" yowled Grim.

Yuu knew one thing they could do.

When they'd presented the idea to Malleus, he'd immediately been hostile.

"No, Yuu," he said. "That is not a solution. Your idea is going to get you, as well as a number of others, killed."

"Well, what are your suggestions!?" Yuu had exclaimed. "You're so negative- any idea of mine, you attack!"

"Call me," he'd replied, taking their hands into his, emerald eyes boring into theirs. "No matter what. I'll always hear you."

But Yuu had called and called, and had made a fool out of themselves as their friends fell, one by one, while Malleus was nowhere to be seen.

Yuu didn't know what had really happened to their friends. They didn't know if they were even still recoverable at this point. But Yuu knew that they'd sacrificed themselves for Yuu, and now it was time to make their own sacrifice.

Without letting themselves think about it for another moment, Yuu shrugged off their backpack and scrambled for the little package at the bottom.

They ripped it open and popped it in their mouth, the inky flavor exploding in their mouth, Yuu struggled not to spit it out.

"Yuu!" exclaimed Grim, and they realized they didn't even know if overblotting would work on a magicless human.

They looked up, and as the drops of black ink overtook their vision, they thought they saw a figure standing in the distance, a few paces behind the last blot monsters.

The last thing they saw was Malleus, mouthing "Yuu," before it all went black.

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptober 2024 | Day 7 | The Bee's Whumptober Masterlist

SAVE US BOTH

AI-less Whumptober: Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

Whumptober: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES | Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

Content: war setting, blood/wounds, death/dying motifs

* * * * * * * *

Caretaker let the green of the magical forcefield spread all down their skin like dripping bright green honey made of pure light. They’d be very visible. But that’s okay. Because they’d be safe.

Because what they were about to do was so immensely stupid. But it was necessary, it was so, so necessary. Their heart beat like a drum in their chest. Their nerves were shot through.

They took a deep breath. 

No turning back.

Whumpee needs them.

Then they ran.

Run.

Run. Run run run RUN RUN RUN RUN RUNRUNRUNRURNRUNRUN–

Explosions surrounded them, gunshots CRACK CRACK CRACK BOOMMMMM bright light explosions unsteady ground rumble rumble rumble SHAKE SHAKE BOOOOMMMM.

Their body flew through the air. They SLAM into the packed earth and slick, scratchy grass. Dizzy, dizzy, terrifying, shaking. Where was up or down, where was gravity?

Wait. Slick grass?

Slick?

Caretaker paled as they held up their arm. Then paled. The world shook.

Blood.

Who’s blood?

Who’s blood was this? Was it their own? Who bled here, who died here–?

Doesn’t matter keep moving. Get to Whumpee.

They felt the green glow of their magical shield spread around them once more, bathing the ruby-red marring their skin into a nasty dark black.

Their breath shuddered. Energy drained from their muscles into the brilliant jade.

Their feet pounded against the uneven earth, over loose dirt and pot-holes torn out by haphazard grenades, flying through the grass as bullets whizzed past their ears and plinked off the brilliant sparkling green.

To Whumpee.

Lying barely shaking and fatally wounded in the grass. 

Caretaker dove over them and crashed into the ground hard, bitlets of dirt pelting their face, grinding between their teeth, penetrating into their eyes and blinding them.

They pushed up and clawed at the mewling Whumpee, and Whumpee seized in terror, but Caretaker didn’t stop other than to scream “Whumpee, help me!” over the roaring gunshots and agonized voices shouting orders and pleading for mercy as they spread their jade forcefield over both their entire bodies.

Ba-bump.

Fatigue slammed into their chest like a freight train. They kept going.

Forcefield stuttered.

They barely managed to drag the catatonic Whumpee through the tall blood-shining grass and behind a rock that barely covered them both before the forcefield spluttered and faltered it’s last dying, shaking tendrils of protection before winking out of existence. But they were safe.

BOOOMMMMMM. Gunshots, PLAT PLAT PLAT, screaming, crying, shouting orders, footsteps running, rustling grass and dirt raining from the heavens.

Mostly.

Be-bump, ba-bump.

The world winked out of existence for just a second. Their vision blurred, pressure grasped their head on their head like an unyielding metal claw, metallic wires shooting through the top of their mouth and they couldn’t catch their breath. 

So tired. Running out of time.

Save Whumpee.

“WHUMPEE!!” they cried, screaming with all their might in Whumpee’s face. Their eyes barely opened.

Their jacket and shirt were practically ripped to shred, their body showcasing the finest of shrapnel bathed in the slick red liquid of life.

It was a wonder they were still alive. Caretaker nearly collapsed in relief. 

“Whumpee! I’m here to save you!” they shouted. So warped, they could barely hear themself, it was as if everything was underwater.

Whumpee said something back. Dazed, quiet.

“WHAT?!”

Whumpee clenched their teeth, and only then did Caretaker realize they there were teartracks running down their blood- and dirt-stained face.

“I’M NOT GONNA MAKE IT!! SAVE YOURSELF!!”

A desperate attempt to push Caretaker off. Caretaker barely even had to fight to keep both of them safely behind the rock.

BOOOOM!!

“I’m NOT LEAVING YOU TO DIE!!”

They scrambled through their medic box. Wrapped bandages where they could, taking the blood-soaked ones away, applying slave, new bandages, how were these bandages already soiled with blood?? So much blood too much blood, they were losing too much blood, more blood, more salve, more bandages, JUST STAY ALIVE–

Out. 

They didn’t have enough. 

They tried to stop the bleeding with what little magic they could muster, the light green tendrils snaking up and down Whumpee’s body and seeping into their wounds. They winced. They shook. 

The blackness encroached Caretaker, threatening to swallow them whole

Their brilliance faded. 

Not enough.

Not nearly enough.

No.

No. NO NO NO NO SHIT FUCK SHIT THEY NEEDED TO MAKE IT OUT OF THIS–

Idea.

A terrible, horrible, batshit insane idea that would get them both killed.

But they were both dead anyway.

Whumpee could get them out. They were stronger, they were the soldier. Caretaker was just a medic. 

A medic with magic.

Whumpee could save them both.

“WHUMPEE!!” Caretaker screamed. Whumpee’s eyes fluttered open again. They cringed and curled in on themself, around the new blood-soaked bandages and the healing salve and the shrapned invading their chest.

Tears ran down their face. They cried in earnest now as they stared up into Caretaker’s fiercely caring, pleading eyes.

“I’m so sorry!” They screamed, shoving their face into Caretaker's chest so they didn’t have to witness their twisted face of death. 

Maybe caretaker wouldn’t have to watch the light leave their eyes when they died. Whumpee could see the light beckoning them now–

“NO!!” Caretaker screeched, clutching Whumpee’s head to their chest even further, fisting thw hair in the tightest embrace, holding them like they would never hold each other again. 

Because honestly? Who knew if they ever would?

“I’M SORRY! I’M SO SORRY! PICK UP WHERE I’M LEAVING OFF!!” They cried into Whumpee’s hair.

“SAVE US BOTH!!”

The battlefield glowed green as Caretaker unleashed every ounce of magic they ever could have stored in their body into Whumpee, green tentacles of the most brilliant lime and jade and forest and honeydew spread and writhed across the entire battlefield, before arcing up into a single point and diving straight down from whence they came.

Whumpee’s skin, their clothes, their very being glowed brighter than Caretaker could have ever seen, pushing back the blackness for just a moment as they shook and spasmed in Caretaker’s arms.

Then the black won over. 

Caretaker went limp.

* * * * * * * *

Whumptober Taglist: @whumperofworlds | @whumptober-archive | @regular-whump-sfx

(If you wanna be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

[hy-whump-hei]

a full week of whumptober is already done!!! i'm pretty surprised at how fast this is going but i really enjoy making prompt lists like this :D

ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES: Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

CW: Comas, implied human experimentation

A Whumpee whose magic is uncontrollable when used. Nobody dares to get close with them or even talk to them for fear of getting hurt. The only person willing enough to go near them is Whumper, who just found themselves the perfect test subject...

Caretaker has a magic type that is incredibly powerful, but sends the user into a coma for the next few days, which is why it is reserved for emergency use. When Whumpee is in danger, Caretaker doesn't give a second thought as to how they'll be affected: all they can think of is Whumpee.

"If they want to play dirty, so will we." "Please, don't do this!" "It's us or them, Teammate. If this is what keeps us alive, so be it."

i'm so tired so i'm gna snooze now :] goodnight and see you tomorrow for day 8!!

[blancheludis]

Whumptober 2024 Day 7: Magic With A Cost

Fandom: Batman Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Jason Todd Tags: Grief, Magic, Tim is a Witch, Self-Sacrifice

Summary:

Tim offers to bring Jason back from the dead. He knows magic always comes with a price and he is willing to pay it. A life for a life. It is not like anybody will miss him anyway.

All magic comes with a cost. Tim likes to think for him to have magic at all, he had to give up his parents' love.

When he was five and they just returned from a dig, he snuck into his father's study, just to get a glimpse at all the wonders from forgotten times they brought home with them. A small earthen vase called out to him and the stopper moved barely without any effort under his small hands. Wind rose and the echo of laughter rang in his ears although there was no one else around. Something came out of the vessel - cold and insistent and powerful - and dove right into Tim. The rest, as they say, is history.

Well, first, he spent weeks too sick to tell reality from the countless, visceral nightmares suddenly filling his head, feverish and fighting the force suddenly sharing his body with him.

His parents thought it was a curse. Tim never corrected them.

---

The death of a child is never a good thing, but something about Jason Todd dying pushes Tim's entire world off balance. He cannot sleep, he cannot eat, he cannot work. The magic inside him, always present, humming right beneath his skin and in his blood, grows demanding, pushing him towards something inevitable. Tim is unsettled by it, feeling for once more like a tool than a partner. And then, one night in the library, he finds out why.

---

The sky is a dark grey, as welcoming as the forbidding monument that is Wayne Manor as Tim walks up to the front door. This place holds a different kind of loneliness than his own home, a different kind of grief. His parents, Tim is sure, would not mind overly much, if he died. They definitely would not fall down a dark spiral of desperation bad enough to draw in all of the surrounding magic and subsequently call a witch with a handy solution directly to their doorstep.

Mere moments after knocking on the door, it opens to reveal Mr. Pennyworth, the Wayne family's butler. Tim has done his research. According to the servants' gossip in town, Mr. Pennyworth is the only person in the whole wide world who can make Mr. Wayne do something he does not want. In order to even get into the house, this is where Tim has to be most convincing.

"Good evening," he greets brightly and does not show any sign of irritation at the way the butler is subtly but disapprovingly looking him over. 

Tim knows he is young and looks younger. He is small for thirteen years, too thin. Pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, thanks to the unsettled magic letting him get little rest, just make things worse. Otherwise, however, he does look like a normal boy from a respectable family and Mr. Pennyworth's scepticism is not appreciated. 

"Master Wayne is not seeing visitors at this time," Mr. Pennyworth says, crisp and final, already moving to turn away.

Tim takes a small step forward. "He will want to see me."

Heat crackles under his skin, urging him forward. His magic has not been this insistent on anything in years. It has never led him astray, before, so he does not let the manor or its butler intimidate him.

"Young sir," Mr. Pennyworth says, too formal to be condescending. "Do your parents know you're here?"

Laughter breaks over Tim's lips, high and childish, along with something else, something darker that makes the hairs on the butler's arm stand up. It is not a trick, really, Tim does not have to pay anything for that effect. Magic loves him. He still has not made up his mind if he loves it.

Mr. Pennyworth stands up straighter, filling out his shoulders with a presence not befitting a mere butler. Gone are the last traces of the genial old man, replaced by something harder, something determined.

"Are you possessed?" No politeness is left in his tone. It rather sounds like he is one wrong move away from performing an exorcism himself, right here on the doorstep to his Master's home. Tim decides he likes him.

"Do possessed people usually give you an honest answer?" he asks, smiling just a tad too widely.

They stare at each other for a long moment, butler and child, duty and magic. Tim is not worried. Magic wants him here and it usually gets what it wants. It is also usually not too unkind about it. 

"I will not allow any harm to come to Master Wayne," Mr. Pennyworth says slowly, not quite making it a threat.

Tim still nods briefly to show he has heard it. "It's a good thing, then, I'm not here for that. I'm here to give him something back that he lost."

Once again, there is laughter, but this time it is not Tim's. He does not move his mouth at all. These halls have seen many generations of Waynes and they just beg to be heard. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim thinks he sees a boy running, the shadow of a shadow, skidding through the foyer with a wide grin. Alfie, look. An exhale. A blink and they are alone again.

The butler has gone pale. He does not look at Tim anymore with even the distant kindness reserved for children. All he sees is a monster. "How dare you come here and wield our grief against us?"

Tim cannot help the small, bitter smile, but he inclines his head in an attempt to hide it. "What if I can bring him back?"

---

Mister Wayne's office, just like most of the halls of Wayne Manor, is dark and forbidding. Lack of light, dark wood and, most of all, their master sitting in the midst of it with grief clinging to every sharp angle, every small movement speaking of destruction, decay.

His eyes are piercing as he stares Tim down, who stands in front of the desk and repeats his proposal: returning the lost child back to life. A ritual he is sure he can do, even though the few books he found where not as instructional as he might have wanted. In fact, they all preached caution. But this is not Tim's idea.

Ever since stepping into the Manor proper, the magic inside him has expanded, pressing against the confines of Tim's mortal body, reaching a bit farther out with every breath. So, no, Tim does not know the how, yet, and he is still not clear on the why, but he is right where he is supposed to be.

"Bringing someone back from the dead is not straightforward," he explains, not losing any of his confidence. "Magic does not happen with a simple snap of fingers."

That, of course, depends. If he coated his fingers in something potent, if he were pointing at a source - but they are not talking about parlour tricks, here. They do not want to break but to mend. Building something always takes more than pulling it all down.

"How?" Mr. Wayne demands, flat and dark. Apart from a brief flash of rage, he has not shown any emotion since Mr. Pennyworth herded Tim into the office.

Beyond ritual circles and power sources and intent, the most important thing about every piece of magic is the cost. The one thing all the texts agreed on is that the cost of curing death is enormous, painful. There are options, of course, but Tim has already decided. He has never liked to depend on third-party sources. No, his magic wants him here for a reason and Tim thinks that is the simple part.

"Do you really want me to bore you with technical details?" Tim asks, tired without growing impertinent. The less he has to explain the better for everybody involved. "Every ritual is different and -"

Mr. Wayne cuts him off with a glare. "I want to know why you are here and what you intend to gain from it."

The honest answer is actually very simple. This house is calling for him, ghosts reach out for him whenever he turns his back, something is haunting his every step. As things are, he does not have anything to gain from this but rest, which is not the worst bargain he could get in a situation like this.

"Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Wayne? he asks, softly. "In fate?"

Unsurprisingly, Mr. Wayne scoffs. "I don't deal with such nonsense."

He would not call it nonsense if he could see Jason's memory flitting through the house, as real and fleeting as any of them who are still alive.

"I am here because of both," Tim says, having long since learned to ignore scepticism. Eventually, they all learn. "Your son is calling for help. I'm not sure whether he is asking for me specifically or if I'm just the first who heard him, but I know that I can bring him back."

Tim does not know any such thing, but he has come to trust in magic, to follow its lead. It is quite impossible not to when it never lets him forget its existence.

"Don't -" Mr. Wayne snaps, then swallows audibly, schools his expression into something neutral. "You can really bring him back?"

"Yes." This is not the time to show doubt. Things will fall into place at the right time, he has to trust in that.

Mr. Wayne breathes, never once looking away from Tim. "When?"

The house sighs in sudden relief, releasing some of the tension in the air. That is how Tim knows he has won the argument.

He cocks his head to the side. "I could bring him back right now, but I think you would want him to come back right." The last thing he needs is impatience or someone looking over his shoulder the entire time.

"Is there a wrong way?" Mr. Wayne asks, his shoulders tensing further.

Tim allows himself a small smile. "You want him to bring all of his soul back with him. All of his memories. All that made him who he was." He shrugs, making himself look more confident than he feels. "Simply animating a corpse would be easy. Giving back life is not." Easy is, perhaps, too strong a word but nobody needs to know that.

"How long?"

These things cannot be rushed, otherwise they will end up with even more grief. And possibly more bodies than intended. Dead ones. "I need to understand who Jason is. I think he will tell me what he needs."

Immediately, Tim knows that this answer was too bold, too outlandish for Mr. Wayne, who is very much a nonbeliever in all things he cannot personally touch. Leaning forward, hands not quite curled into fists, he says, "If you're lying to us, if you're using our grief -"

"I won't ask anything of you, Mr. Wayne, other than that you will let me live here until the job is done." Before Mr. Wayne's expression can darken further, he adds, "I have my own home, my own money. I don't need anything from you other than the freedom to do what I have come here for."

The manor creaks as they look at each other in silence. The sound of the running steps of a child waft in from somewhere.

"Yes," Mr. Wayne finally allows through clenched teeth. "But you will share all your research with me and if I get even a hint of you doing something untoward, you will leave."

"Is that -"

Mr. Wayne stands, effectively cutting Tim off. "I already said yes. Now, get out."

---

Tim moves in without fanfare. He barely brings anything in terms of clothes or personal items. He does, however, ask for a place in the gardens to put up a greenhouse.

Magic always comes with a cost. It could be body heat or a drop of blood, life force in terms of years, willing or unwilling sacrifices. Life is in all things, though, and Tim has learned a careful balance of taking without killing, growing without culling. Plants, after all, do grow stronger if cut regularly, in the right way.

The gardens of Drake Manor are rows and rows of lush green and colours of all kind, ripe fruits and fragrant smells. When he walks his home, magic is all around him.

Of course, he does not have time to plant an entire garden in Wayne Manor, but he has this: a greenhouse full of his most potent plants and windowsills filled to bursting. Green is life much more than crimson is. Here, he can breathe.

---

The theory is easy. Build a summoning circle in which he has to pour enough understanding of Jason's essence to make it stick. A binding circle to make sure he will have enough time for the exchange. The usual physical offerings, both potent in magic and specific to Jason. And then, payment.

All magic has a cost, and great deeds of magic demand great sacrifice. This will not be done with a cup full of blood, no matter the origin. Tim could bleed an entire dragon dry and the fates would not be moved. No, the payment always has to match the demand.

To create life, he has to offer something equivalent. A life for a life.

There are a number of rituals and spells that are powered by human sacrifice. Tim has never dabbled in those, has never even read up on them beyond the basics.

His magic has led him here, has pulled him in with more insistence than ever before. He knows what that means.

A life for a life.

---

Tim keeps to himself and Mister Wayne is more than happy to ignore him. The house, however, is not. Long gone laughter rings out around every corner. Phantom flames flicker in empty fireplaces. Books fall from shelves in the library only to reveal dozens of handwritten notes in the margins. For once, Tim is not the only ghost that haunts a manor.

"I need to know more about Jason's life." Tim ambushes Alfred in the kitchen. "What did he do all day?"

He needs to know, but he does not like seeing Alfred age right before him, hollowed out by grief and memories he has not yet laid to rest.

"Sit down," he offers Tim, smiling despite himself. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

---

"I want to train with you," Tim says one morning after breakfast.

Mr. Wayne tends to avoid him and offering nothing but terse nods whenever he cannot. He does not ask about Tim's progress, does not offer any help that is not pulled out of him with great effort. It is clear that he has let Tim into his home out of desperation, but that he does not believe success is possible. Worse, every time he sees Tim is a reminder of his loss.

"No," Mr. Wayne snaps, alit with sudden anger. He has half-risen out of his seat, towering over Tim.

"It's what Jason did, right?" Tim asks, not showing any outward reaction to Mr. Wayne's intimidation tactics.

His fingertips burn, ready to throw Mr. Wayne across the room if he comes any closer or begins to act on his unspoken threat. Tim is small and young, but he is anything but defenceless.

"You're not here to replace him." That is more a growl than a human voice, somehow befitting the sharp-cut jaw.

Tim leans back in his seat, taking a sip of his coffee. "No. I'm here to understand him so I can bring him back."

Without another word, Mr. Wayne storms out. He does not, however, deny Tim when he appears, a few hours later, in the gym, eager to learn.

---

Tim is not sure what to make of the prospect of dying. He is young. He has seen nothing of the world. His parents do not love him, but he always hoped that, someday, somewhere, he could find love for himself, family. He wonders, now, why whatever was in that vessel spared him, gave him the gift of magic. He wonders what is so special about Jason Todd that fate asks Tim to die for him.

He learns about Jason, learns that he can be jealous of a dead boy, learns that life can be really, unfathomably unfair. He does not find a satisfying answer to his question. With time, however, he thinks it will at least be a worthy exchange. Jason has so much to offer the world. He has people waiting for him. Tim has nobody but himself.

Magic buzzes restlessly inside Tim as he refuses to let it out. Without it, he is entirely human. Entirely breakable. Bruce does not seem to care. He never tires, he never makes mistakes.

Tim could still wipe the floor with him if only he would let go. He does not. Instead, he gets thrown down on the mats more often than he can count.

"Again," Bruce repeats a thousand times.

At night, Tim goes through an unholy amount of arnica and hamamelis and heat sucked right out of the flames in the fireplace so that he can move without too much pain the next morning. His magic purrs, glad he has not forgotten it completely.

---

"Was he often hurt?" Tim asks one night when he is sure that Bruce is nowhere nearby. He nurses his tea, appreciative of its warmth.

Alfred looks up alarmed. "Master Jason? Why do you ask? What happened?"

His immediate worry is just as soothing as the tea, careful attentiveness instead of dismissive ignorance. Tim is not used to so much positive human interaction, he has to take care not to let his guard down too much.

"It's just - he has training with Bruce and then they fight out in Gotham." He shrugs. His intention was never to accuse anyone of anything. It is just intense. "He was just a boy, right?"

With too perceptive eyes, Alfred looks at him. "Are you hurt, Master Tim?"

Tim flinches back, taken by surprise. "No," he lies. 

Although, is it really a lie if he asked for it? Bruce seemed tolerant of his antics in the training room and never once hesitated when Tim got back to his feet to face him again.

His muscles are permanently sore, not used to the exertion. If he would not heal himself, his bruises would have bruises because he never before had to dodge a predator coming after him with intent. His skin spans painfully over his bones, barely containing his magic. It is constantly simmering right underneath his fingertips. He could make sure not a single hit ever finds his target again. But that is not what he is here for. He wants to learn. Magic is not infallible.

Bruce is not hurting him for the sake of pain, but Tim has never had much need for physical fitness. This is like learning to walk, all over again, like getting on a bike for the first time and greeting the gravel of their driveway with his knees.

Of course, at the end of this journey, it will not matter whether his body is trained, whether he learned anything that could be useful for a life he will never have. At the end of this, Tim will be dead and Jason will be back in his rightful place.

Tim does need to learn about Jason, but a small, not insignificant part of him, does this for his own gain. Where is the harm in experiencing this life? Where is the harm in tasting something that was never for him?

"If something is wrong -"

Tim shakes his head quickly. He does not need Alfred to do something rash. "Everything's good, Alfred," he reassures easily. "I'm just not used to so much physical exertion, and I wondered. It was not an accusation. I know Jason was happy here."

Slowly, Alfred settles back into a more comfortable position. For a few minutes, they sit in silence, drinking tea.

"Do you see him?" Alfred then asks, as hopeful as he is cautious.

There is not a step Tim can take in this house without Jason's essence pressing in on him.

"He is not the kind of ghost I could talk to," he says and is glad for it. Otherwise, his task could be done much quicker, and he finds himself reluctant to let go just yet. "But his essence is here nonetheless. I hear most of his laughter in the kitchen."

Alfred's eyes turn glassy and Tim offers a smile, unsure whether he overstepped. Grief is a fickle thing, able to cause both comfort and pain.

"You're a good kid, Master Tim."

Tim does not know about that, but something preens in him at the attention nonetheless.

---

Bruce's temper is a minefield on a good day and he tends not to have a lot of those.

"What is taking so long?" he growls after having summoned Tim to his office. Once again, Tim is not asked to sit. It is eerily reminiscent of his first visit here, having to plead his case as if he is desperate to die for these people, as if his life is worth nothing at all on its own.

Tim looks at Bruce as he takes a moment to swallow his temper. It must have been a bad night, one where Bruce is haunting the house just as much as Jason is, just with less of a positive energy.

"I told you I need to-"

Bruce brings his hand down on the table, making Tim flinch. He has never before felt seriously threatened in this house, but he has seen what these hands can do. He knows what grief can do. 

"I think you just want to take something that's not yours," Bruce accuses with burning eyes. "You want to take his place."

Deep breaths, Tim reminds himself. "Bruce. I don't want to take anything from you." On the contrary, he wants to give something back, to the point of self-destruction, even. He knows better than to say that, though. Bruce would not mind much, probably, giving nothing but token protest. Alfred might be the real obstacle there, and Tim does not actually want to spend time and effort on convincing people to let him die. "I can't tell you why I was called. But I'm not yet ready."

"Do you ever plan on being ready?" Bruce asks, his lips pulling up into something that is more of a threat than a smile.

Planning has little to do with it. Tim is willing to do what has to be done. Life, magic, all of it was a gift. He has not yet paid for that, but something in him tells him that this might be it. This is the universe coming to collect. Why else push him into the home of a dead boy? Why else give him a task that will mean the cost of his life? He is already getting more out of the bargain than he could have hoped for, these glimpses of what it means to be a family.

"Do you want me to go?" Tim asks softly. The magic in him stirs, stings underneath his skin. He breathes to calm it. He will not abandon his task, but he wants to do this the right way.

Bruce is not quick enough to pull his face into impassiveness, to fully hide the fear. "Are you rescinding your offer?"

"No," he promises, gentler perhaps than Bruce deserves. "I mean, I have an entire house just down the road. I don't have to stay here. I don't have to eat here. You don't have to see me, if you don't want to. I can try to get ready otherwise."

It would be harder, of course, but Tim would also not be distracted by liking this life.

"No." Bruce's reply comes too fast, too hoarse. "No. Stay."

Immediately, the pressure that has been building inside Tim releases. His magic is mollified.

"Do you want to spar? Take your mind off things?" Tim then offers, deciding a change in topic is needed and Bruce always seems to do better when he can punch out his grief. It is not how he planned to spend his morning but he is not completely hopeless anymore and has even begun to enjoy the exertion of it.

Bruce, however, narrows his eyes at him. "Alfred tells me you've been limping yesterday."

Traitor, Tim thinks without heat. He grins, careless. "Nothing some good old magic can't fix."

He expects Bruce to nod and be done with the topic. Instead, he carefully looks Tim over as if he can spot any bruises through his clothes.

"I don't want to hurt you," he then says, gentle and honest. It does things to the part of Tim that is still a child waiting for his parents to come home and love him.

"You can't." That is a bold-faced lie, but Tim does not stumble over it. They are talking about different hurts anyway. Physical pain is fine. Getting to live a life never meant for him, to experience love if only from the outskirts of it - that hurts. At the same time, it might be the most precious thing of all. "And if I don't train, then I won't get better."

---

After that first, not very promising meeting on the Manor's doorsteps, Alfred's behaviour in regards to Tim has improved immensely. He was never rude, no, but he has a way of wielding his politeness in a way that cuts. Slowly but surely, the sharpness drained out of his words and expressions, and his service grew from perfunctory to warm. Alfred is the soul of this house and Tim feels honoured to have been welcomed in.

"What is your favourite dessert, Master Tim?" Alfred asks one morning, attentive in a way that would befit more serious questions.

Tim smiles at him over the rim of his coffee mug. "Wrong question, dear Alfred. What is Jason's favourite dessert?" He cannot let the lines blur too much.

But Alfred is not going to let himself be deterred. "I do think you can take an evening off. This is about you."

Nothing is ever about Tim. Even the magic. It pulls and pushes, insists and demands. He is but a vessel. He broke that sealed vase and whatever was inside that now lives in him is always hungry.

Still, there is something endearingly earnest about the way Alfred looks at him. It is hard to disappoint him.

"I don't know," Tim admits.

A pause. A frown. "Well," Alfred claps his hands with too much cheer. "It is time we found out, then."

---

Things are coming to an end; Tim feels it in his bones. He is not a stranger anymore in this house. At times, his own laughter rings along with Jason's, creating a harmony that leaves him breathless.

He knows the manor's inhabitants as well as its halls. Bruce's silences, less broody now but filled with warmth. Alfred's quiet strength and endless capacity for love. He knows where to put his feet to remain standing when Bruce charges at him, knows the thrill of fighting, an intricate choreography. He knows the pleasant ebb and flow of conversations, of stories shared to entertain. He knows the feel of family, of love. Underneath it all, he knows all the places Jason fit.

"I'm ready," he says when they are half-way through breakfast.

Bruce stills. Which is not the reaction Tim expected. "You are?" Hesitation, questions in every angle.

Tim nods, smiling. He has been ready for a week now, but an unwelcome, selfish part of him did not want to admit it, did not want to give this up, and the magic let him. Now it is time to face reality, however.

Bruce looks at him, still strangely hesitant. "What do you need?"

More time, Tim thinks, but that is not part of the deal. He will not hurt these people further, not after they have taken him in and given him the greatest gift of his life.

"Today is the new moon. I will do it then. Later, I'll unearth the coffin. If you want to come, do it soon." The body has to stay inside, so it will not be disturbed before it is time, but Tim does not want to leave Jason in his grave when he cannot help him out, afterwards. "You need to stay inside when I do the ritual. I cannot be distracted." More importantly, the magic cannot be distracted. There can only be two targets for the ritual. Better not add any temptations.

"You -" Bruce's eyes are piercing, but Tim meets them calmly. "It will work?"

The magic purrs inside Tim, which he takes as an affirmative. Bruce still does not believe in it, though.

"I have not done this before, but I've done my research," Tim says, as confidently as he can. "Something called me here. I'm sure." Failure is not an option, anyway. He will not get a second try. 

"Thank you, Tim." Bruce sounds breathless, at once anticipatory and afraid.

"Thank me tomorrow," Tim says, even while the words taste like ash in his mouth.

It is funny, really. The cost has been clear from the very beginning. He will not sacrifice any other human being, so the only viable alternative is himself. He has known that all along. So, why does he feel reluctant now? Why are his limbs heavy and his heart rate too fast? He is a willing sacrifice, a life freely given. Why make it hard on himself now?

He knows why, of course. For the first time in his short life, he actually has something to give up. Before, it was him in his parents' empty house, learning, doing magic feats no one would congratulate him for. Now, he has gotten a taste of what it feels like to be wanted, even if they want Jason, not him. The lines have blurred enough for him to feel the connection, the love.

But it is all right. He can do this. Today, he will say his goodbyes, he will thank magic and fate. He will be ready.

---

Tim makes a last round through the house, wanders in Jason's footsteps and, now, also in his own. He sits on his bed, runs a hand across his desk. In the greenhouse, he says goodbye to each of his plants. Alfred will take care of them, surely, so something of his will remain. In the kitchen, he steals a cookie and laughs when Alfred offers to make his favourites for dinner. He cleans himself thoroughly, body and soul, the last ritual he will do for himself. It is a good day, a good life. Tim is glad he got to taste it.

---

Magic makes it easy to unearth the coffin. It looks a bit damaged, but Tim does not know anything about the natural progression of coffin decomposition to think anything about it. He does not look in. Neither do Alfred or Bruce when they come by, briefly, before letting him do his work.

Calm settles over Tim as he prepares. He has brought his best supplies for this. No need to save them for later when there will never be a later. This is his masterpiece. He draws the runic circles with utmost care, going over each three times to make sure everything is perfect. He begins burning the incense as he places the physical anchors.

He watches the sun set, speaking a prayer of thanks.

---

Night falls and he is ready. 

This is it. This is the culmination of months of work.

Tim's blood seeps into the runes, his bones creak in anticipation. His soul, at once ready and balking, hangs by nothing but a thread. With a deep inhale, feeling his body for the last time, Tim snaps it.

[lady-wallace]

Whumptober Day 7: Only for Emergencies

More Obey Me! for today's @whumptober fic

Prompts: Only for emergencies, magic with a cost, 'it's us or them' Fandom: Obey Me! Nightbringer Character: Barbatos

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Read on Ao3

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Only for Emergencies

Solomon abuses his pact with Barbatos and leaves the prince’s butler with injuries that should have been his. (Protagonist POV)

~~~~

“Remind me never to agree to go on a mission with you again.”

“Come on, Helena, as my apprentice, I need to show you the ropes, right?” Solomon’s laugh was cavalier. Not the sound someone should be making when we were trapped in a crawl space, being hunted by a giant snake, and all because my master decided he needed some specialty items and wanted to drag me along on his very much not a normal shopping trip.

“At least count it as a learning experience?” the sorcerer shrugged.

I glowered at him. “Only if you will. I was the one who said we should go the other way, but you insisted this was the right path and look where we are now.”

“Look, it’s been a while since I’ve been down here, okay? I got a little turned around.” He looked around, searching our surroundings. “Hey, what’s that back there?”

I cringed as he scraped past me in the small space, pressing myself as firmly back against the stone wall as I could. Solomon climbed onto some rubble gathered at the back of the tunnel and started moving rocks out of the way before he waved a hand at me.

“Get back, I’m going to try to blast through.”

I hurried as far back to the entrance as I could, shielding my face and covering my ears as the blast shook through the tiny space.

Solomon hacked on the dust, staggering to his feet. As I straightened, I could feel cooler air on my face.

“We’re through, come on.” He offered me a hand and helped me over the rubble through the hole he’d made.

Leaving us right in the middle of a nest of beasts.

I stared in horrified silence for a long moment as the creatures too, seemed surprised by our presence. Giant bug-like creatures and the snake from earlier began to converge on is.

“This is seriously the last time I ever go anywhere with you,” I snarled as I started to form a protective barrier around myself.

I didn’t finish it in time for the snake to strike at me, flinging me across the room where I skidded painfully into a wall.

Solomon created a flare of magic that pushed the monsters back before he sprinted in my direction.

“We need to run.”

“Yeah no shit, Solomon!” I gasped as I reached for the hand he offered to pull me to my feet.

A giant scorpion scrambled from the left, swinging its tail angrily.

“Solomon, watch—”

I wasn’t able to get the warning out in time. Solomon turned, readying a spell, but before he could finish, the barbed tail buried itself in his middle.

Solomon choked as he was suspended on the end of the barb for a second before the creature flung him across the room.

“Solomon!” I shouted as I pushed myself back to my feet and made a flare of light to ward off the approaching creatures before running to the injured sorcerer.

He had pushed himself into a sitting position, one hand clasped over the wound. I could see blood seeping worryingly from between his fingers but we didn’t have time to see to it at the moment. I grabbed his arm and hauled him upright as he groaned in protest.

“You might have the worst bedside manner I’ve ever seen, Helena.”

“We’re literally about to die,” I snapped. “And if I remember correctly, those things’ venom temporarily muzzles any magical ability—I’m sure that’s the case for even a ‘great sorcerer’ like yourself.”

“No need to be so sarcastic,” Solomon grunted, coughing slightly. “You are correct, but fear not, my dear apprentice, I have certain emergency clauses written into all my pacts for moments just like this.”

I frowned, admittedly a little worried as to just what he had planned. “What kind of emergency clauses?”

“We don’t have time to discuss details! Just hold them off while I get this working.”

I didn’t have another option but to trust him at the moment and readied another spell.

Solomon pulled up his sleeve and drew a symbol over the tattoos on his arm with his own blood. The mark started to glow and I watched with shock as the blood stopped leaking from his wounds—even the scrapes on his face healed. He huffed a breath of relief.

“How—?”

“Don’t worry about the how, just that we’re getting out of here,” he said and held out his hand. “Now, one more distraction from you, Helena, to keep them occupied, and then I should be ready to teleport us out of here. Grab my hand.”

I did as I sent off another blast and by the time the light faded, Solomon’s teleportation spell was already in effect as everything melted away into brief darkness.

***

Barbatos poured a cup of tea and placed it at Diavolo’s elbow along with a small plate of selected pastries.

“Is there anything else I can get for you right now, young master?” he asked.

“This is perfect, thank you,” the prince replied, frowning slightly at the papers in front of him, chin propped on one fist.

Barbatos smiled slightly. “My Lord, I also would like to remind you the answers to these proposals will be due by tomorrow.”

Diavolo huffed a long sigh. “I’m aware. It just feels like that’s all I’ve been doing lately.”

“Well, young master, starting a successful school means you’ll have a lot of people coming to you with their ideas—not all of them good, granted, but…”

Barbatos paused. The unmistakable tingle of magic running up his spine. His face instantly clouded. That insolent sorcerer, was he really trying to call on him—

A dull ache suddenly started to form in Barbatos’s belly, as if he had stupidly eaten something said sorcerer had made, but…

There was a damp feeling soaking into his coat and as he pressed a hand there, his glove was soaked red when he pulled it away.

“Barbatos?” Diavolo inquired, turning toward him with a frown. “Is everything okay?”

The butler clenched his hand to hide the blood. “My apologies, young master, there is something I—” He choked on something bubbling up in his throat and clapped a hand over his mouth in mortification.

“Barbatos are you well?” Diavolo demanded, pushing his chair back.

Barbatos stepped back, trying to wave him away. “Do not concern yourse—ugh.” Speaking brought on an agonizing coughing fit forcing him to double over, bracing himself against the corner of the desk.

“Barbatos!” Diavolo sounded terrified as he grabbed his butler’s shoulder to steady him and finally saw the blood staining his gloves. “What in Devildom is going on?”

Barbatos fought to get his breath and gently extricated himself from Diavolo’s grasp as he managed hoarsely, “Do not concern yourself, young master, just give me a moment. If you’ll excuse me.”

He started his retreat of the room when his legs simply gave out under him and he reached for the bookcase, slowing his descent as he crumpled. Darkness started to cloud his vision and Diavolo’s concerned shouts faded as he began to cough up blood uncontrollably.

***

It was impossible to tell where we ended up at first. Solomon and I came out of the teleportation spell in a heap on the floor somewhere. I was actively trying not to vomit—that had been the roughest trip I had ever had.

“Helena? Solomon, what—?”

I pushed myself up and saw we had somehow landed in Diavolo’s study. The prince was standing there staring at us in confusion.

“Of course—you insolent, insufferable sorcerer. How dare you?”

I glanced behind Diavolo to see Barbatos. To my shock, he was slumped against the bookcase and there was blood on his lips and soaking into his usually pristine gloves.

“Barbatos!” I cried, shoving myself upright to rush toward him. My nausea was instantly replaced with alarm. His body shuddered in an aborted cough and I took his face between my hands. “What happened?”

“Ask the despicable sorcerer,” Barbatos quipped before he smothered a wet cough in his hand and doubled over.

I looked down and saw the front of his uniform soaked a dark red. I unbuttoned his coat and pulled it open, following with his shirt until I found the large puncture wound in his stomach. “My god, Barb,” I gasped, ripping my coat off to press against the wound before I spun around toward Solomon.

“What did you do?” I demanded.

“I saved our lives,” the sorcerer said simply.

“And you didn’t think to tell me it was Barbatos’s contract you were using?”

“You would never have let me do it if I had, and it was the only one that would have been any good to me in the moment. That injury kept me from performing magic so I had to get rid of it. I’m sorry it had to be like this, but Barbatos was aware of the clause.”

“For emergency, only,” Barbatos growled. “And even then, while, yes, I was aware of the clause, you put it in without my consent.”

I was too furious to speak. I concentrated on stopping the blood flowing from Barbatos’s—Solomon’s—wound as Diavolo put two and two together.

“Hold on, you’re telling me you got into a predicament, were injured, and then thought you could simply transfer your injury to my butler?”

“I deeply apologize for the injuries, my lord,” Solomon said with a bow.

“You realize I could count this as an attack on me—treason, even!” Diavolo snapped.

“My lord,” Barbatos croaked. “As…despicable as the action was, it was, regrettably, part of our contract, and therefor nothing strictly illegal occurred.”

Diavolo did not look happy about that but the worry behind his eyes won out. “We’ll discuss this later. Let’s get Barbatos looked after.”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “We’ll need something to carry him on.”

“Unnecessary,” Barbatos tried but Diavolo shook his head.

“You can’t walk to your room in that condition. I’ll call the physician.”

I stayed crouched beside Barbatos, keeping pressure on his wound until the doctor and one of his assistants came with a stretcher. I stepped back to let them get Barbatos onto it and watched them carry him out with Diavolo in tow before I spun on Solomon.

“What the hell, Solomon?” he demanded.

He held his hands up. “Helena, listen, this isn’t anything Barbatos can’t take. He’s a lot heartier than you or I—”

“Stop right there,” I cut in, fury boiling up in me, threatening to reach an explosive conclusion. “Do you think it would make any difference to me if you had transferred a scraped knee to him instead of the wound you got when you were impaled by a massive scorpion? It’s the point of the matter.”]

“I saved both our lives,” Solomon said firmly. “You think I wouldn’t be having this conversation with Barbatos if I had brought you back gravely injured?”

“We could have come up with another solution!” I shouted. “I was holding them off easily enough, there was undoubtedly another way out. I’m pissed because you didn’t even consult me on what you were doing—that was disgustingly selfish of you.”

“Of course I didn’t consult you! You’re too close to Barbatos; you never would have agreed.”

“Like he didn’t agree to you adding this clause to the contract?”

Solomon snorted. “He read it over.”

“Before or after you made a pact with him?”

Solomon shook his head. “Don’t be like that, Helena. I’ve explained before that using a little chicanery when making pacts is expected. Humans are not on top of the food chain when it comes to demons. If you want to be this soft in your dealings with them, maybe you don’t belong here in Devildom.”

I slapped him hard across the face. “Don’t ever mistake my common decency for softness again, Solomon. You’re not supposed to trick your friends. Which is obviously why you don’t have any.”

I started to push past him, but he grabbed my arm. “Helena…”

I spun and punched him directly in the nose, forcing him to stagger back with a strangled cry, blood spilling over his upper lip.

I stormed out of the study and headed toward Barbatos’s room, trying to breathe away my anger by the time I got there. My hand hurt but it had been worth it.

Diavolo was pacing outside the door, looking agitated. He glanced up as he saw me and paused in his movements.

“How is he?” I asked.

He folded his arms tightly across his chest. “Not great. The wound is pretty bad, and the doctor says he won’t be able to heal until the venom works its way out of his system. I guess Solomon passed that along too.”

I pressed my lips into a firm line.

“I’m not sure what to do about him, Helena,” Diavolo said. “Barbatos is right, technically he only did what was on the contract. But I don’t know if I can allow him to get away with this without any repercussions. After all, Barbatos is invaluable to me—deliberately injuring the prince’s butler has to be counted as an attack on my position, right? But if I make too big of a fuss about it, then the lords might take that as a strike against humans as a whole and that could damage our ties with the human world. Not to mention it could put you in danger which I would never want.” He huffed in annoyance. “I didn’t expect to have to deal with all of these political questions today.”

I sighed tiredly. “Then maybe doing nothing is your only course of action. I know Barbatos wouldn’t want you causing upheaval on his part. But that doesn’t mean doing nothing can’t have it’s consequences.”

“How so?”

“Because if word gets out that Solomon makes slimy contracts no one will want to make a pact with him, and no one us will obviously ever trust him again. Being a societal outcast would be punishment enough for Solomon.”

Diavolo’s shoulders slumped. “I suppose it will have to be enough. I just can’t believe he would choose to do something like this…”

“Believe me, I know,” I said, glancing toward the door.

Diavolo’s face softened. “You should go to him. He didn’t want me to see him like that, but I’m sure your presence will bring him comfort. Look after him for me?”

I smiled sadly. “I’ll take good care of him.”

Diavolo nodded and reluctantly stepped away from the door. “I’ll go see if I can deal with Solomon. If you have time later, I’d appreciate an update on Barbatos’s condition?”

“Of course,” I said and slipped into the room.

The doctor was leaning over the bed, doing his best to stitch up the hole in Barbatos’s stomach.

Barbatos had been stripped to the waist and he looked incredibly pale, sweat beading on his brow, hands clenched in the sheets. I hurried to grab a cool cloth and made my way over to sit on the side of the bed, taking hold of his closest hand and pressing the cloth to his brow.

His eyes flickered open, dull from pain, and I gave his hand a squeeze.

“Hey,” I whispered, pushing his bangs out of his eyes before dabbing his forehead again.

“I’m nearly done,” the doctor said.

Barbatos’s eyes fluttered shut again and he let out a soft sound of pain, obviously practicing huge restraint. I could tell how much pain he was in from the way he clutched my hand. Tight enough to hurt around my bruised knuckles.

The doctor and his assistant finished up, spreading salve over Barbatos’s wound, before wrapping bandages around his waist.

“How long until the venom wears off?” I asked.

“A couple more hours,” the doctor said. “After that his body should start being able to heal itself, but I would recommend at least two days of bedrest.”

“We’ll see…how I feel,” Barbatos said, voice obviously strained. “I can’t…shirk my duties…for too long.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t get up too soon,” I told the doctor as Barbatos furrowed his brow.

“I’ll be back to check on him later,” the doctor promised as he cleaned up his supplies and left with his assistant.

“Please report to the Prince about his condition,” I said as he left. “That way he’ll be made aware that he will have to find someone to handle Barbatos’s duties for the next few days.”

“Helena,” Barbatos hissed disapprovingly.

The doctor nodded. “Of course, miss.”

As the door closed, Barbatos cast a baleful look at me. “It won’t take me that long to heal.”

“So? Diavolo is worried about you, and it won’t kill you to take a couple days off to rest.” I kicked my shoes off and crawled further onto the bed, leaning over him. “Or are you just that disappointed at the thought that we might actually get to spend some time together?”

I leaned over and pressed my lips to his. His mouth instantly melted against mine, and he brought a hand up to tangle in my hair, holding me close.

“Trying to use your wiles to sway me? You little vixen,” he smiled.

I smirked back, pecking his lips again. “Is it working?”

“Hmm, you do make a very convincing case.”

“I’m also not above tying you to the bed, you know. I have a lot of books that will tell me exactly what will hold even a powerful demon like you.”

His eyes lit up with a wicked glint. “Do you, now? I see. Careful or I might just be convinced to tempt you into doing so.”

I clicked my tongue, brushing his hair out of his face. “Perhaps we should wait until you’re feeling better for that.”

I sobered, smoothing my thumb across his cheekbone. “I’m sorry, Barb. If I had known what Solomon was going to do—”

He shook his head, taking my hand and pointedly kissing my bruised knuckles. “This wasn’t your fault, Helena. I am mostly relieved you are uninjured. If I had to take Solomon’s wounds for that, then I suppose it’s worth it.”

“You’re far more gracious than I am.”

“I’ve simply learned to pick my battles. Someday Solomon’s sins and deceptions will come back to bite him. And I hope to be there to see it happen.”

I sighed. “I just don’t like to see you hurt.”

He gave me a soft look. “It’s admittedly not the most enjoyable thing, but I am looking forward to you being my caretaker. Perhaps it will be nice to have a couple days of rest.”

Relieved that he seemed to be complying, I smiled and pulled the blankets from the foot of the bed, pulling them over us as I cuddled up against him.

“I couldn’t agree more.” I leaned in to kiss him again and when we pulled away he rested his forehead against mine. “Let’s make the most of it.”