#It's also a BTHB fill so there is another prompt in there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zeroducklings · 2 years

Note

If you're still taking fluff/dark prompts... How about Dickstroke, and Slade taking a contract (of whatever nature 👀) on Dick?

I am indeed still taking fluff/dark prompts! Thank you so much for this one, I had a ton of fun writing it and it also fit perfectly with an entry of my @badthingshappenbingo card so double thank you :D

(to anyone interested - the "fluff/dark prompt challenge" works that you send me a prompt, it can be any prompt you want, specify if you want it Sladick, Sladejay or Sladickjay, and I'll write both a fluff and a dark version of it!)

So here you have a fluff/dark prompt and a filled BTHB slot ♥ This one is for "Improvised weapon" :) I really hope you like it!

Dick blearily stares at the roof of a car, a bump in the road making his whole body bounce up. He blinks once he’s lying flat again, and tries to think, wonders why he feels both physically and mentally like he’s underwater.

It might be drugs. It feels like he’s been drugged. It doesn’t hurt anywhere specifically but he doesn’t really trust the absence of pain to assess that he’s not wounded, since the drug might be dampening that too. There’s another hitch and he almost rolls off the backseat on which he’s slumped, and a startled, slurred noise comes out of him unprompted. It alerts the driver which briefly turns to him before focusing back on the road.

«Of course you’re up already.» He mumbles under his breath. «You kids and your immunity to sedatives.»

That’s Deathstroke. Deathstroke is driving the car and just spoke to him, and the realization helps Dick piecing together just what the hell happened a few hours prior, however foggily.

He hadn’t been sleeping for a long time, maybe a couple of hours after coming back from patrol, when he got awakened by Tim’s voice yelling from the communicator on his nightstand. And by the time he’d registered the frantic “Dick, Dick do you copy?”, he had spotted the armor-clad figure of Deathstroke on the doorframe of his bedroom.

And for a moment, even if startled, Dick hadn’t gotten especially worried. It wouldn’t have been the first time for something like that to happen. Slade has always been a dramatic son of a bitch, and barging into his house to inform him of his presence in the Blud was nothing new. That feeling had lasted about two seconds since the man had drawn out a gun, and Dick, suddenly very much awake, had tried however he could to defend himself.

Facing Deathstroke the Terminator while in an open space, equipped with his suit and gadgets, is exhausting and ridiculously challenging and Dick would hate every second of it, if he wasn’t basically hooked on that kind of adrenaline rush. Facing Deathstroke the Terminator while in his underwear and a loose t-shirt, in a closed space and with only small furniture to use as improvised weapons, is nearly as pointless as trying to climb on a glass wall barehanded.

The man didn’t budge even when Dick smashed the bedside lamp on his helmet, the crash almost completely covering Tim’s frenzied voice still calling out to him, furiously informing him that Oracle found a hit for Nightwing out on the dark web. To please check in, let them know he’s okay. Dick would have really liked to, especially since he needed backup and needed it asap, but every attempt to reach for the communicator was easily thwarted, same as every ditch effort to throw himself either out the door or out the window. And eventually he’d ended up with his own bedsheet wrapped around his neck, Deathstroke pinning him down and using the fabric to choke air out of him.

Dick tries to remember when he’s been drugged but that detail doesn’t come to mind. It has to have happened when he was already out. At the very least he’s still alive, his family knows he’s in trouble so they’re surely on his tracks already, and… that’s about it for the positives. The negatives are that he’s being taken who knows where, and he has no way to leave clues for who’s out to help him.

«Slade…» He calls in a croak after managing to get his tongue to work with him, and he spots the man’s steely blue eye glancing at him from the rearview mirror. «…what the fuck.»

There’s no answer and Dick grunts in frustration. He grits his teeth and forces his sluggish muscles to go into motion, holding onto the passenger seat to maneuver himself upright. «What the fuck.» He repeats in what sounds more like a hiss, sneaking between the two front seats to get closer. «Where are you taking me.»

«Sit down or I’ll drug you again.» Slade replies neutrally. From there Dick can see the road speed away from out the window, or he would see it if his vision wasn’t still so blurry. Dick can only recognize that it’s daytime, and that they don’t seem to be in the city anymore. «Or I’ll stuff you back in the trunk.»

«Fuck you.» Dick seethes, lurching forward to grab the steering wheel. Crashing the car isn’t the best idea he ever had but in his defense, he doesn’t have much choice at this point.

Slade curses loudly and slams on the brakes, and Dick takes the chance to open the car door and throw himself out. It’s a mountain road, with woods surrounding it and a gentle slope behind them. No wonder there were so many bumps, they were driving up a dirt path that’s not even paved, and clearly not really used. Dick’s brain is still slow with drugs and he doesn’t process that he has to run, dumbfounded at what he sees a moment too long, and the next thing he knows is that he’s being slammed on the front of the car, Slade holding him there by the nape of his neck.

«Are you done…?» Slade asks with the voice he might have used on his unruly kids when they threw fits at bedtime. «There’s nowhere you can get to from here, especially half naked and on foot.»

Dick thinks that he’d rather try his luck than get stuffed into the trunk, but his attempt to take the other off of him doesn’t really lead anywhere, and soon enough he’s back onto the passenger seat with both ankles and wrists cuffed, and his mouth gagged. At least it’s not the trunk. He’s so furious that he spends the next five minutes fuming as he glares at the roof, and when Slade finally pulls over, Dick tries to kick and headbutt him for good measure, not caring about being mildly thrown around for his efforts. Slade bodily drags him into what looks like an isolated cabin and drops him on a dusty couch, on which Dick wiggles upright and starts feeling for something to use to lockpick the cuffs, flexing his wrists into them in the meantime.

«Stop squirming.» Slade says from the background. «I can see you.» He comes back into his field of view and grabs Dick by his hair, fixing him with a glare. «Stop it, boy. I’m going to uncuff you myself, you’ll sprain your wrists if you keep doing that.»

Dick huffs through his nose, just frowning in response since he can’t speak. Slade keeps looking at him, Dick nods, Slade nods back. He takes a key and actually pulls the cuffs off of him, allowing Dick to ungag himself, after which he straightens up and resumes doing whatever he was doing before. Gathering what’s needed to light the fireplace, Dick gauges with a frown.

There’s fire burning soon enough, and just when Dick finally manages to phrase something to say, he gets thrown a blanket.

«I’ll see what I can find for you to wear.» Slade says noncommittally, then takes off his gauntlets and tosses them on a table.

They’re up on a mountain somewhere and the air is already chilly despite it being the middle of the day. Dick saw and felt frost beneath his bare feet before, and there were small patches of snow here and there. «Where… is this?» He asks, and the other replies with a mild shrug, still in the process of taking his armor off. «Where have you brought me?»

«A safehouse of mine.» Slade replies after a few moments, wearing a shirt on his bare chest. «Far enough from anything to be indeed safe.»

And hard to find for anyone, including the world’s greatest detectives, Dick thinks with a frown, but the fact that he isn’t being hurt, and surely he isn’t being killed at the moment, feels kind of confusing. Maybe he’s just being kept prisoner for someone else to come and collect him.

«What’s left of the drug in your system will wear off soon enough.» Slade adds, casting him a glance. «I expect you to behave after that.»

«Slade.» Dick calls after a deep breath, looking the man in the eye. «Why am I here? Why did you take me from my apartment? You know I’m going to try and escape, I might as well start trying right now. I’m not the type to stay put where you leave me. So either you give me a good reason why I should “behave”, or-»

«You heard Drake on your communicator. A hit was put out for Nightwing.» The man cuts him off with a darker tone, crossing arms on his chest.

«…a hit which I assumed you took, given…» Dick pokes an arm out of the blanket to gesture at sort of everything. «…this.»

«Given this,» Slade makes the same gesture. «you can deduce that you’re not only still alive, but all in one piece. I did not take the hit on you. What I took was the time to get you out of that ridiculously unprotected flat to bring you somewhere actually safe.»

«You…» Dick’s eyes go wide and so does his mouth. «You kidnapped me…!»

«Would you have followed me willingly?»

«That’s not a justification! Tim was terrified, they surely came looking for me and found my room in that state, and have no idea where I am, they must think I’ve been abducted or worse, that I was…» He’s been gradually looking down and coiling up as he speaks, and at that point he springs back up again, grabbing a fistful of Slade’s shirt to pull him closer. «And whoever put out that hit for me might retaliate on them, and who gave you the right anyway! I can take care of myself just-»

«Dick. I know.» Slade interrupts, not taking Dick’s hand off of his shirt as he sits on his knee on the cushion next to him. «I know you can. You can take care of yourself just fine, you’re strong and dependable, and every person who’s been around you even just once can tell.» He covers Dick’s clenched fist with his hand at that point, still not pulling it off but mildly hugging it in his palm. «But the fact that you can doesn’t mean you will. You kept fighting and taking hits for days with a gunshot wound in your arm, not giving it a minute to heal, and I know because I’m the one who shot you. You dive headfirst into any kind of danger if it means that the people you care for are safe. I’m not one of the good guys and I’ve always maintained it, but I have a code,» Slade squeezes once more, and Dick lets go of his shirt. The man’s palm travels up to Dick’s cheek, a very light caress tugging black locks behind his ear. «which is more than a lot of other mercenaries and hitmen out there can say about themselves. The amount of money someone proffered for your capture and torture is astronomical, and there’s a number of people who will use whatever means at their disposal to get you where they want you. But if they think someone else already took that hit and disposed of you, they’ll stay put in their lairs. Which is what’s going to happen once the flock of birds and bats goes ballistic over your disappearance.»

Dick blinks slowly, processing both what he’s just heard and the warm, odd presence of a calloused palm now cradling his cheek. It might be because of the remnants of the sedative he was given, but he feels foggy again, not managing to put together anything proper to say.

«Why…?» He ends up blurting out, and frowns again when Slade pulls his hand away, wanting it back and getting angry at himself for it.

«Because no one gets to hurt you but me, little bird.» The man replies with a half smile, withdrawing to stand up. «I’ll go make something to eat. Feel free to join me once you’re stable on your legs, and to be clear, I am not going back on my word. If you make a fuss I have no qualms with drugging you up again, and that’s how it’s gonna be until you calm down.»

That said he walks away, and Dick slowly shakes his head as he watches him go.

***

Dick groans at the umpteenth bump on the road, which makes him bounce on the seat of the car and jostles all his sore muscles. His ears don’t stop ringing, and he just confusedly recalls Tim yelling for him from the communicator, informing him that there was a hit out for Nightwing and Deathstroke had taken it. Dick was having bigger issues at the moment, issues that led to Slade pinning him on Dick’s own bed, using the muzzle of a gun to keep his face pressed into a pillow at the point of cutting his airflow.

“You want to tell Drake something?” He had asked with a darkly amused note while fiddling with the communicator. “Here, let me turn this on for you.”

Dick heard the click, Tim did too and started calling for him in anticipation. But Dick could only yell into the pillow, which he didn’t do to try and not deplete his already scarce supply of oxygen. The following crunch informed him that Slade had to have crushed the device in his fist.

“Who knows, maybe if we wait long enough little Red Robin will join us. What do you say?”

Dick had resumed struggling at that, muscles straining and muted protests dampening the pillowcase, and Slade had snorted in response.

“Relax. You know I don’t fancy the other birds that much.”

A moment later there was a painful prick on his neck, something which felt a lot like a syringe pen, and it had taken a very short time for Dick to go numb.

He’s contused but not badly hurt, he knows that much. He never lost consciousness after getting drugged, just everything had turned foggy and distant, and his body had gotten limp and easy to maneuver. He never got his brains blown up though, which is better than nothing… it probably means that Slade won’t kill him, even if he might have been paid to do it in a certain way, hence the abduction.

At some point Dick gets hauled out of the car and unceremoniously carried across Slade’s shoulder to what he glimpsed being a cabin on some hillside. Everything spins, and by the time he gets a grip on himself, he’s being stripped of the loose t-shirt he was wearing when he got assaulted. Dick grunts, weakly fumbling to try and keep himself covered, but he gets easily held down.

«Easy, boy.» Slade mumbles as if to himself, not minding to rip the shirt in pieces as he gets it off of him. «You’ll have time to squirm soon enough.»

Dick manages to send him a seething, furious glare, hoping that his scalding eyes don’t actually look as teary as they feel. He shouldn’t feel betrayed, he never had any reason to put his trust in Deathstroke of all people, but somehow he had considered himself different in some way. A limit Slade wouldn’t cross. Someone he respected at the very least, and maybe held some degree of fondness for. He clenches his teeth. He’s such a fucking idiot.

Slade doesn’t seem to even notice, busy taking something out of a duffel bag. It’s… clothes? Confusion breaks Dick’s rage, and it only increases when he realizes that the man is unfolding a black and blue suit, which seems to be a replica of the Nightwing attire. No, Dick realizes, this is his suit, he would recognize it anywhere… Slade must have taken it from his flat before. His stupor persists when Slade grabs him by the scruff and starts putting the suit on him, more or less like Dick was an overgrown doll, and he squirms and smacks his hands away as soon as he manages to gather himself.

«I can dress myself.» He hisses, cheeks burning with humiliation.

«Knock yourself out.» The man replies, unfazed. He sits back on the couch and crosses arms on his chest, apparently contenting himself with staring while Dick fumbles with the suit, hardly responding muscles struggling to work with him.

«What the fuck is this, Slade.» He asks after a few minutes of toiling, made even more uncomfortable under the man’s searching stare. Slade isn’t doing much to hide the fact that he’s seizing him up, and Dick feels like he’s being appraised.

«You heard Drake.» The other replies in an almost casual tone. «I took a contract on you. On Nightwing, to be precise. Here, put this on too.»

He’s handing Dick his domino mask and he forces his shaky arm to take it, but hesitates upon wearing it, feeling like he’s walking himself into a lion’s den. «Are you going to kill me?» He wonders out loud, and Slade shakes his head.

«You might have noticed at this point that I don’t want you dead.»

«You’re gonna sell me, then.» Dick tries to force himself up from the slumped position on the couch, to try and at least have a dignified conversation. «I’m here because someone else will collect me.»

«Wrong again.» Slade leans in and Dick reflexively retreats into the back cushion, but he has nowhere to go and is basically powerless to prevent the other from taking back the domino mask, and fitting it on his face. «I might have told you once or twice, little bird.» He adds, making sure the mask is adjusted properly, his touch lingering on Dick’s cheekbones. He shakes his head and gets his chin firmly gripped by the man’s fingers. «No one gets to hurt you but me. What we’ll do is spend a few days together, you and I, during which I will fulfill my contract… we might as well start right now, since we’re here.»

He touches his free hand to the eyepatch he always wears, and something on it glimmers. Dick blinks in confusion, realizing the presence of a small camera mounted there.

«I’ll cut and polish the footage once I’m done.» Slade adds in a half voice, as if thinking out loud. «No one will “collect you”.» He smiles at Dick’s horrified stare, gripping his chin more firmly and twisting his head up, so that his neck gets exposed. «The terms are for Nightwing to be put in his place, by any means necessary, and give him a lesson he will remember for the rest of his vigilante career.»

Dick swallows thickly, the knot around his throat growing tighter. He doesn’t really fight it when Slade pushes him flat down on the couch, just turns his head to a side with a small grunt to avoid breathing directly from the dusty cushion.

«No quips?» Slade asks, a hand idly rubbing fingers through the hair on his nape. There’s a clicking noise, like that of a switchblade, and then a pull; Dick reckons that he’s been given his suit to wear only for it to get cut open, apparently to put on a show for the video. «I expected some more fuss, little bird.»

«What’s the point.» Dick replies through gritted teeth, not managing to avoid tensing up at the feeling of his back getting uncovered again. The mountain air is chilly and his skin ripples in goosebumps, even more when Slade’s palm travels over it, running down his spine. «Just… just get this over with.»

He can’t believe himself. He’s scared because of course he is, but he’s been hurt before and by people who planned to beat the life out of him, he knows what to expect. That’s not the reason why he’s shaking all over, and also not the reason why when he gets flipped again, lying face up on the couch now, he feels tears past the mask and on his temples. He grits his teeth and wipes them on his shoulders, and at that point it registers with him that he’s not in pain, the switchblade never touched his skin.

He truly can’t believe himself, and how utterly double-crossed he feels. Why was he ever considering himself some sort of special for Deathstroke of all people…? Was he considering himself special, in fact? He must have, otherwise he wouldn’t be reacting like his heart had just been gutted out and stepped on. He had been telling himself that for the right amount of money, Slade would have had his head on a silver platter to give to the highest bidder. But he had also hoped it wasn’t true, and that Slade actually cared, if just a little.

«Crying already?» Slade’s still gloved knuckles wipe at his face and Dick jerks his head away. He ends up staring at the empty fireplace, jaw locked as he tries to get a grip of himself. «I haven’t even started, little bird.»

«Apparently I decided to make it easy on you.» He says in a low voice, appreciating the fact that at least it doesn’t sound vulnerable, just bitter. «Fair warning though. I don’t cry while people are torturing me. You better enjoy the show while it lasts.»

Slade hums, and the touch on Dick’s cheek comes back. It’s gentle, why on earth is he being touched so gently. It’s unfair, and Dick feels more tears well up, hoping to be able to swallow them this time.

«I’m not going to torture you.» Slade says after a moment. Dick frowns, still looking at nothing. «I’m not going to hurt you at all, kid.» He adds, making Dick’s face twist into a grimace as he whips his head towards him.

«You just said…!»

«I said,» Slade helps him sit up, smothering locks of black hair behind his head. «That I will give you a lesson that you’ll remember for your whole vigilante career. I do not need to cause you any pain for that to happen.»

The fact that Slade leans in for a kiss adds to Dick’s confusion, enough that he doesn’t process either to pull away or bite, or anything like that. His head gets tilted by a palm cradling his nape and he makes a surprised sound, Slade’s thumb gently pressing above his chin to get him to spread his lips more. And when it stops Dick is out of breath, eyes wide, cheeks burning and his thoughts tailspinning.

«I also plan to make you cry a lot more.» Slade adds with a half smile. «You just make sure you keep your mask on the whole time. I don’t want my esteemed contractor to see your pretty blue eyes.»

Dick is pressed into another kiss before he can blurt out anything in response. He’s not getting tortured. He’s getting raped though, or so it seems…? He isn’t sure anymore of what the hell is even happening, but when a palm cups his crotch from above the suit, he does feel a hot flash going through his waist, and the noise that gets muffled into the kiss startles him.

He doesn’t want this, and he doesn’t want to get filmed while this happens, most of all. But maybe he had been in the right to consider himself some sort of special in Deathstroke’s book, because he’s pretty sure this doesn’t normally happen to people when Slade takes up a contract on them.

#my fanfiction #bad things happen bingo #improvised weapon #sladick #sladick dark/fluff challenge #thank you sproutwings

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imma-potatoo · 4 years

Note

For the bthb, may I request Logan and U!Patton with Thrown Down The Stairs? Maybe with some Remus or Janus comfort later? Idk, I just like your writing style and am crazy for Logan angst.

@badthingshappenbingo

Send me a prompt with a character! Please specify ships! No romantic prinxeity, r*mr*m or U!Janus and U!Logan please!

You wanted Logan angst? You got Logan angst~

Prompt: thrown down the stairs.

Warnings: U!Patton, blood, gore, choking, scratching at throat, concussion, thrown down stairs, pinning, graphic abuse, punching, slapping, ask to tag

(I'm really sorry this took so long. Wifi problems and family shit)

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Love

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Logan walked out of his room, humming a small song (Crofters the Musical, but that was only for him to know) dress shoes clicking softly on the wooden floors while he skimmed over the book in his hands. The mindscape was just as bustling as usual, he could hear Janus lecturing Remus in the darker half of the mind about how stealing Roman’s sword and turning it into a dagger was inappropriate and that he’ll have to make Roman a new one. Roman himself was sulking in his room playing Burn from Hamilton on loop because “Remus is dead to me like Hamilton was dead to Eliza”…. Logan didn’t get it. Virgil’s music was turned on max; like always but this time he was trying to drown out Roman’s complaints with My Chemical Romance. Patton was most likely baking in the kitchen once again.

Logan flipped open to the page he left off on; he had just started this book so he wasn’t too far in. He couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face as he started to read,

The person who was supposed to love me the hardest-the most unconditionally-has always wanted me gone. No matter how hard I tried to be perfect. Now, this boy-who knows all my imperfections and has seen all my hurt laid bare-wants me to sta- Logan’s reading was interrupted by a door clicking open.

Logan looked up to see Patton closing his bedroom door. An ear to ear grin plastered on his face, it was a little too much teeth for his comfort. Patton locked eyes with the blue side, “Hiya kiddo!”

Logan slipped his bookmark back into the thin pages, “Greetings Patton.” Logan waited for a second or two for Patton to walk beside him; after all, when someone comes out of their door, you have to wait for the other to join you on your walk.

And Patton did, they started towards the staircase; Logan tracing the book pages with his fingers. “So! Where ya headed kiddo?!” Logan had always thought Patton was a little too cheery for his tastes, but that was just the father’s personality, he couldn’t change that.

“I’m headed to the imagination to read,” for a brief second, Logan forgot who I was talking to, “It's actually quite an interesting book! The Dangerous Art of Blending In is considered a must-read for pride month and is based on the author's true story,” Logan continued to talk; eyes twinkling with excitement and pure joy as he went on to explain the main character’s arc so far.

The blue side steeled his expression to his happy grin, “That sounds interesting kiddo! Can I see it?”

Logan grew stiff, but continued walking with Patton until they made it to the top of the stairs, Logan shifted his eyes downward and handed the book to Patton. Morality swiped the book straight out of Logan’s hands, he pulled it open to a random page and started to read. Logan watched in horror as the older side’s expression shifted from mild curiosity to confusion, to disgust, and finally to anger.

“Why are you reading these horrible things, Logan?” Patton’s smile was gone, eyes cold and disapproving as he stared into Logan’s eyes. “This is something Remus would read. Why. Are. You. Reading. It.” Patton stood tall, teeth formed into a sneer as he stepped closer.

Logan took a small step backward, “I-I-”

“Shut up.” Logan hit the wall when Patton hissed through his teeth, “Come on Lo-Lo! If you read stuff like this, you’re just as bad as Remus and Janus! You don’t want to be like them, do you?” Patton was inches away from Logan’s face. His breath hot on his skin, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

Logan gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. “W-well, I thought that Even and Henry’s story was a sweet story about overcoming hardships, even when you’re put in a bad si-” The stinging pain of Patton’s hand hitting his face stopped him in his tracks. Tears leaked down as Logan raised his hand to his cheek.

Logan looked at Patton with wide eyes, “y-yo-” The blunt end of a punch struck his face, Logan could only stand in shock as he felt his lip start to leak crimson, “Patton stop!”

The so-called father pushed his hand against Logan’s neck, keeping him in place even while Logan clawed at his hand and own throat, attempting to pry Patton off. His nails dug into his flesh, small warm droplets of blood pricking out of the skin as Patton tightened his hold.

“You, Lo-Lo-Bear, need to learn when to shut up~” Logan was sure that his neck was going to be bruised, all he could do was wheeze a suffocated breath in response. Patton applied his sugar-sweet smile once more, looking into Logan’s eyes with a twisted fascination.

Logan attempted to speak, he knew that he couldn’t. But words were his weapon. Without his voice he was helpless, and he refused to give in to the father figure’s torment. Patton had always been particularly touchy, touching them when it wasn’t necessary. Hands grazing over their shoulders or swiping things from their hand to look it over. Patton had also always been particularly violent. Pushing them against walls over little things and whispering threats. It didn’t make these situations any less terrifying though. And this was the first time Patton had taken it this far.

Logan’s hands were covered in blood. His blood. Gore covered his fingers and Patton’s hand, a few small beads hitting the floor; as well as Patton’s cartoon-themed sneakers. Long thin scratches ran up and down his neck, his nails had thick pieces of skin underneath the nails.

Patton raised an eyebrow at the side’s attempt to pry him off, he huffed a breath and let go of Logan’s neck.

Logic fell against the wall, hands immediately wrapping around the sluggish bleeding at his neck, Logan breathed in short ragged breaths eyes wide and staring at the floor. Breathing in the sweet addiction of oxygen.

Patton smiled, eyes skewed shut while the side on the floor held himself tightly. “There! Didn’t you learn your lesson kiddo?” Patton waited a second or two for Logan to respond, his breathing calm and steady as he swirled the crimson liquid on his hand. “Right kiddo?” Patton bore his cold eyes onto the crumbled side, he barely waited a second before seizing Logan’s wrist and pulling him to his feet.

The cyan side held Logan by his tie, right in front of the staircase. Logan could barely process anything before the side in front of him smiled, locking his eyes. And then, he let go and pushed Logan down the steps.

Logan fell, hitting almost every stair on his way down. He could feel his blood vessels burst as his arms scraped on the wooden railing, splinters indenting into his flesh. His head spun when it hit the stairs, glasses flying off. Logan could barely tell what was happening to him as he hit his head repeatedly, he knew that he heard a crunch from his left arm and right leg when he hit the bottom landing.

Logan laid on his face, breathing hard and rapidly. His mind was fogged over, no coherent thought could pass through as the ringing sound that suddenly plagued his mind filled his senses. He couldn’t hear his father figure climb down the steps, taking care to step over the blood spatters that covered them.

Patton poked Logan in the ribs with his shoe, giggling when the side groaned in pain. “You really should be more careful kiddo! Stairs can be pretty dangerous you know!” The cyan side took one last look at his victim before pulling Logan’s book from his pocket.

Patton opened the book to its center point, before grabbing each side of the novel and ripping it in half. Pages floated down like butterfly wings, gracefully falling as they surrounded the broken side in bitter mockery of the book. Patton threw what was remaining of the book onto Logan, his demeanor just as peppy and upbeat as ever, even while covered in another’s blood.

“You really need to be more careful with your possessions, Logic, such a tragedy, you know I love a good book.” Patton walked back up the staircase to his bedroom, while Welcome to the Black Parade blasted from Virgil’s speakers, Logan barely responded to the father figments door slamming.

Logan had no idea of how long he let his blood stain the carpet, but his mind grew even fuzzier as the room grew black. He allowed the sweet bliss of sleep to cloud his function telling him to stay awake. He closed his eyes, only to have someone shake him.

“-GAN! LOGAN WAKE UP!” The panicked voice of the deceitful side flooded his head, he tried to force his eyes open; muscles spasming. “There we go! Come on starlight! Stay awake! Remus is coming back with the medkit! Just stay with me!” Logan followed his voice, the smoothness and composed attitude of the yellow side was gone. Logan hated seeing the silver-tongued side like that.

“I-I see you have a copy of The Dangerous Art of Blending In! It’s such a good book right! I l-ove how the author wrote Henry! Don’t you? Come on Logan, stay awake!” Logan looked into the terrified side’s eyes. The enchanting yellow and brown eyes kept his focus even if they were clouded in fear, he wondered why he never noticed the flecks of green surrounding the slivered pupil before.

“I GOT THE MEDKIT!” The horse voice of Remus broke his concentration on the pretty eyes, why did everyone call Janus a monster anyway? Was it the scales? Logan could only wonder as the two dark sides hastily applied the first aid. Voices scared and rushed as they faded into the background, Logan could only focus on how Remus’ mustache was perfectly curled into its position, even when it was soaked in tears. Tears? Why were they crying? Patton said that they were monsters, and monsters don’t cry. Then again, monsters don’t help people either…

Logan watched the two sides dig into the kit as fast as they could. Janus even removed his gloves.

Logan gazed at them tiredly, mouth lightly sagged open, “There we go! I think we can move him now Jan!” “Good! Let’s get him out of here before Patton comes back, I think he did this…”

Logan could feel his body raising to meet the ruffles of Remus’ tunic. The small teeth that embellished the ends of the fasteners rubbed against his shoulder. He didn’t have the energy to make any noise as the two sides took him back to their side.

He doubted he would ever return to the picture-perfect family he once belonged to ever again. He had his actual family, ready to help him through everything.

Janus bought him a new copy of his book too.

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Drop: Chris (BTHB: Wrapped in Blankets)

Prompt fill for @badthingshappenbingo : Bundled Up in Blankets, requested by @scorpiowhump for Chris.

CW: Trauma recovery, referenced pet whump and institutionalized/legal slavery. Referenced negative/self-injury stimming including head banging.

Direct sequel to This Isn’t Hypothetical for Chris.

“I, I’ll just drop the class. That’s, that’s, that-that’s what I’ll do, just drop the, um, the the class, Jake, is all-”

“Bullshit. Making you drop a class because you were right is fucking bullshit.” Laken sits back, frowning, and Chris’s eyes skip to the side, away from the sparking, crackling fury there. Their fingertips brush over the bandage they’ve applied to the side of Chris’s forehead, and he winces at the sting. “Sorry. You were hitting your head again, weren’t you?”

Chris lets his eyes roll up towards the ceiling, chin tipping with the motion, and he doesn’t answer the question. He only pulls the pale blue weighted blanket that Laken gave him for his birthday around himself tightly. With its heavy soft warmth, he feels less like he’ll float away, or crack apart into a thousand puzzle pieces.

“Chris,” Laken says, soft but insistent, taking his hands in theirs, holding his long, cold fingers in their warmer, smaller hands. “You can’t keep doing that. You’ve been banging your head all week since it happened. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Chris’s fingers twitch in their grip, but he doesn’t answer them. He can’t, can’t think of how to explain the noise inside his head, the jangling off-key sound of his thoughts, the way every bit of light overwhelms him, all the sounds of people shouting and laughing and talking and not being like him makes it build and build until there’s nowhere else for it to go.

There are dark places, quiet places, but he can’t be in them all the time, and the cold light inside of Chris needs somewhere to go.

“Al, already did,” He finally says, with a slight smile. “That’s why the, the the-the bandage, right?” They don’t return the expression, only shake their head, a bit of thick wavy black hair falling over one of their eyes, and rub at his shoulders and arms through the blanket.

He reaches up, lets his fingers run over the short undercut they wear along the side of their head, the way it feels soft like fur under his fingertips, rougher when he runs back the wrong way. He hums, and Laken only watches him, worry in their eyes. It’s familiar, reminds him of someone, but he can’t think of who.

Baby, you’ll get a concussion that way, we have to redirect, okay?

Who told him that? Who taught him to redirect? Do they know he keeps forgetting and has to learn it all over again? Would they be disappointed in them, if they knew?

Something tells him it doesn’t work that way, not with the shadowy memory-voice he hears sometimes, whoever it was had the brush of hair over his cheek, whoever held him when he couldn’t stop screaming.

“You’re past the drop date for this class,” Jake says heavily. He’s sitting on the couch, leaning over the paperwork Chris brought back from his meeting with the grad student and the professor officially overseeing the class. The grad student’s written summary doesn’t match what Chris said, but even more than that, it doesn’t match Chris. Chris doesn’t have violent outbursts, and he certainly doesn’t have violent outbursts without provocation. Chris isn’t someone who starts yelling over nothing, he’s just… not the person they’re saying he is, at all. It’s a piece of creative writing masquerading as an incident report. “If you drop now, you fail, full stop. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, your GPA will take a hit-”

“I don’t, don’t, don’t-don’t-don’t care.” Chris shakes his head, just to feel his hair move against his skin. “I… I have to, to drop, anyway. He… he said, he, um-”

“What?” Laken leans forward, until their forehead just touches Chris’s, careful to avoid the injured spot, the sensitive bruised skin under the adhesive pull of the bandage. “What did he say, Chris?”

“I said us,” Chris whispers. “When I talked about, about… pets. Instead of them. He knows.”

There’s a silence that draws out, in the living room. The sound of Jake shuffling papers around, and of Laken’s calm, steady breathing. “There’s nothing in here about that,” Jake says in a low voice. “I didn’t see-... I’ve read this stupid fucking essay that asshole wrote like three times-”

“He didn’t write it, it down.” Chris tightens his grip around Laken’s fingers, but his own aren’t warming up to match theirs. “He told me after the, the professor left that he heard it. Which means-”

“He could report you.” Jake sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. Chris feels suddenly very, very small. “Per-fucking-fect. Did he say what he intends to do with this information?”

Chris swallows. “Nothing.”

Laken and Jake exchange a look that Chris can’t read, he’s not good at reading the looks where people have whole conversations without actually saying anything. He looks up between them, one to the other, wondering what they are saying about him without speaking.

“So… if he’s not going to do anything-”

“He won’t say anything to, to, to anyone,” Chris says, softly, “as long as… as I drop the class.”

There’s a beat of quiet again, and another conversation held in silence that Chris can’t follow, only feel its weight, and then Jake clears his throat. “Chris, did he really-”

“Yeah. He really.” Chris shakes his head, pulling away from Laken’s grip, sitting back in the armchair. His right hand traces over the sleeve of his compression shirt on his left, and he taps against the back of his hand. He has no tears left. “He doesn’t want to… to get charged with, with corrupting influence if, if, if-if I get picked up. He said he, he doesn’t… doesn’t want to, to, to-to teach… pets.”

“This is bullshit,” Laken says again. “You’re not a fucking pet anymore. They can’t-”

“Take the fail,” Jake interrupts, and Laken spins in their chair to look at him, but Jake is staring down at the papers. “It’s fine. You can take an extra class later to fix a little of what it’s going to do to your grades. Just take the fail.”

“Jake, you’re not fucking serious-”

“Yeah, Laken, I am.” Jake’s anger is usually worn openly, but now it’s tightly coiled inside of him. Chris can feel it underneath the air in the room. Once upon a time, every hint of safety he could hope for was based on how well he could read the anger in the handlers or his Sir before it came down on his head. Most of it is gone, but… but in these moments, his skin prickles, the hair on the back of his neck wants to stand up.

Danger. Run. Danger. Hide. Danger. Be still. Danger. Be good.

“This asshole can’t force Chris to-”

“That asshole can call Chris in, report him, report us. They charge people like me, and they charge people who know and don’t report, like him. I get it. I get it, but I fucking hate it.” Jake sits very still, and then he’s up and off the couch and Chris flinches instinctively back as Jake balls up the paper with the grad student’s report on it and throws it violently at the wall. “Fuck!”

The little ball of paper bounces harmlessly off and hits the floor.

“That is singularly un-fucking-satisfying,” Jake says, staring at it. Laken and Chris only stare at him, Laken with the same anger in their eyes that Jake feels, and Chris with an old, barely-concealed fear.

There’s a beat of silence before Jake speaks again. His voice is back to calm, but there’s an edge to it that gives him away, no matter how even-keeled he is trying to keep himself.

“If those are his terms, we take it. We can’t risk safety to prove a point, to be right. Understand? It… it sucks, and I’d give my right fucking arm for ten minutes alone with that dick with no consequences, but… but this is still an out. He’s still giving us a way he won’t report. If he’s giving me a way to keep Chris and my rescues safe, I have to take it.”

“But… that’s-”

“Bullshit?” Jake twists a wry smile. “You bet your ass it is. But that’s-... that’s lib life, isn’t it? Just wading through waist-deep bullshit trying to give people the life they deserved after their real lives were fucking stolen, and the whole time I’m building up the fucking fort, these assholes - from dickbrain grad students right up to the goddamn Senate - are taking bricks out from the bottom hoping it’ll collapse and I can’t-... I can’t risk it, just to fight this, Laken. I have to think about everyone, not just Chris, but also… I have to think about Chris. Winning this battle could cost him. I want to - I want to fight this - but if we do…”

“That dumbass gets Chris in trouble,” Laken says, and groans. “Which means cops, and jail, and worse. Christ, Jake, do you think he just doesn’t want Chris in his class and this is a way to make it happen so nobody will fight it?”

Jake takes in a breath, lets it out. “Maybe. His worry could be legitimate, though.”

“Or he could just not want to face how fucked up this is,” Laken points out. “But he’s got us fucked both ways from Sunday for sure. We’re boxed in, no matter what we do.”

“Don’t say, say box,” Chris whispers, a shudder racing through him.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Jake paces, walking from one end of the living room to the other and back again. On TV, a cartoon about a spy is playing, but none of them is paying any attention to it. It’s just background noise to the conversation none of them wants to be having. “He could report Chris anyway, honestly. He doesn’t have to keep this promise. And if he does-”

“WRU will, will, will take me back,” Chris says, pulling his blanket as close as he can as though he could hide within it, and the tremble in his voice catches Laken and Jake’s attention again. The two turn to look at him, and Laken leans back forward, hands on either side of his face. Their hands, pale palms with warm brown skin, nails painted thick matte black, are warm and dry, and Chris lifts his own to cover them, closing his eyes.

“They won’t,” Laken says, with fierce and total conviction. “They won’t. Never, ever. Now that I know, I’d-... Chris, I’d never let them. I have… my family knows people, we could get you somewhere else.” They lean forward, and he feels the warmth of them just before their lips touch his, and he answers the kiss. The throb of fear and anger inside him fades, a little, under the strength of their need to be here for him, even when he is difficult, even when he can’t stop hurting himself, even when he says us instead of them.

“I can’t believe he would rather turn Chris in than teach him,” Laken says, after a second’s pause. “I thought-... you know, the grad students aren’t that much older than we are, and people don’t think about it the way they used to. I just… I just thought-”

“I know. I used to think that, too. But.” Jake sighs, and moves to pick up the little crumpled ball of paper. “Maybe lighting this on fire would make me feel better?”

“Doubt it.” Laken pulls Chris’s head against their shoulder, the denim of their black jean jacket scratchy but still soft with wear and age, and he hums, rocking into them lightly, as their arms slide up and around behind his neck to hold him. “You’re okay, Chris. One failed class is nothing. We’ll figure it out. We’ll figure this out.”

“Maybe I should, should, should drop out. Give up on, um, on college.”

“Absolutely not,” Laken says, at the same time Jake says, “No fucking way.”

“You’ve worked too hard for this,” Jake says after a pause. “You spent years working to relearn how to read so you could start studying for your GED and get a good score, you were so excited for this. This is just one bump in the road, this isn’t a dead end, I swear. We’re not giving up, Chris.”

“But-”

“We’ll tell him you’ll drop the class. He’ll keep it quiet, and you can go right back to normal. Nobody has to know but us.” Laken’s voice is low, and Chris wants to trust them, wants to believe.

“We’ll figure it out. One failed class won’t wreck you, Chris.”

Jake sits on the arm of the chair Chris is in, and slides an arm around his shoulders behind him, over the blanket. Laken is warm in front of him and Jake is warm beside him, and Chris hums again, but lower-pitched this time. The two of them are the soft, soothing darkness that holds back the white light.

“I just-” Chris lets the words die in his throat, and taps on his own stomach while Laken and Jake hold him, tears hot behind his eyelids that he refuses to let escape. He’s so tired of crying, he’s so tired of it being hard, he’s so tired of something unsettling his world every time he thinks there won’t be any more earthquakes.

Brick by brick, Chris is building a life - and the time he spent on his knees and on his back comes back to haunt him, whenever he lets himself relax. Whenever he feels safe. Whenever he thinks it won’t haunt him any longer.

“We’re not giving up on you,” Laken murmurs. “Don’t you give up now, either.”

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump, @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth, @cubeswhump

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just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi · 4 years

Note

You don't have to do this, but what if you wrote the scene where Brody was Dylan's stress reliever? >:) Like I said, just a suggestion.

[Why, of course, Anon! I am nothing if not a sucker for following prompts sent to me. No editing - we die as MEN. Also: i’m using this as my first BTHB fill! - lifted by neck @badthingshappenbingo]

CW: violent beating, violent/angry whumper, pet whump, collar mention, blood mention, injury, swearing, ....Dylan...

[Masterlist]

Brody heard keys jingling the door and he rounded the corner excitedly. Samuel had gotten home early! He had finished his tasks hours ago, and he had just been sitting in the laundry room. He didn’t have anything to do in there, but it was as good a place to sit and wait as anywhere else.

And the fabric softener smelled nice.

His face was bright and hopeful, but it fell quickly. Very quickly.

Dylan was here, furious and striding towards him.

“O-oh, hello. Do, do you want a-“ Dylan grabbed Brody’s hair, yanking his head down into his knee as he raised it. He felt something deep inside his face crack before he felt the flood of pain, before he registered the sound he heard as coming from himself. Dylan grabbed the back of his shirt and threw him against the wall, knocking a picture frame off the wall. He knocked into it with a cry and crumpled to the ground, disoriented and head throbbing in pain.

“Fucking shitbag Chase, acting like he owns the place,” Dylan shouted as he dug kick after kick into Brody’s ribs with his heavy work boots. He tried to curl up, to protect himself, but the blows didn’t stop. They knocked the breath out of his lungs, and he nearly choked on blood as he tried to gasp for breath.

“You know I’ve been with the company longer than you have, right?! Just because you were hot stuff at your old placement doesn’t mean that you can come in here and boss me around!” He gave one last kick, and Brody felt another snap inside him. He cried out, voice grating.

It was the wrong move.

“Oh, you don’t like that?” Dylan growled, crouching over. If a flash of pure adrenaline, Brody scrambled back and away, down the hall towards the kitchen. Dylan’s face twisted with rage, overcoming the boy in just a few steps.

“Oh no you don’t. You know better than to run away from me. Or least, if you didn’t before, you’ll know now.”

Brody cowered away, raising his hands to try and defend his already bleeding and bruised face. Dylan picked up his foot and stomped it into the middle of Brody’s chest. Brody’s body curled up around it from the force, knocking the newly found breath out of his lungs again and squeezing a weak cry from him.

Dylan lifted his foot only to reach down and grab Brody by his shirt collar. He was so disoriented, so overwhelmed with pain, that he couldn’t even keep his head up. It lulled back, bell on his collar making a small tinkling sound.

The noise enraged Dylan even further.

“God, I hate that stupid fucking bell. Sam probably bought it just to mess with me,” he growled shoving Brody back down with a thud.

“P-ple-ase,” Brody whimpered, unable to think of what he was even pleading for anymore. For it to stop? For Dylan to knock him unconscious? For Samuel to come home?

Wordlessly, Dylan unbuckled Brody’s collar. One hand grabbed Brody’s jaw, the other twisted back into the boy’s hair. With one furious motion, he wrenched Brody’s jaw open and shoved the bell so far into the boy’s mouth he gagged on it.

“Shut. Up! Sam loves to go on and on about how he got a pet that was ‘pre-trained’ for him, but I think you’re fucking shit at it,” he spit at he buckled the leather collar around his head like a gag.

None of the words that been hurled at him hurt so far, but those sunk deep. He was trying. He was trying his hardest. Tears already ran down his face, but Brody could feel a strange sense of shame burn underneath them. Not shame at being someone else’s stress relief toy, not the shame of having his own collar used as a gag, but shame in that he wasn’t a very good pet.

Dylan’s hand wrapped around his throat and pulled, lifting him up in the air. His hands few to Dylan’s wrist, instinct and panic taking over. His socked feet scrambled to find the tile of the kitchen, but it was centimetres away.

Centimetres too far.

He scratched and dug at Dylan’s hands as the corners of his vision started to go dark. Dylan squeezed, cutting off his airflow even further. He didn’t hold him for long, however, slamming his back into the wall again. He raised Brody a little higher just to drop him.

“You know you’re a spoiled brat, right? God, he’s so soft on you and you really don’t deserve it. If you were mine, I don’t think you could make it twenty minutes between punishments. People wouldn’t even know what you looked like you’d be so black and blue.”

Brody lay in a pile of limbs on the floor. The world around him was spinning, and he couldn’t tell if he was too. The pain in his head was sharp and throbbing in unison with the pain in his chest and neck. He could feel a stab in his lungs when he breathed, and his entire torso felt like it was bruised. He didn’t even realize that Dylan had walked away until he came back.

He had grabbed the first thing that he could find; an extension cord from Samuel’s office. He snapped it across Brody’s face once like a whip, leaving a thin welt across his cheek and splitting his lip. Brody tried to raise a hand to deflect another lash, but he could barely move his arms, let alone defend himself.

Dylan grabbed his wrist and then the other, yanking him up into a sitting position. He wrapped the cord around tightly, Brody’s fingers already feeling hot and swollen. Brody had had his wrists tied before, cuffs, rope, zip-ties, and even one of his old Master’s ties once, but the cord was the tightest out of all of them.

A high-pitched ringing drowned out everything else after Dylan slammed his head back down into the floor. His eyes felt so, so heavy and his vision was blurry. He turned his head as if he was underwater, just in time to see the boot coming towards his face.

He passed out, but Dylan didn’t care.

He didn’t need the pet to be awake to be stress relief.

@poisonedbymagic @sola-whumping @haro-whumps @deluxewhump @whumpzone @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @simplygrimly @whumpsy-daisies @whumptywhumpdump @crystals-whump-sideblog @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @pineapple-heartache @whumpiestofthemall @whump-story-prompts @whump-it @leavemeinpeaceplz @much-ado-about-whumping @throughthedoomdays @ohmywhump @liliability @newbornwhumperfly @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @lave-e @thatsthewhump

[pls let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist, or would prefer to only be tagged in official chapters]

Eye = Hilton Sun Glasses = Mark Davies Paw print = Brody

Let me know if there is anything you want to see with any character! (link to other full cast of ocs)

#pet whump #violent whumper #brody #whump #beating tw #swearing tw #bthb #dylan has a lot of issues #thanks anon!#brody says thanks too #but I think he's being sarcastic #hard to tell

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simana-x · 3 years

Text

Oh yeah, and this is the information page for the BTHB if you’re interested in taking part!

BTHB About Page

Guidelines + Rules

(home ask)

What is this? — Getting Started — How It Works — The Rules — FAQ —

What is this?

This is your motivation to write that fic. Always fun to take prompts when they’re in the form of games you remember from elementary school birthday parties.

You may have seen some bingo cards floating around in the fanfic community. People make a card featuring 24 prompts, and other people will submit a request for one of these prompts to be filled, as well as choosing which character(s) will prominently feature, and occasionally other details as well, depending on the cardholder’s preference. The cardholder then writes the fic and marks it off on the card.

Sounds fun, right? Right.

We all know that some of us are here to get DARK. So, why not make a bingo game focusing on Bad Things?

At this page you will find a list of tropes and scenarios. Currently, there are over four hundred listed. Most are whump-focused, some are more angst, and a few are centered around the ‘comfort’ part of hurt/comfort. Some are fairly general, some are very specific. Some are fairly lighthearted, and some take you right into the heart of Sadism Land.

These are the fics we’ll be writing.

Getting Started

Once you’ve finished reading the rules and FAQ, click on the ‘request a card’ link on the home page or here. This will take you to an application. Let us know the tumblr url you want us to send the card to, and if you want, what fandoms you intend to write for.

Next, you pick your tropes. We’ve got a lot of them, and of course, not everyone would be interested in writing for all of them. Some tropes may not work in the setting you want to write for, some may be difficult to get inspiration for, some may be too dark for you or not dark enough. Go ahead and check off the box next to every trope that you ARE okay with having on your card. You must choose at least 25, so every space on the card has a prompt. (There is no free space; freedom is an illusion.)

There will be a couple of additional questions at the end of the application, then, just submit! Make sure you have your submission box open on your tumblr, with the option to submit a photo, so that we can send you your bingo card. If your submission box is not open, you will not receive a card.

How It Works

When you receive your bingo card, you can start writing! You can write at your own pace and in your own time frame. Go ahead and post your bingo card if you’re making the fics available to your followers, and don’t forget to keep track of which spaces you’ve completed! Doesn’t have to be anything fancy; you can use anything from Photoshop to MS Paint to a text post with strikethroughs to track your progress.

For fic bingos, many people like to take prompts from their followers. Someone will send an ask requesting one of the tropes from your card and a character(s) for the fic to focus on. If you’d like, you can also let your followers prompt other details such as which character you want to have hurt and which one should be the comforter, whether it should be romantic or platonic, an AU to set it in, anything at all. Sky’s the limit. However, prompts are not required; you can select which combinations of tropes and characters you want to write and in what order you want to write them on your own.

Once you’ve written a fic, post it! If in your application you gave us permission to reblog your work, we’ll put it right here on this blog to share with other players and readers. Be sure to tag it with #badthingshappenbingo, or @ us in the post, to ensure we see it. Additionally, please tag the trope featured in the fic, and the fandom you wrote it for.

If you cross-post the fic on AO3, we have a badthingshappenbingo collection, which you can find here! Feel free to add your fic to the collection!

Once you’ve completed five squares in a row horizontally, vertically, or diagonally, you will be added to the Hall of Fame! But don’t feel like you have to stop once you’ve gotten a Bingo; the Hall of Fame will also give special prominence to those of you who get a Blackout - that is, completing every space on your card!

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FAQ

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A: Forever and ever, I guess. There is no time limit for completing your fics.

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A: Anywhere from several hours to one week. It depends entirely on how busy the mods are, how frequently applications are coming in, and how long the waiting list is. All of these factors fluctuate wildly from day to day.

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A: You can write for any fandom you’d like. This even includes original work, which we like to view as one-person fandoms. The only exception is that we do not allow RPF (real person fic) content. Let’s stick to hurting FICTIONAL people.

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justheretobreakthings · 4 years

Text

Okay, we’re starting off Bad Things Happen Bingo with a bit of a throwback to the Voltron Bingo event from back in 2018. Way back then, I got a request from @familyofpaladins for my ‘Taking the Fall for Someone’ square, for Keith taking the fall for Hunk, and then the bingo ended and the prompt has just been sitting there for an eternity. But now, my BTHB card has just the square for me to finally get this prompt filled. Hope it was worth the very, very long wait!

Got Your Back

Written for @badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Taking the Blame Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Word Count: 13,198 Characters: Hunk & Keith Read on AO3

Summary:

While defending the planet of Crelxatain from attacking drones, Hunk causes what he believes to be some minor collateral damage, but what turns out to be much, much worse. And when the Crelxats needed something to blame, Keith steps in to take the fall.

I don’t even drink coffee.

It was fortunate that Hunk had gotten better with flying during the battles and flight practices he’d been through with Yellow. It might have been the Lions’ magic helping to keep their pilots stable, or the more mundane gyroscopic design of the cockpit helping with his equilibrium. Or, of course, it might just be a matter of him getting used to it. Whatever the case, he had come a long way since his Garrison days, when even a fifteen-minute run in a simulator would be more enough to empty the contents of his stomach.

It was fortunate, because if he hadn’t gotten better about keeping the nausea at bay, his cockpit would be a revolting mess right about now.

He and Keith had only been tasked with coming here to Crelxatain to negotiate for supplies, its geography home to mineral ore that Coran assured them could be top-grade fuel when Altean alchemy was in use, but just as they had approached the planet’s atmosphere, Yellow and Red both picked up a distress signal from the same city they were nearing. It seemed they had coincidentally arrived just in time for an air strike on the city from a nearby Empire ally, and the Crelxat had little in terms of defensive weaponry. So of course, that duty landed on the paladins.

If Yellow’s failed attempts to detect life in any of the little attacking cruisers was correct, they were only dealing with drones, not manned vehicles, but the maneuverability of the drones was downright amazing. They were constantly dodging strikes and blasts from Yellow, skimming near the tops of buildings and sometimes slipping between them, making sharp turns and speedy dives that left Hunk reeling.

The drones’ weapon of choice appeared to be some sort of energy pulse, and well-aimed blasts had elements of the infrastructure and sections of buildings toppling inward. These pulses were also being aimed at the Lions, and although they were made of strong enough material to resist being damaged by the force, the pulses would still send them jerking off course and blown aside.

Hunk groaned into his comm as Yellow tumbled in the air from one such blast, rolling rapidly enough that the gyroscopic cockpit couldn’t stop the blood from rushing to his head and then down again. “I swear,” he grunted, “When we’re finished with these things and back on the ground, I’m just going to spend like three days just lying on the floor, perfectly still, not moving. I’ve had enough movement.”

“You know we’re going to have to head back to the Castle eventually,” Keith replied through the comm. “That counts as movement.”

“So? Allura and Coran said we could take a few quintants.”

“Because it could take time for them to gather and refine the stuff we need, not because they expect us to conk out for days at a time.”

“I don’t care, I’m going for it. Day one, we place our order. Day whatever, we head back. Everything in between, we go comatose.” He squinted into the viewscreen and tried to get his vision to stop swirling before directing a blast toward an oncoming drone. The shot went wide, and the drone responded with a pulse that shoved Yellow backward and threatened to give Hunk whiplash.

“You hanging in there?” Keith asked.

“Yeah,” Hunk replied. At the corner of his viewscreen he spotted a beam of flame, the Red Lion’s fireblast, reducing a drone to ash. “Not as well as you are, though. Aren’t you getting dizzy too?”

“I was on the pilot track at the Garrison, I’ve been flying longer.”

“Still.” He righted Yellow as best he could and caught a drone in his sights. He sent off a cannon fire, and although he didn’t hit it head on, he managed to wing it just enough to send it spiraling. “Seems you’re taking down three of these things for every one I get.”

“We’re not keeping score, Hunk.”

“Just wish I was being a little more useful right now, is all.”

“You’ll be plenty more useful than me when we actually get around to talking to the Crelxats and making deals. You know that’s not exactly my strong suit.”

“Hmm, fair point,” Hunk said. “Your people skills are pretty abysmal, aren’t they.”

“Don’t hold back, Hunk, tell me how you really feel.”

“I’m just agreeing with you.” Yellow lurched upward, and Hunk narrowed his eyes at a drone zipping by from the bottom of his viewscreen while his stomach tried to right itself. He took aim with Yellow’s laser cannon, but just before he fired, another pulse threw the Lion to the side. The laser shot off, and he winced as it blasted through what appeared to be an enormous sculpture in a plaza below. “Crap,” he grunted.

“What is it?” asked Keith.

“I think I just took out some public art,” Hunk replied. “You don’t think that’ll come across as some weird anti-art statement, do you?”

“Let’s hope not. If the pulse things are giving you trouble, why don’t you focus on the drones that are flying higher up for now? I’ll work on the ones nearer to the buildings. Red’s got quicker reflexes, it’s easier to avoid collateral damage with her.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hunk sighed, managing to hold back a self-deprecating remark about how it was probably more to do with the pilot than the lion. For now, he set his sights on a drone careening toward the city's outskirts, and directed Yellow to go barrelling after it.

The pulses continued to give him no end of frustration, but he eventually managed to take down another three drones, and a scan informed him that the sky seemed to be clear around this elevation. He sighed with relief at the scan’s results, and reminded himself that he was this close to finally getting to touch down on flat ground and relax. His stomach was still churning, and his face was soaked in salty sweat, but it was over.

Well, almost over. The skies were clear at this elevation, but there had been more drones closer to the ground, and he wasn’t sure whether Keith had finished them all off yet. Odds were, of course, that he had, and might even be waiting impatiently on the ground wondering why it was taking Hunk such a long time to finish off his own batch. And now he was wasting more time catching his breath instead of actually finding out.

Heaving a deep breath, he grabbed the controls again and started downward, eyes peeled for signs of Keith. It didn’t take long to find him, as Red and her fire were making quite a scene above the city square, currently whipping around in a complicated air ballet while facing off against five drones at once, all focused on sending their pulses into Red from every direction.

Red was able to wing one of the drones before pulses from two of the others sent her flying back, and the Lion let out a growl that was echoed in Hunk’s comm as Keith let out one of his own. She dove back into the fray, expertly wheeling around between the drones and the building tops to send an arc of fire their way.

Hunk hovered on the outer edge of the ongoing fight, feeling the urge to help but not wanting to risk hitting Red by accident. “Uh, Keith?” he said. “There anything I can do right now?”

“Um, keep an eye out if any of these try to make a break for it,” Keith answered. “Other than that, think I got this under control.” As if to emphasize the point, a blast of Red’s fire hit one of the drone’s dead on, blasting it to ash.

“Okay…” Hunk said. He chewed at his bottom lip as he watched the drones, eyes straining as they flitted amongst their flight paths, trying to catch any sign that one of them was liable to break from the pack so he could go after it, but they all seemed to have their sights completely honed in on Red. It felt a little wrong to simply be waiting around while Keith managed the whole firefight on his own, even if Keith had sounded pretty certain of what he could handle and what he needed. He tentatively spoke up as Keith shot down another drone, “You know, um, maybe I could get a shield up and you can sort of feint toward it, see if we can draw them into - ”

He was cut off by a loud blast and a flash engulfing his viewscreen, and Yellow reeled back, sending him slamming his head into his dashboard. It seemed Red had sent out a powerful arcing blast from all to send the remaining drones careening out of the air, at the same time that the remaining drones surrounding her had all pulsed at once. Resulting in a shockwave that pushed Yellow back and, as was apparent when Hunk managed to blink his vision back into focus, leave many of the surrounding buildings with caved-in roofs. Hopefully any Crelxats inside them had had the sense to hunker down in the lower floors.

As he made sure Yellow was steady again, he glanced around for Red, and grimaced when he spotted her. She was still airborne, but the lights on her face and the tip of her tail were stuttering, while bolts of light crackled beneath her flank. “Um, Keith?” Hunk said. “Red’s not looking too hot.”

“I know, I’ve got it under - shit, hang on,” Keith grunted. Red turned around in the air, her movements jerkier than Hunk ever would have expected from Red, and starting soaring away from surrounding buildings. He followed in Yellow, and together the Lions made it to an open stretch of land. Red glided toward the ground, and as she was lowering, her lights went completely dark. She hit the ground with audible force, collapsing in a heap where she landed.

Hunk winced at the sight of the downed Lion before scanning his eyes over ground, making sure the terrain was clear for his own landing. He managed to maneuver Yellow close to the other Lion before lowering her to the ground and disembarking from her mouth. Keith was already outside of Red, standing with his arms folded and staring up at her face.

“You okay?” Hunk asked as he approached. “Looked like kind of a rough landing.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Keith said. “Managed to get nearly to the ground before she went offline. So, little abrupt, but nothing I couldn’t handle. We’re gonna have to see about getting her powered up again before we can head back to the Castle. Think it was one of those pulses throwing off the propellant tank that downed her.”

“Hmm. If that’s the case, I can probably do the repairs myself in a day or two, but we’ll need to replenish the fuel.”

“Hopefully the Crelxats will be willing to help us out for that.” Keith looked around. “Speaking of whom, see any of them coming this way yet? Battle’s over.”

Hunk frowned and joined Keith in peering about at the surrounding buildings. He had only seen a few sparse Crelxats on the ground while they had been in battle, the pale shocks of hair against skin shades of red and orange making them easy to spot, but most of them had likely fled indoors when the drones had arrived.

He felt a tap against his shoulder, and when he turned, Keith pointed; it seemed he’d been first to spot movement, and without a word between them they started off to follow the pair of Crelxats heading away from the Lions’ landing site and deeper into the city.

It didn’t take long for them to see where the many Crelxats had ended up, since after only a couple of turns they could see a crowd gathering in a wide plaza ahead, a murmur from the assembled onlooker reaching the paladins even at this distance. Hunk glanced to Keith, eyebrows raised, and Keith only shrugged, just as unsure as to what had the crowd so enthralled.

As they moved closer, heads began to turn in their direction, some of the onlookers nudging others beside them and pointing, the chatter gradually dying down as they stepped aside to let the paladins through. No face wore the joy or relief that Hunk was used to seeing from aliens after Voltron fought off invading forces for them. Instead, they were eyeing him and Keith with apprehension and suspicion.

This, Hunk decided, was not a good sign.

The Crelxats were quick to step aside for them, so they were able to reach the front of the crowd fairly easily. And Hunk’s stomach knotted itself tightly as he realized what they were all staring at.

The sculpture. The sculpture that he had blasted with Yellow’s cannon. Or, at least, what remained of it.

From above, it had been hard to see what the sculpture had actually depicted, and here from the ground, seeing only the bottom half, it wasn’t any easier to discern. The shape seemed to be fairly complex, a tangle of angles and loops, but nothing that resembled anything Hunk had ever seen before. His best guess was that it was an abstract piece; a lot of the public sculptures that could be found in plazas like this back on Earth were abstract. There was rubble, he noticed, bits of the same material as the sculpture scattered along the ground behind it, some of it smoldered black like the top of what remained of the standing sculpture, burnt up by the cannon’s heat.

The Crelxats standing nearest to the statue turned as Keith and Hunk approached, and one stepped toward them. She was half a head shorter than most of the others gathered nearby, although she made up for it with a piece of headwear that to Hunk just looked to be a tangled pile of wires. She appeared to be unarmed, although the other Crelxats just behind her all wielded either halberds in their hands or daggers at their hips; the weapons combined with the helmets on their head and matching sashes indicated that they were security of some sort, although Hunk wasn’t sure if they were guards for the city as a whole or just the Crelxat with the wires on her head.

Allura had briefed him and Keith a bit on who they would be interacting with on Crelxatain, and she had mentioned one of the Crelxats was both the governmental and religious leader for the city. Malvet, he was pretty sure her name was.

And right now, despite her being smaller than the other Crelxats and unarmed, he was feeling much more frightened of her than of the surrounding guards. Because he had never seen that much icy fury on a person’s face before. Her narrow silver eyes fixed him and Keith with a wrathful glare that he could almost physically feel, her hands clasped together in front of her were shaking from how tightly the fingers were intertwined, and dark veins pulsed visibly beneath the skin on her forehead.

“What,” she bit out, her voice low and dark and heavy, “happened?”

Hunk gulped, though it did little to alleviate the feeling of daggers in his throat or the clawing in his stomach. He had anticipated that people may be upset about the damaged sculpture - people always had a fondness for public art, especially pieces that had been around for quite a while and been accepted as an inherent part of the landscape - but the irate looks on the faces of Malvet and her guards and the horrified silence of the surrounding crowds was far worse than he expected.

Beside him, Keith cleared his throat, making Hunk jump. “Look,” Keith said, “I understand if you’re upset. But collateral damage is basically unavoidable against a weaponized enemy like the one that was attacking just now. We’re both here representing Voltron, and we were expected today, and we’d be willing to assist with repairs to your art while we’re here if you - ”

“Our art?!” Malvet spat, her face going an even deeper shade of maroon. “You believe this monument to be simply art?!”

“Um… isn’t it?” said Keith.

Her hand shook as she pointed a clawed finger toward the sculpture’s remains. “This monument is the vessel for the Twenty Gods of Crelxatain, the channel through which they grant life and fortune. It was built as a cenotaph to the spiritual leaders who have dedicated their lives to guiding Crelxatain to the will of the Gods, and as such is the one site wherein their connection to the citizenry is most powerful. It has stood for centuries, and now… it has been destroyed.”

“...Oh,” said Keith, as a murmur began rumbling through the crowd. He had paled somewhat, and seemed to be at something of a loss for words.

Hunk was faring no better; he didn’t think he’d be able to string two coherent words together right now with his nerves the way they were. This was much worse than he could have predicted. Why the hell would something this important to them be out here in the middle of the town with no additional protection? Why wasn’t it in some sort of ultra-enforced temple and under constant watch? He could only hazard wild guesses - maybe they wanted it to be more exposed to the people, maybe they had assumed that faith in those twenty gods of theirs would keep it safe or something. Now didn’t really seem like the correct time to ask about it.

Keith was the first to speak again, keeping his voice surprisingly level. “I - I appreciate the seriousness of the damage, then. Know that we did what we could to prevent it. The drones were - ”

“No,” Malvet cut him off. “We witnessed these drones. They used force, yes, their weapons have done damage enough. But they burned nothing. The monument - it has been burned.” She swept her arm out to gesture again toward the remains, the singeing and ashes seeming somehow darker now. “We witnessed your ships too. You had cannons and flame. So tell me, representative of Voltron. What. Did. You. Do?”

“I - ”

“Which of you did it?!” Her voice rose abruptly in volume, crackling with despair. “It had to have been one of you! This callous destruction - which of you is to blame?!” She rounded on Hunk, who stepped back, swallowing down a whimper. “You’ve not spoken, have you, yellow one? And why is that? Have you nothing to say?! No words in your defense?!”

Hunk could feel an icy sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. “I - I - I, uh - ”

“Is it guilt that stays your tongue?!” Malvet continued, jabbing a gnarled finger toward him. “Is the sight of the damage you’ve done before you too much to - ”

“I’m sorry,” Keith suddenly spoke up beside him. Hunk and Malvet both turned to him, incredulous, as Keith stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest and eyes on the ground.

“You’re sorry,” Malvet repeated tonelessly.

“Yeah,” Keith said. “It was my doing. Red - you know, you saw her out there, she’s awfully fast, and, um, gets real heated in battle and stuff, so it can be easy to kinda - to lose control, see, and I wasn’t really paying attention to the, um - ” He waved his hand in the direction of the destroyed sculpture. “The scenery, and stuff, so, yeah. It’s my fault, and I’m sorry.”

Hunk bit his lip as he turned his attention back to the Malvet, who was examining Keith with narrowed, probing eyes. If she knew Keith at all, it would be obvious that he was lying. He had rambled and stumbled and refused to look even remotely in her direction and his voice had kept getting lower as he spoke. All tells of his. Not to mention that Keith was the least likely of any of the paladins to ever focus during a battle or be unable to handle his Lion’s agility and fire.

But the Crelxats didn’t know Keith, so after several ticks of silent examination, Malvet hissed out, “I see.”

She stepped back, and Keith’s eyes darted upward, looking apprehensive. Malvet let silence ring throughout the square for a couple seconds more, but just as Keith opened his mouth to speak again, she nodded.

Instantly there was an eruption of activity, and Hunk was nearly knocked to the ground by the guards rushing past him toward Keith. Half a dozen fully armored guards descended on Keith, and though Hunk saw Keith’s hand fly instinctively to his hip where his bayard was holstered, he either was too caught off guard to grab it in time or thought better of whipping it out right now, since it was still holstered when his arms were wrenched behind his back and he was brought forcefully to his knees.

“Hey!” Hunk yelped. “What are you - ?” His attempt to rush forward to help Keith was stymied by halberds crossed in front of him, and a guard took his arm to hold him back, although he was handling Hunk more gently than his fellow guards were handling Keith, whose ankles were being pinned to the ground by heavy boots on top of them and whose hair was in the tight grip of gauntlet-covered hands. “Stop it!” Hunk cried. “You’re gonna hurt him!”

“After what he has done to us, hurt only seems fair as recompense,” Malvet said, stalking over to glower down at Keith. Around him, Hunk could hear others in the crowd murmuring their agreement. “He must be made to pay penance.”

“He didn’t do anything to you!” Hunk shouted.

“He just confessed to being responsible for the destruction of our monument.”

“But it wasn’t his fault! He only - ”

“Not his fault?” Malvet finally turned to Hunk. “Are you saying that his confession was inaccurate?”

Keith shook his head, or at least gave a little twitch in the guards’ grasp that may have been meant as a head shake, but Hunk nodded at the Crelxat, relieved. “Yes, yes, that’s what I’m saying! It was my - ”

But Malvet was already turning away before Hunk could finish, making a gesture to one of the guards. “You heard him; remove it.”

“Oh thank God,” Hunk sighed. “I’m sure we can all - um - ” He faltered as he watched the guards. When Malvet had told them to ‘remove it’, he had assumed she meant removing their feet from on top of Keith’s legs or removing the weapons from where they were pointed at him, sharp tips far too close to Keith for Hunk’s liking. But they weren’t. Instead, they still held him in place despite his struggling, and one of them had moved in front of Keith and was grabbing his jaw. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“If his tongue is to be used to spew false witness before the eyes of the twenty gods,” Malvet said, “Then it is of no good to us nor to him. It shall be removed.”

Hunk’s eyes blew wide, every drop of blood in his veins turning to ice as the guard managed to force Keith’s mouth open and a dagger’s blade approached. “No! No, no, no, you can’t do that! He - he wasn’t lying, you misunderstood!”

“And pray tell, what did I misunderstand?” Malvet said.

“Just - I meant - he - it was an accident,” Hunk fumbled weakly. “He did but - but he didn’t mean to, you know? It was, like, unavoidable. So - so - so it’s not his fault.” He glanced toward Keith, trying to figure out whether that had been the right thing to say, but with the way the guards were still holding his jaw and gripping his hair, Keith couldn’t exactly make an expression to indicate one way or the other.

Malvet let out a derisive sniff. “Unavoidable? The people of Crelxatain have avoided damaging it for centuries. This one could easily have done the same.” She turned away from Hunk again, back to the guard. “How soon can we have him perform his penance.”

The guard let out a pensive hum before replying, “We’d need until overmorrow’s nightfall to prepare and deliver an oblation to the twenty gods. The penance can take place the morning after.”

“Begin preparations, then,” Malvet said with a nod.

Keith was hauled to his feet, meeting Hunk’s gaze as one of the guards behind him drew a set of shackles from somewhere within their armor to cuff his hands behind him. “Hunk,” he said, a slight rasp to his voice, no doubt from the way his mouth had been manhandled a moment ago, “It’s gonna be fine, okay?”

Hunk almost let out a laugh of sheer disbelief. Keith should be the one being reassured right now, not Hunk. “Are you insane?” Hunk said.

“Look, just get the supply stuff taken care of, I’ll figure this out, and we can - ”

“Get moving,” one of the guards said, shoving him away from Hunk as two others began wheeling him around by the arms.

“Just a sec,” said Keith. “See if you can get Red up and - ”

He grunted, his words cut off by the hilt of one of the guards’ daggers being slammed into his face. When he scowled back up at the offending guard, his nose was bleeding. “I said get moving,” the guard growled.

“Hey!” Hunk cried. He tried moving toward the retreating guards, but the ones who had held him back before intercepted him again. “Hey, you can’t treat him like that!”

It was useless. The guards ignored him, and as the crowd began surging and milling around him, they disappeared, along with Keith.

This was so, so, so bad.

For a long moment he simply stood there on shaking knees, uncertain what to do, until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He whipped around, coming face to face with a tall, narrow-faced Crelxat. “What?” he snapped.

“Your companion said you were here as a representative of Voltron,” the Crelxat said. His expression was stoic, unfazed by Hunk’s tone and by the scene that had just gone down before him.

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “And?”

“I am Kalgex? Of the Crelxatain Geological Survey Bureau and Mine Repository. I was contacted about overseeing a trade deal between your organization and our department?”

Hunk stared. “Um,” he said, “Look, I’ve kind of got other things on my mind at the moment. Keith - I - I don’t know where they’re - I have to figure this out, I have to see - ”

“I am certain a member of the security force will be in contact with you once your friend has been duly processed,” Kalgex said. “They are quite efficient in matters of communication.” He pulled something out of his pocket, a small cylinder with a screen across it that lit up like a cell phone. “Those attackers put us behind schedule. We really oughtn’t postpone negotiations any longer than necessary.”

A part of Hunk, a small but strong part, wanted to punch Kalgex in the face right then and there. He was talking about Keith being arrested and hurt and forced to pay ‘penance’ - Hunk wasn’t sure what that entailed exactly, but it didn’t sound like fun - as if it were a minor inconvenience in a normal workday. As if Hunk were being somehow unreasonable for wanting to go after him rather than worry about the stupid ore.

“No,” he said. “No, I have to go.” He turned away, scanning the crowd and spotting the array of wires that had decorated Malvet’s head. Immediately he began shoving his way through the crowd, ignoring Kalgex calling after him, and didn’t stop until he had reached her, right on the edge of the plaza with a guard at each side. “Hey!” he shouted. “Where did you people take Keith?!”

She turned, eyeing him up and down with pursed lips, like he was a stain on her floor that she was deciding how to get rid of. “To the holding cells to await penance, of course,” she answered.

“And where’s that, huh?”

Malvet’s eyes narrowed. “He will not be allowed visitors until his case has been fully processed according to our laws. Respect our criminal proceedings should be the least we could ask of Voltron, considering the disrespect your friend has shown toward our - ”

“Yeah, I know,” Hunk said, frustration turning his voice to a growl. “Fine. When will that be done so I can visit him?”

“I will see to it you are contacted when proceedings are completed,” Malvet said. It wasn’t exactly an answer, but at least it was an assurance that he would get to visit Keith before the penance took place. “And of course,” Malvet continued, “Your companion will be duly returned to you once penance has been completed.”

“Right,” Hunk sighed. “So, what is this ‘penance’ anyw- ”

But Malvet had already turned away, leaving Hunk standing uselessly, grinding his teeth and dreading what the answer would have been.

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

He tried and failed to come up with a plan.

His first thought once he finally accepted that the whole situation with Keith was out of his hands was, naturally, to contact the other paladins for help. But the reason it had only been himself and Keith coming to Crelxatain in the first place was that the others were on missions of their own. They had docked the Castle, shields in place, on a moon in a neutral zone the next star system over, and Shiro and Allura were off on Heliuruta to negotiate allowance through their blockade into the quadrant, while Coran had recruited Lance and Pidge to help him on a medical supply-gathering expedition. So Hunk couldn’t reach any of them at the Castle, didn’t know where on the planets the groups had gone and wouldn’t have time to track them down, and couldn’t contact them through just the Lions’ communications system at such a range.

Which meant that whatever happened to Keith, he was going to be the only one around to deal with it.

It also meant that he was stuck doing the negotiations for the Crelxat ores alone. Between himself and Keith, Hunk was better with numbers, but Keith was more stubborn and better at steamrolling attempts to mislead. By the time he wrapped up his meeting with Kalgex and his board, they had wound up settling on a price nearly twice as high as what Coran had told them to aim for.

Hunk couldn’t bring himself to be that put out about it, though. The main reason he’d done such a lackluster job of negotiating, after all, was that his mind was more occupied with the much more pressing matter of what the hell was happening with Keith.

He managed a grand total of less than a varga of sleep the first night on Crelxatain, despite the comfortable accommodations that had been prepared for him at a lodging house not far from the plaza where the monument had stood. He had made sure every single member of the staff there knew that they were to come get him immediately the instant anyone contacted him about getting to visit Keith, but no message came.

The Crelxats had predicted it would take them about two days to refine the ore he’d requested and prepare it for transport, so he tried to occupy his time by working on repairs for Red. He dried up nearly all the GAC they’d been given for this trip gathering tools and supplies for it - apparently the ability to fix vehicles must have been considered something of a luxury in Crelxatain, and was priced as such - and as he set to work on her dark and still form, wondered what she would be doing right now if she were up and running. If she was calm, then he’d know Keith was okay. If she was angry and trying to reach Keith by force… well, then he’d be even more worried than he was now, but at least Red would be helping to take care of the problem.

He worked on her throughout the day, still with no word about Keith, and the longer he went without answers the more nauseous he felt. He managed to eat some lunch between getting supplies and starting on Red’s repairs, and it sat like rocks in his stomach for the rest of the day. He didn’t bother with dinner.

He managed to fall asleep at some point that night, and woke tangled in his bedding after tossing and turning in his sleep, not feeling refreshed at all.

It wasn’t until later that day, when he returned from Red’s landing site back to the lodging house, promising himself that he would at least try to eat something because starving himself wasn’t going to help Keith, that he discovered a member of the security force was there waiting for him, had told the staff that he was there to escort Hunk to visit ‘the prisoner’ as requested.

Finally.

The walk to where Keith was being held wasn’t far from the plaza that had housed the monument, and the building he was led into looked from the outside a bit like a country church, long and narrow and with a vaulted roof. Hunk was led into a dim anteroom as the guard who escorted him had a muttered conversation with another who was standing watch inside, then, another door was opened, and he was ushered through and into a hall lined on each side with cells. The guard didn’t accompany him any further past the door, just told him, “You have fifteen doboshes,” before taking his leave, slamming the door shut behind him.

The hall was just as dim as the anteroom, the walls and floors a shale-like shade and narrow windows in the walls of the cells lining only one side of the hall casting sharp shadows, so it took a moment for Hunk to spot the cells’ only occupant, seated on the floor against the wall at the end of the hall. When he did, he let out an enormous breath of relief and rushed toward him, yelling out, “Keith!”

Keith looked up at the sound of his name, and Hunk grimaced at the sight of him as he got to his feet. He’d been stripped of his armor and left only in his dark undersuit, and was shackled hand and foot, maybe a foot and a half of chain between each metal cuff on his wrist, and the same around his ankles. A red and purple bruise spread from his cheek to his nose, swelling enough to make one eye squint; this was likely the result of that guard who had struck him with the dagger hilt the other day. Besides that, Keith appeared to be uninjured, just tired, a fact that the dark rings beneath his eyes could attest.

“Hunk,” he said. “So, um. So, how are you do- ?”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Hunk cried. Honestly, he had been intending to ease into that a bit more, give Keith a friendly greeting and see how he’d been being treated before moving onto the topic of what the actual quiznak Keith had been thinking, but it seemed his brain had forgotten to relay that plan to his mouth.

“Hunk,” Keith repeated, lifting his shackled hands placatingly. “You have to be calm, all right?”

“How can I - you can’t expect - what were you thinking?!” Hunk demanded. “You know as well as I do that Red didn’t - ”

“Hunk, I’m serious. They’ll hear you.”

Hunk shut his mouth, teeth coming together with a click, and looked back toward the door. Right. Apparently the Crelxats really didn’t like being lied to. As much as he hated it, their story was that Keith had been the one to ruin the monument, and that’s the story they were going to have to stick with if they wanted to get out with their tongues still intact. “Sorry,” Hunk said. His eyes roved over the rest of the hall, stopping at the sight of a lens near the ceiling in the center. “Crap, will they be able to hear - ?”

“That one’s just video, no audio,” Keith said. “They can’t hear us.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“The guards told me.”

Hunk raised a brow. “And you’re just taking their word for it?”

“Course not,” Keith replied, shaking his head. “I tested it. They didn’t care one lick about me slinging insults at them through that camera for about an hour straight. Moment I said the same while they were actually here, they got pretty thin-skinned.” He tapped lightly at the dark bruise on his face. “This, uh, this was smaller yesterday.”

Hunk winced. “Dang it, Keith,” he said. “Why did you have to go and do that, huh?”

“... You mean, why’d I have to insult them?”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

There was a long moment’s pause between them, and then Keith sighed. “I was trying to help, Hunk,” he said. “That’s all. That Malvet, she was so mad, and the guards were at the ready, and you - well, you were - ” He took a deep breath. “I dunno. Maybe if you were able to see how you looked in that plaza, you’d get why I needed to step in.”

Well, Hunk could certainly recall feeling terrified to his core, but he didn’t know how much of it had actually shown on his face. If it was enough to get Keith to take the fall for him like that, though, it was too much. “I mean, you did a heck of a lot more than ‘step in’,” he said. “Look, Keith, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but I - God, man, I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

The shadow of a sad smile played on Keith’s lips before vanishing again. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Wasn’t really expecting you to be overjoyed about it. But it’s not like they were giving us a whole lot of time to come up with a better plan to get you out of that mess than just… getting in myself.”

“Why did you decide you needed to get me out of it in the first place?”

Keith frowned at him, appearing genuinely surprised. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because - because I’m the one who caused the mess? Yeah, it was an accident, but it still was mine to own.”

Keith shrugged. “We’re teammates, right? Your mess is my mess.”

“I - ” Hunk took a long breath and blew it out slowly. “You really picked a horrible time to embrace team spirit.”

“I guess. Can’t exactly go back now, though.”

“Right, suppose not.” He let the silence linger a little longer, half-hoping that Keith would suddenly pipe up with an, ‘Unless…’ and a brilliant idea to make everything right, but of course he didn’t. “So we’re just supposed to see this out to the end, huh? Endure whatever they throw at you?”

“Don’t exactly have much choice,” Keith answered. “But, I mean - it’s just a waiting game until tomorrow morning. They’ll dole out their punishment and then it’s over. Just have to get it over with. Did you get the ore stuff taken care of?”

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “And don’t say ‘just get it over with’ like it’s just a hard test at school or something, man. They’re gonna - I don’t even know what, but they were awful mad. What are they planning to do tomorrow anyhow?” Keith didn’t answer, and Hunk’s gaze grew more intense, newly ignited worry crackling in his gut. “Keith? Do you know what’s gonna happen?”

Keith hesitated, dropping his gaze. “Okay, um, they, uh, they haven’t really given me much to go on, so I don’t know for sure.”

“But you have some idea?” Hunk prodded.

“Well, so, you know they said that I’ve got to face ‘penance’ for the monument.”

“Yeah.” Hunk fought down the anxiety that bubbled up at the mere mention of the word. “Still don’t quite know what that means, though.”

“Right.” Keith took a deep breath. “Well, uh, no one’s said anything to me directly, but I’ve overheard some chatter. From the guards here, see. They don’t seem to have any specifics either, but they’ve got a better idea of what ‘penance’ usually refers to, so they were talking, and, um…” He trailed off and began to chew at his lip.

“And what?”

Keith lifted his eyes back up to Hunk, and they were wide, brow pinched, almost appearing apologetic. “You have to promise not to freak out.”

Immediately Hunk was fully prepared to freak out. “What do you mean? What’s there to freak out about?! Keith, what’s gonna happen?!”

“Okay, look, it’s probably not as bad as - ”

“Keith, if you have to warn me not to freak out, it’s probably pretty bad!”

“That’s not what - it’s not the penance part, I just didn’t want you to feel guilty about what happens, all right? I promise, Hunk, I’m gonna be able to handle it. Okay? Whatever happens, you’ve got to keep a cool head. The last thing we need is for them to decide to detain you too. And, well - ” He let out a little cough and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m probably, um, gonna need you to help me out afterward…”

Hunk gulped. As much as he dreaded the answer, he had to know. “Keith,” he said, “What’s the penance?”

There was another second’s hesitation before Keith quietly answered, “If what those guards were saying was true, Crelxatain seems to be fond of, um… corporal punishment. A public display of it. Apparently it’s, um, they seem to think it’s an effective way to, uh, deter repeat crimes, and, like - ”

Hunk’s voice, which had frozen in his throat at some point while Keith had been talking, managed to find just enough strength for him to repeat in a squeak, “Corporal punishment?!”

Keith winced. “Yeah. Um, best as I could tell from what they were saying, flogging’s pretty common, so that’s probably the most likely, but, um, yeah… Hunk? Please don’t freak out.”

“How can I not freak out?! Keith, they’re going to - !”

“I know,” Keith snapped. “I - yeah, I know.” He huffed out a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, it’s not like I’m looking forward to it, but it’s not exactly like we can opt out. The place is under heavy guard, Red is still down… Only thing for us is to ride this out, let them take their anger out on me if they have to, then get back to the Castle as soon as we’re able so we can, um, you know.” He tightened his arms where they were crossed. “Fix anything that needs fixing.”

With a frustrated sigh, Hunk leaned against the wall, letting his shoulder rest up where the hard wall met the narrow bars of Keith’s cell. His legs were feeling leaden, like they would give out on him if he spent much longer standing on his own two feet, so he let himself slide down toward the floor. Once he was seated, Keith joined him, sitting down cross-legged on the other side of the bars, although it took some maneuvering to get settled with those chains on his ankles. “You okay?” Keith asked.

“Don’t ask me that,” said Hunk. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be in that cell right now, not you.”

“Hunk,” said Keith, “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t do anything wrong either! You know as well as I do that Yellow was the one who took down that monument. You’re too good a pilot, you’d never let something like that happen with Red.”

“It has nothing to do with who’s a better pilot. Yellow’s bigger than Red, it’s harder to avoid collateral damage with her.”

“Doesn’t matter. The damage was still mine. And you - ” His lip began to tremble, and Keith seemed to tense at the catch in Hunk’s voice. “You shouldn’t have lied to the Crelxats like that. You should’ve just let me take responsibility. What good does it do for you to have to do this stupid ‘penance’ thing instead of me?”

“Hunk, I - ”

“Either way, we’re ending up with one paladin who’s gonna wind up really, really hurt, so why did you get to decide it should be you instead of me, huh? Why would you go and complicate things like that? What the hell were you thinking?!”

Keith sighed, bringing his hands up and combing his fingers into his hair as he grabbed his head. “I was thinking, you were scared. And I just… I dunno. I wanted to fix that.”

Hunk set his jaw, hoping that that would help keep the tremor out of his voice. “And you just decided the best way to do it would be to take on all the consequences for yourself? That’s not fair to you, Keith.”

Slowly lowered his hands from his hair to cross his arms over his chest instead, and he muttered something under his breath that Hunk couldn’t quite make out. “What was that?” Hunk asked.

“I said, nothing’s ever ‘fair’,” Keith replied. “This isn’t about fairness. If things were gonna be ‘fair’, the Crelxats wouldn’t be upset with us over that monument in the first place, they’d be too busy being grateful to us for saving their asses and they’d realize that that should be much higher priority than a stupid statue. But as is, we can’t leave, we can’t get help from the others, and the Crelxats want blood. It’s not fair, but it’s happening, so all we can do now is get it over with.”

“I know, but - but - ” Hunk sighed and rested his chin on his hand. “I still say you shouldn’t have done it.”

“I know.”

“And I wasn’t that scared.”

“Okay.”

“Are you scared?”

There was a pause before Keith answered, “No.”

Hunk sighed. “You’re a really awful liar, Keith.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a long while before Hunk slowly reached through the bars of the cell and took hold of Keith’s hands, twining his fingers into Keith’s and trying not to think about how cold they were. “I’m sorry, man,” he said softly.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Keith mumbled.

“Sure. I’m just gonna go ahead and be sorry anyway, kay?” He gave his hand a squeeze. “Besides the face, have they hurt you?”

“Nah. Bit of shoving around, but that’s all.”

“They been giving you water? Food?”

“Enough, yeah.”

Hunk frowned, making a mental note to set aside some food from the lodging house to fill Keith up the moment he was released. He was just opening his mouth to ask if Keith had any requests - none of the Crelxat food was an exact match to any from Earth or any they’d encountered in space so far, but he could at least do some taste testing and see if he could find something similar to whatever Keith wanted - but he was interrupted by the door at the end of the hall slamming open.

“Time is up,” the guard grunted. “Make your leave.”

Hunk scowled at the guard, but after giving Keith’s hand one final squeeze, he rose to his feet. “I’ll be right there waiting once the penance is done,” he said. “The ore delivery should be finished early tomorrow morning, so once Red’s back up and running we can go straight back to the Castle. Get off this planet for good.”

“That’ll be nice,” Keith said, and he grimaced when the guard knocked his halberd into the doorframe, ordering Hunk to get moving. “I’ll - I’ll see you then. Better get going.”

Reluctantly Hunk complied, shuffling back down the hall of empty cells and giving Keith one last wave goodbye before the door was slammed shut again with a sickening finality.

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

Time moved at a crawl as Hunk waited. He kept himself occupied as best he could, working on Red’s repairs throughout the day, and he managed to convince a guard to let him take Keith’s confiscated armor and bayard off their hands (with the understanding that if he tried any funny business with the weaponry he would be tossed into his own cell before he could so much as blink) to have them ready for Keith when the penance was finished, and he polished the helmet three times over just for something mindless to do.

He stared at the ceiling in his room that night, trying to convince his exhausted body to sleep, but it wasn’t easy. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Keith, standing before that same crowd that had been in the plaza, and he was facing his penance, Malvet raising a whip with sadistic glee in her smile.

He always opened his eyes again before it actually made contact.

It took vargas of pacing around the room that night - ignoring the irritated knocking from whoever was staying in the room below his - to finally wear him out enough to get any amount of sleep, and then he was up again, getting the ore loaded onto Yellow in the earliest hours of morning and anxiously watching the planet’s sun creep upward into the sky, the whorling dread in his stomach growing stronger with every inch it rose.

No one came to fetch him or let him know when the penance was starting, but they didn’t have to. He could see for himself when Crelxats started to eagerly emerge from their homes and head off all in the same direction, and he overheard bits and pieces of discussion about whether they thought the twenty gods would be appeased and what they thought of the offering that had been made by the city the night before; Hunk didn’t know what that offering had been, and honestly he could not have cared less, but apparently it had been act one of this show, and Keith’s penance was the finale.

For visibility’s sake Hunk donned his full paladin armor before leaving the lodging house, hopefully for good, and he followed the flow of Crelxats past the building that housed Keith’s cell and even past the plaza featuring the statue, which, judging by the scaffolding that had been set up around the plaza, was currently under repairs. The Crelxats moved down a road veering off to the side and sloping down toward a long, solid wall, where they congregated toward a large arched entryway flanked by two guards.

He started toward the entry, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He jumped and whipped around to find a stony-faced Crelxat guard, dressed in the same garb as the guards had been in the jail where Keith had been kept. Two other guards were hovering nearby, watching with the same stoic expression.

“If you are intending to view the penance,” the guard said, “You must remain under our watch.”

“What?” said Hunk. “Why?”

“You have made known that you hold close personal connection to the transgressor.” Ire scratched at Hunk’s throat at Keith being referred to as ‘the transgressor’, but he held his tongue and let the guard continue: “It is standard, then, to ensure that you are kept under supervision to prevent attempts at interfering with the penance.”

“Oh. Um, right,” Hunk relented. It made sense, he supposed. Any decent person witnessing their friend being publicly tortured would want to try to put a stop to it. It seemed that even if he hadn’t already promised Keith that he would let the Crelxats go through with their punishment, there wasn’t much he would be able to do under the eye of their guards.

The one who had stopped him nudged him forward as one of the others began leading the way toward the entrance, while the other approached and held out his hand. “No weapons are allowed at the viewing. Hand it over.”

Reluctantly Hunk removed his bayard from where it was holstered at his hip and dropped it into the guard’s hand. The guard nodded curtly and turned to follow the other, turning the bayard in his hand to inspect it as he went, and Hunk was nudged again, a cue to follow.

He trailed behind them, and as they passed through the entryway, he got his first view of where this penance was being held. The space seemed to be some sort of amphitheater, with rows of seats curving in a semicircle, getting lower and lower as they reached the center, where there stood a completely bare platform, high enough that the spectators sitting in the front row would probably have to crane their necks to see what happened on top of it.

Hunk wanted to go toward the front, to be as visible as possible when Keith was brought out, so he would be able to see him in the crowd, know he was there to support him and rush to his side the moment this whole mess was finally over, but the guards instead led him into a row toward the back. As they filed in, Hunk scowled at the Crelxats who were milling around the amphitheater, filling up the rows of seats in front of them. All these people, taking the time out of their lives to come and watch Keith suffer. As though this was some sort of entertainment to them. They wanted blood, they wanted it from Keith, and there was nothing about this whole situation that wasn’t disgusting.

He had to take care to clench his jaw so he wouldn’t wind up just shouting at everyone in the crowd, since that would probably only end with him being forcibly escorted out by the guards, and took his seat obediently. The other Crelxats in the crowd were gradually sitting down as well, taking their time far too casually, and every dobash of waiting felt agonizingly long.

After that wait, though, the crowd finally hushed at the sight of the guards coming through the entrance at the front of the amphitheater behind the stage, and as they did, Hunk wished they could go back to the waiting. Harrowing though it was, it was still better than watching Keith being escorted onto the stage.

His wrists and ankles were still shackled, so his gait was only a shuffle, and the guards at either side of him pushing him forward didn’t seem to be making walking any easier; he tripped on the steps leading onto the stage and, rather than pause to let him regain his balance, the guards grabbed him under the arms and began dragging him before Keith managed to find his footing again. He still wore the leg portion of his underarmor, but he’d been stripped of the top, and his bare torso looked deathly pale in the too-bright sunlight.

He also, as Hunk realized with a surge of fury as Keith shook his hair out of his face, been gagged, a strap of what looked like leather cinched tightly over his mouth and digging into the skin at the corners. Hunk wondered vaguely what he had said to the guards to warrant that addition. Or who he had bitten.

The Crelxats in the amphitheater around him had begun to jeer as Keith was escorted onto the stage, and only stopped when another figure stepped out: Malvet, the wiring of her head blindingly reflecting glints of the sunlight as she raised her hands for quiet.

“We are gathered here,” she began, her voice booming despite Hunk not seeing any sort of microphone or other audio equipment anywhere, “To offer the Twenty Gods of Crelxatain a display of our respect, our reverence, and our compunction. The offender who stands before you now has, in an act of brash disregard for our planet and its citizens - ”

She continued, but Hunk tuned her out, and not just out of anger toward the way she was talking about Keith. His focus had instead been drawn to the guards who had come forward along the stage. Where he had thought there had just been flat floorboards, they opened a hatch, and from beneath the stage they unfolded a bundle of beams that clicked into place as a solitary and stationary pole, with a hooped hook sticking out of it a good six feet up. Keith was pulled forward, and the chain between his wrists was lifted and latched onto the hook, leaving Keith standing with his arms stretched above him, back stretched out and exposed.

So Keith had been right about the flogging, and Hunk pressed his lips together, feeling nausea bubble up in his throat and wondering if he were going to start blowing chunks onto the row of Crelxats in front of him.

He kept his eyes on Keith, trying to meet his gaze, and Keith was looking out to the crowd too. It was hard to be absolutely sure from this distance, but Hunk was pretty sure that Keith spotted him, because his gaze was definitely aimed Hunk’s way, his pale face and wide eyes directed right toward him.

And no matter what Keith said, he was definitely scared.

Unlike in Hunk’s nightmarish visions from the night before, Malvet wasn’t the one to bring out a whip. Instead it was one of the guards, unfurling a length of cord from behind him as Malvet stepped toward the pole, fixing Keith with a withering glower before turning back to address the crowd once more. “To each of the twenty gods he has chosen to desecrate, he shall pay blood in penitence. Firstly, to Taelxot.”

That was all the fanfare given before the crack of the whip rang through the amphitheater, making Hunk jump at its suddenness. It seemed too soon to be starting, he needed more time, more time to emotionally ready himself and for Keith to say his own piece, but here they were. It was happening. Now.

The first lash seemed to have taken Keith off guard too, since he let out a yelp at the contact that was muffled by his gag. The crowd of Crelxats let out applause as the whip struck, and the sound seemed distant to Hunk as he watched Keith, trying to see if he was okay.

“Secondly,” Malvet continued, “To Vokrin.”

Another crack of the whip, another cheer. These names Malvet was saying, Hunk surmised, must have been the names of some of those twenty gods she kept talking about, and they must have been giving Keith one lash for each god that had been disrespected.

Which meant there were going to be twenty lashes in total. Hunk’s eyes widened as the whip dragged on the floor as the guard reeled it back, leaving a red streak on the wooden planks that Hunk could just barely see from where he was sitting.

There was no way he was going to be able to stomach eighteen more of these.

At the third lash, Keith squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, and at the fourth, the whip struck deep enough that Hunk could see blood droplets flying directly from Keith’s back. The crowd was eating it up, getting to their feet as they applauded, and at the fifth lash, Hunk stood too, because that was the only way he could still see over the heads of the cheering Crelxats in front of him.

The lashes kept coming.

Hunk’s hands hovered over the lower half of his face, threatening to move up and cover his eyes, but he resisted the admittedly powerful temptation. He owed Keith this much, at the very, very least. He owed it to Keith to be there and watch, to meet his eyes whenever Keith opened them so that the red paladin would have a face to look toward for support, for a silent message to hang on, just hang on, it will all be over soon.

Besides, closing his eyes now wouldn’t get rid of the image of those blood droplets Hunk had already seen spraying from Keith’s back, so there really was no point. That image would probably stay burned in his mind forever.

Another lash - Malvet was still counting them, but Hunk couldn’t hear her. All the sounds in the amphitheater were starting to blur together in his ears, muddling into loud and angry static as he focused only on Keith. The pain of the flogging must have been getting to be too much even for him, because an agonized shout escaped into his gag this time, much to the delight of the assembled Crelxats. At the next lash, he screamed again, and his eyes flew open, meeting Hunk’s almost immediately.

Hunk’s heart stopped at the sight of the tears gathering there, the sun sparkling off of them, and it started up again, pounding like a drum, when the whip came down again and the tears broke free and began to fall.

The specks of blood staining the platform were growing thicker with every lash. They couldn’t possibly keep this up. They were going to kill him.

On the next lash, the whip’s aim was off, and it landed over Keith’s shoulder. The barb on the tip must have caught on his skin, because it ripped a line of flesh off with it as the guard pulled it back, sending a splash of blood across his chest.

Hunk finally threw up, then, and the cries of delight coming from the Crelxat in front of him turned to ones of disgust as the sick splattered onto his back. Which did nothing to relieve Keith’s pain, but it did give Hunk just the tiniest glimmer of satisfaction before he straightened up again to watch the last of the lashes.

“And to the twentieth God of Crelxat, Skovok!”

The whipped cracked for the final time, the crowd cheered, and Keith was motionless on the stage, all his weight dangling from his wrists, his head bowed and hair covering his eyes so Hunk couldn’t tell whether they were open or closed. The floor at his feet far, far too red.

Hunk could only spot the tiniest bit of movement, just catch the way Keith’s chest shook as he breathed, and he tried to focus only on that as he waited for Malvet to give her stupid closing speech and Hunk could finally take Keith back to the Lions and try to find some way to patch up his back, which had to be a grotesque mess at this points.

“To each of the gods, a due has been paid,” Malvet was saying grandly. “So all that remains is our assurance that the transgressor can never again bring harm to the gods, or to Crelxatain itself. To that end, we offer the last of his life, that they may find solace in its removal and a better purpose for it in the world beyond our own.”

… What?

With great difficulty Hunk pulled his eyes away from Keith to see what was happening on the rest of the stage. All but one guard had moved to the other side, and another hatch, like the one from which they’d pulled the pole, had been opened, something else being unfolded from this one. They locked the pole into place, but this one kept unfolding, into a bracket that projected over the hole the open hatch left in the floor. The hatch was pulled back into place, and one of the guards hooked a loop of wire over the projection.

It took a long moment for Hunk’s brain to catch up to his eyes, for him to realize what he was looking at.

Gallows.

His heart racing, blood pounding he whipped around to face the guard next to him. “What - what is that?!” He jabbed a shaking finger toward the stage, and oh god, the guard who had stayed by Keith was taking him down and starting to drag him across the stage.

“It is a device that will allow penance to be completed,” the guard said, explaining it like he was a teacher giving a classroom lecture. “The wire is placed around the neck of the criminal, and the hatch - ”

“I know what it is!” Hunk yelled. “Why is it here?! Keith paid his penance! He got his punishment already!”

“He paid a blood penance, yes,” the guard said. “Now, they are ensuring that he can never again cause harm to the sacred - ”

“We were never gonna even come to this stupid planet again!” Hunk shouted. He ignored the surrounding Crelxats who were turning to glare at him, a couple snapping at him to be quiet. “They don’t need to ensure it! They - they - they said he’d be returned to me once the penance was done! What happened to that?!”

“He will. To be preserved or memorialized as you and your culture see fit.”

Disbelief had Hunk lost for words for a few seconds, while on the stage, he could see Keith, even in the state he was in, starting to struggle in the guards’ hold. “I don’t want his corpse!” he finally squeaked out. “I - I - oh god, I’ve got to - ” His eyes roved toward the guard holding his bayard.

A hand thumped onto his arm, holding him in place. “Consider this your only warning,” the guard said. “Any attempt to derail the proceedings will result in you joining him.”

Hunk swallowed, his legs feeling close to giving out under him as the loop of wire was wrestled over Keith’s head and around his neck. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. “Please,” he begged, tears pricking at his eyes. “There - there has to be something I can…”

Keith was shouting into his gag, and Malvet was saying something again, raising her voice to drown Keith out. The guard’s grip on Hunk tightened, and he felt dizzy. Keith was going to be hanged right in front of him. Keith shouldn’t even be the one going through this, it should have been Hunk.

Keith was going to die, and it was going to be Hunk’s fault.

There had to be something he could do. He owed it to Keith. Keith had saved him from the Crelxats’ wrath, hadn’t even thought twice about him, and Hunk needed to repay him. He couldn’t let things end this way.

If he were up on the stage right now, in that noose, and Keith were the one having to watch, what would Keith do?

Lance would probably say Keith would ‘punch his problems until they go away’.

It wasn’t much of a plan -

A thunk sounded as the hatch below Keith’s feet was dropped and the wire went taut.

- but it was all he had.

All the fury that had built in him since the moment he had been ushered into the amphitheater flooded into his fist as he whirled on the guard holding him, and it connected with the chin of his helmet. His knuckles immediately throbbed with pain, but there was a satisfying crunch of bone as the guard’s head reeled back, his grip going slack.

Hunk dove for the guard holding his bayard. The guard let out a shout and tried to jump back, but Hunk was not to be deterred, and he bodily tackled him into the next row, the Crelxats there shrieking and scampering out of the way. He clawed his way up the guard’s arm, fighting to pry his fingers off of the bayard, and when he wouldn’t give, he decided he didn’t have the time to fight clean. He hauled himself forward and bit down as hard as he could on the guard’s hand.

The bayard was dropped immediately, and Hunk snatched it up and clambered to his feet. It expanded into its miniturret launcher form as he hefted it up and aimed it toward the stage. Several Crelxats screamed, and his vision swam as he saw Keith through the optic. He was still moving, still jerking in his bonds even as the wire tightened around his neck and his face began turning blue. That meant his neck hadn’t broken when he dropped. He was still alive. There was still a chance.

Although, that chance was getting exponentially smaller with every tick that passed, and Hunk didn’t have time to reach the stage. With his vision hazy and his body shaking and his stomach doing somersaults, it would be insane to try to shoot from here. There was too much chance of hitting Keith. He was going to survive being hanged only to be killed by cannon fire instead.

But it was the only thing he could do.

He fired, praying to anything that was out there and that might be listening that the shot would hit its mark.

It didn’t. It went too high. Hunk’s heart sank, despair flooding him -

Until another shot came from behind him, the projectile this time much larger. This one took out the projection of the gallows that Hunk had been aiming for, dropping Keith’s struggling form to the ground, and burned through half the stage along with it.

He turned around.

Never in his life had he ever been so happy to see the Yellow Lion, hovering just over the amphitheater’s entrance. The buildings behind her were darkened by her enormous shadow, and her eyes blazed down on the crowd that was practically trampling itself to get out of her way.

Yellow had come. She had sensed Keith in danger and -

No, that wasn’t quite it, Hunk realized as he finally noticed Yellow’s presence in his mind, the weight trying to ground Hunk like a heavy blanket, the low rumble of her growl asking if he was okay.

She had sensed Hunk’s distress. That’s why she had come. That’s why she had flown here on her own.

Huh. It seemed Keith wasn’t the only one with an overprotective Lion.

And speaking of…

Hunk’s bayard shrank back down into its dormant form as he raced down the amphitheater steps, shoving panicking Crelxats out of the way and sliding onto his knees as he reached Keith’s crumpled form. The smell of iron from his bloodied back was so strong Hunk could taste it, and he gagged as he rolled him over. Keith’s eyes were closed, his lips gray from lack of air, and Hunk immediately set to fumbling at the wire noose, mumbling reassurances to Keith’s unconscious form as he loosened it.

Right as he pulled it up over Keith’s head, grimacing at the dark bruises it had left on the skin of his neck, the body was yanked aside by the arm, and Hunk looked up to see Malvet, both her hands locked around Keith’s forearm as she tugged at him.

“Get away!” Hunk snarled. “Haven’t you hurt him enough?!”

“He has not completed his penance!” Malvet cried. She swiveled her gaze onto Hunk, and the angry gleam in her eyes was almost manic. “The destruction he caused must be paid in kind! The twenty gods require his life, and we must - ”

Hunk let out a frustrated growl, just about at his wit’s end with Malvet’s gods. In a show of rashness that would make Keith proud, he brought his bayard back up, and it morphed into its energy minigun form as he pointed it right between Malvet’s eyes. “If you even think about hurting Keith one more time, then my gods are gonna need your life in exchange.”

Malvet narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Sure I would. I already took out your monument. I’m on a rampage. I can’t be stopped.”

Her jaw dropped, and her hands shook as her grip on Keith’s arm loosened. “You - it was you who - ”

Hunk was already hauling Keith onto his back and taking off before she could finish the thought, and he raced up the amphitheater steps in leaps to meet Yellow at the top, where she scooped the paladins into her mouth and took flight.

The sound of screams below them was cut off as her jaw shut and Hunk collapsed onto the cockpit floor, rolling Keith off of him as gently as he could before rushing to the controls, taking Yellow around in a wide arc and scanning the city below before he spotted where Red lay, still not quite fixed up to working condition. He dove toward her, and Yellow grabbed the smaller Lion up from the ground around the middle like a mother carrying her cub before rocketing upward, gaining speed until she broke the atmosphere. Then he set her autopilot to the coordinates of the Castle’s landing site and…

It was over. After all that, it was finally over. They were off Crelxatain. They were safe.

They were alive.

Well, Hunk reminded himself as he left the pilot’s seat and made his way back toward Keith’s prone form on the cockpit floor, the worst part was over, at least, but they weren’t in the clear yet. He reached to the overhead storage unit to pull out the emergency medical kit and got onto his knees next to Keith to get a closer look.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Keith’s back had been slashed to ribbons, the gashes in varying depths with a couple cutting so deep Hunk could swear he could see vertebrae. Some of them had stopped bleeding, most had not, and the sounds of the slowly seeping blood dripping onto the floor of the cockpit rang in Hunk’s head. He’d be able to clean the wounds and get some gauze onto them for now, but the cryopods in the Castle would have to do the bulk of the work.

And his back wasn’t the only spot injured. His ankle was bent in the middle in a way it shouldn’t have been able to bend and was starting to swell; he’d probably landed on it at a bad angle when Yellow had shot down the scaffolding. A trickle of blood dripped from the edge of his mouth where the tight gag was cutting into the skin, and Hunk reached up to start working it free, relieved to hear Keith breathing when he pulled it away, even if the breaths were raspy and strained. Small wonder, considering the purpling bruises covering his neck where the noose had strangled him.

He opened the medical kit, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the extent of Keith’s injuries, and decided to pull out the bottle of disinfectant first. His back was definitely going to need it. He unscrewed the lid and held his breath against the sharp smell before lowering it toward the gashes and pouring the disinfectant in.

It let out a sizzling sound as it spread over the wounds, and Keith’s back arched as he let out a strangled yell, his swollen neck leaving his voice as nothing but a dry rasp. Hunk immediately set the disinfectant down and hurried up toward Keith’s head. “I’m sorry, man,” he said. “I know, I know, it’s gotta hurt like hell, but I have to clean it up, I’m sorry. Hang in there, bud.”

Keith let out another rasping groan, and slowly his eyelids began to peel apart. “Keith?” Hunk whispered. “You awake?”

His back rose and fell in a couple of slow, deep breaths before he finally grunted out, “Sh’ro?”

Wow. Keith may as well have just rammed his fist through Hunk’s chest, grabbed his heart, and wrung it dry. “Uh, no. No, it’s not Shiro. It’s me, it’s Hunk.”

Keith blinked slowly, his eyes working to focus on Hunk’s face, and then: “Hunk? We’re alive?”

Hunk let out a breath. “Yeah, man,” he said, giving Keith a wobbly grin. “We’re alive. We made it out of there. You did great, buddy. Just need to hang in there a little longer before we get back to the Castle.”

“I thought they - ” Keith took a rattling breath, but his voice didn’t sound any less gravelly when he continued, “They decided t’ kill me, di’n’t they.”

Hunk grimaced. “Yeah. They did. But that was a pretty stupid decision, wasn’t it?”

“You stopped th’m,” Keith said. “I saw you. In th’ crowd. You had - y’ had your bay’rd. Before I couldn’t see ‘nymore…”

“Well, I - I tried,” Hunk said. “But it was really Yellow who saved the day, you know. She’s the one who started blasting. All I did was get a little chaos going in the stands and grab you. It was nothing.”

“Nah,” Keith sighed. “It wasn’t noth’ng.”

He let his eyes drift closed, and Hunk pushed his bangs out of his face before scooting back toward the medical kit. “Once we’re in close enough range of the Castle, I’ll radio in and see if anyone’s there to get a pod ready for you. If we’re the first there, well, I’ll do it myself. Coran showed me the basics of how those things work, I can at least get you stabilized before he or Allura comes back and can get it started for the deep healing stuff. But, um, for now I’ve got to get this stuff disinfected and wrapped up. It’s definitely gonna sting.”

“‘S’okay,” Keith grunted. “Go ahead.”

“And Keith?”

“Mm.”

Hunk leaned in close. “Don’t you ever, ever scare me like that again, you got it? You’re no longer allowed to come that close to dying, I forbid it. And if you ever try to jump in and take the blame for my screw-up again, I swear to the Twenty Gods of Crelxatain I’ll bring all the wrath of the Yellow Lion raining down upon you. You hear me? Never again.”

Eyes still closed, Keith gave him a weak attempt at a smile. “We’ll see,” he rasped out.

Hunk sighed. Shiro really should have warned them right from the start how stressful it was to have Keith around. “Good enough,” he said, moving back to focus on the gashes. Keith tensed and let out a couple of whimpers as Hunk dabbed disinfectant into the wounds, but they got through it.

It wasn’t until Hunk was halfway through wrapping Keith’s torso in bandages that he opened his eyes and spoke again. “Hunk?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Remember, when I said t’ just let them get th’ penance over with? ‘nd not to interfere?”

“Yeah…”

“Thanks for not list’ning to me.”

Hunk let out a loud laugh, more out of the hysteria still left in his system than any humor in Keith’s weak joke, but he still broke out a wide smile as he said, “Any time, buddy.”

“And for… ev’rything else.”

“Hey. You had my back from the start, right? Of course I’m gonna have yours too. That’s what teammates are for, you said it yourself.”

“So now… we’re even?”

“Not even close,” Hunk said, shaking his head. “Not until you get out of that cryopod and eat every bite of the feast I’m going to make for you the moment we get back to the Castle. I’m talking twenty dessert courses and live entertainment by the mice. Then we’ll be even.”

Keith let out a breath of laughter and let his eyes slide closed again. “Deal.”

#badthingshappenbingo #keith #hunk #vldgen #keith whump #my writing #fic: got your back

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 2 years

Text

Replacement

Thorns & Jasmine

In which there's a small setback because I forgot to make up a reason why his eyes are white.

Warnings: Some not too graphic (?) eye gore, I mean, if you’ve been along for the ride, you know what happened, and if not, I’m not sure how much sense it makes. Anyway, eyes go *gestures vaguely*

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write this, but then my BTHB came along, so I decided - why not. This is also very fitting for the WiJ “Free Choice” prompt, because someone does have a choice here, hehe.

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Breannan strolled over the platform, a container of ink and a fresh loaf of bread in his basket. It was… nice to be out again. Not that he could push the thought of his friend, alone at his house, fully aside. But Caldyn was doing better. With each of Gwyneth’s visits, he healed a bit more, and with the little dog at his side, he seemed to be less afraid. For the last few days they had agreed that Breannan could leave for a bit, to pick up food and whatever else he might need. That way Corrie didn’t have to come by every day. They still visited ever so often, sharing gossip and checking in on him, but he didn’t need them to get everything for him anymore.

He still tried not to stay away too long, usually picking up food from the nearest locations — not the platforms full of stalls offering it, but scattered ones in other, closer areas. Today it had taken a bit longer, because he had needed fresh ink, and there really was no way to get ink anywhere close. But it was a beautiful, sunny day, and Caldyn had told him to take his time, smiling as he had listened to Breannan searching for his misplaced basket.

Perhaps, in a week or two, he would be able to resume some of his lectures. Only the afternoon ones, and only a few times per month, but he missed his students. That would keep him out of the house for longer though, and he wasn’t yet willing to leave Caldyn alone for a longer time. It was hard to let go of his worry, even if it was unfounded. They were as safe as anyone could be, here in the heart of their home. As time passed, he’d get more comfortable with it, Breannan was sure of it. As soon as he had reached his platform, he picked up speed, entering his home a few minutes later.

“I’m back,” he called out, walking to the shelf to put the ink away. There was no reply. Perhaps Caldyn had fallen asleep again? Breannan listened, then turned around to put the basket on the table. The bread could stay in there for now. Perhaps they’d try it later, perhaps not; they had already eaten in the morning, and Caldyn’s appetite was still rather small.

The moment he entered the study room, Breannan realized something was off. Caldyn’s bed was empty, a puddle of water in front of it, from where the bucket had been toppled over. Some of the water had soaked the sheets as well. Breannan’s gaze darted across the room, finding Caldyn in the far corner of it. He was lying curled up on the floor, trembling, his head hidden beneath his arms. Around him were some scattered trinkets, probably fallen out of the shelf behind Caldyn.

Breannan suppressed his first instinct to run to his friend, looking around instead; even turning around to peer back into the room he had come from. There was no danger. In fact, everything looked completely normal. Not even the little dog was anywhere to be found, Breannan realized after a moment.

“Caldyn?” he called as he carefully took one step into the study room.

There was no reply.

“It’s me. It’s me. I’m coming closer,” he kept talking as he approached. So Caldyn would know it was him. So Breannan could hear his own voice, leaving less room for his thoughts running wild. Something must have happened. His friend had been doing so well. Breannan couldn’t stop himself from casting another glance over his shoulder as he walked across the room.

“Caldyn?” he asked again. “Can you hear me?”

He either couldn’t hear him, or didn’t manage to react. In front of him, Breannan stopped. Should he touch him? Would it make everything worse? When he was caught in something like that, he couldn’t stand to be touched, but Caldyn had always tried to be close to him, no matter how bad his panic. Expecting the worst, Breannan reached for Caldyn’s shoulder.

“Caldyn?”

Getting no reaction was not what he had hoped for, but better than what he had feared. He pulled his hand back, looking around once more. Could it have been a nightmare? Something must have caused this, but there was nothing out of the ordinary here. Whatever it had been, he’d have to make sure it was gone, but how should he? Slowly, he walked over to the bed, examining each step along the way. There was nothing, until his toes reached the spot where the floor was wet.

Next to the puddle of water was what looked like an orange pile of… Breannan took a moment to recognize the color as the one of the fruits they had shared for breakfast. He grimaced, turning to the side, his gaze wandering over the empty bowl and the bucket he grabbed to put it upright. Next to it lay something he didn’t recognize. It was a weird, round thing. Mostly green, but wrinkly and dark on one side. Breannan reached for it, picked it up — and dropped it instantly, almost emptying his own stomach as well.

“Blight.”

He ran back to Caldyn, dropping to his knees next to him. Breannan had to pause, to take a few breaths, not half as deep as he had hoped, in the fruitless attempt to keep his hands from shaking. He had picked up his friend’s eye. No amount of calming exercise could make this horror go away. He had to keep it together. Had to find out how bad it was. How badly Caldyn was hurt.

There was no reaction as Breannan reached for his hands, pulling them down, turning him around. Where Caldyn’s left eye had been was nothing but a hole, and a few withered vines, hanging out of it. He stared at it, and the other one, looking so open wide. Always so terribly open with the missing eyelids.

“Caldyn. Can you hear me?” There was no reaction. It took Breannan a moment to realize that Caldyn had stopped shaking. It was the trembling of his own hands he felt, getting stronger as his friend didn’t react at all. “Caldyn? Caldyn, please wake up.”

Tears ran down his face as he pressed Caldyn against his chest, holding him, rocking him. He couldn’t have said how much time passed, how often he whispered his friend’s name, not getting any reaction. Staring at the back of Caldyn’s head, he tried and failed to think. He had to do something, but anything he could have done would have required letting go of Caldyn. He couldn’t, clinging to him as if he could vanish any moment.

“Hey, Breannan? I know I was here yesterday, but you won’t believe what—”

“Corrie?” he asked in a whisper, not even hearing what he would not believe. Then, shouting, “Corrie, please. I need your help.”

He barely dared to look up as their footsteps approached, still staring at the back of his friend’s head, pressed against his chest.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I need Gwyneth. The healer. Can you get her? She’s…” Would she even be at the healer’s house today, or would she have a night shift? But even if she’d be at home, Breannan didn’t know where that was. “At the healer’s house. The blue one. Do you know where that is?”

He had been there only once. While he remembered the way, for the most part, he didn’t even know how to start putting it into words.

“Yes. I know. I’ll get her. Breannan…” The worry behind Corrie’s words was almost graspable. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes.” Why did they even waste time asking? It wasn’t him who needed help! “Please, go. Go!”

Corrie sighed, but they left, walking quickly. Breannan wished they’d run, wished they’d be back already. “It’s gonna be alright,” he whispered, knowing Caldyn most likely wouldn’t even hear it.

What felt like hours later, but probably was barely a quarter of one, footsteps sounded again.

“Breannan? What happened?”

This time he did look up, finding Gwyneth in the middle of the room. She was holding a bag in both hands and failing to keep a professional look on her face. Breannan gestured her to come closer, with his head only, not daring to let go of Caldyn.

“His eyes,” he whispered as she crouched down next to them. “Something. Happened. One is… it’s over there. I wasn’t here. I didn’t see what happened, I don’t know— I don’t know what happened.” Breannan only stopped because he ran out of breath to say anything else.

Gwyneth’s gaze wandered to the bed and the mess in front of it. It was unlikely she’d be able to see it from here, but it was probably unnecessary. “Can I see?” she asked, reaching out, but not touching Caldyn yet.

“I don’t know,” Breannan repeated. “He’s not… I found him like this and he… he doesn’t react, doesn’t…”

Instead of saying anything, Gwyneth put her hands next to his, touching the back of Caldyn’s head. While she focused on her magic, Breannan stared straight ahead. If only he had been here. If only he could have done anything. If only—

“Breannan. Hey, look at me. Look at me.” Only when he did so did she continue talking. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it’s not bad. No, listen,” she quickly added when he opened his mouth. “I can’t imagine how wrong it feels, that’s probably why he’s like that.” The expression on her face suggested that she might have tried to imagine it after all. “But the injury isn’t bad. His eyes were already gone. I’ll have to do something about it, obviously, but first I need you to calm down. He’s gonna be alright.”

Breannan stared at her, turning her words over in his head. Alright. Caldyn would be alright. He didn’t know how that could be possible, but he trusted her. Had to trust her. Closing his eyes, Breannan tried to take deep breaths, each one a bit less shaky than the previous one.

“That’s right. He’ll be fine.” As she spoke, Gwyneth put her hand on Breannan’s, and he pulled back hastily. “I’m sorry, I forgot. Do you… do you want to know what happened?” she asked hesitatingly.

Against better judgment, Breannan nodded.

“His eyes are… well, were nothing more than dead tissue,” she started, her voice steady despite the grim topic. “The fire destroyed them. But the vines holding them weren’t, and without the eyelids, they started to dry up. The other one will follow soon, in a day or two if I don’t remove it as well; which I will.”

Breannan couldn’t help but flinch at her words. If she saw it, she ignored it, continuing with her explanation.

“I’m not entirely sure what to do after. We could leave the sockets like that, but he’d have to be very careful with them. And… I don’t think he’d appreciate the feeling much. He might get used to it, but… There is something I’ve been thinking about. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, and I had hoped I’d have more time.” She paused, looking from Breannan to her hand, spreading her fingers. “You know, when someone loses a limb, they sometimes pick up a prosthesis. Some are carved or something, but most are grown. They’re attached with… well whatever, that doesn’t matter.”

She was speaking slowly enough to give Breannan time to ask, “You mean a shaper could grow a third arm or something like that?” No matter how worried Breannan was about his friend, this idea alarmed him.

“No. Not like that. They grow them from normal plants. Not kalani. Only we healers can use our magic on kalani, and we cannot shape." She sighed. “They grow a piece of wood that looks like a hand or foot, and attach it — mechanically, not with magic. It might have to be replaced at some point, if it’s worn.”

“So you… what? Wanted to get him a grown eye or something?” Breannan asked when Gwyneth didn’t continue. “Just… put it in there?”

“It sounds weird when you put it like this, but… that was one option, yes. Though so far my research has not given me great results about what material would be best. Unlike limbs, probably not wood.” Gwyneth took a deep breath. “The other… we can’t shape, but we can mend injured tissue in more than one way. I believe it should be possible for me to fill the sockets with what would basically be scar tissue. It wouldn’t look like eyes, but it would prevent any harm from coming to his sockets. It could probably stay like that indefinitely.” She hesitated, casting a glance towards Caldyn’s bed. “It would work now, because this is fresh. I need some kind of wound to work with.”

The implication was clear. It would work later, but then she’d probably have to cause that wound herself. The thought made Breannan shudder.

“I’m not sure how it would feel. If it would feel natural, if any of this would. I wanted to ask him what he’d prefer, but… by the tree, how should I have asked?”

That was a question Breannan had no answer for. “So what are we gonna do now?” he asked instead.

“We can’t leave it like that,” Gwyneth said decidedly. “And I’m not sure if he’s in a state to decide, even if we wait for him to wake up. I obviously don’t have anything like spare eyes with me,” she said, a hint of desperate meaning flickering behind her words. “I mean, who would. But I need to do something about those vines.”

She looked at Caldyn, waiting quietly, as if hoping he’d wake up and take that decision away from them. He didn’t. “You know him better than anyone,” she whispered. “What do you think he’d want?”

Breannan closed his eyes, holding Caldyn a bit tighter. “I think he wants… he needs to be done with it. The healing and the… everything,” he said, suppressing his words’ meaning. He knew Caldyn was grateful that Gwyneth still came back; he himself was, indefinitely grateful. At the same time, all the touches, tracing those terrible wounds, and the pain when the hardened bark slowly mended, it was all too much. The thought that they’d continue on his eyes, prodding and fitting something in, was almost enough to let him decide. Still…

“This… this scar tissue. Would it be possible to remove it? If he wants something else,” he asked.

“Yes. I would assume it would be as unpleasant as creating it later would be.”

Breannan nodded. “Then do it.

Even if Caldyn would decide on something else later, that wouldn’t be anytime soon. And until then, if this worked, it would give him some peace.

“Alright. Can you hold him so he faces me?”

Breannan nodded again, leaning against the wall and pulling Caldyn onto his legs. Holding his head, so he was facing Gwyneth, Breannan swallowed. The withered, brown tendrils hanging where his friend’s eye should be made him feel sick.

“I’ll start. Perhaps you should not watch,” Gwyneth said. She had moved closer and was holding something in her hand, something sharp, something… Breannan did not want to see. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, absentmindedly brushing his fingers through Caldyn’s branchy hair.

For a while, there was only silence. Silence and the impression of movement close to him. Silence and the occasional noise that wasn’t silence, but so quiet, it was easy to ignore. Ignore, not imagining what Gwyneth might be doing that very moment. Not wondering what exactly had happened, if it had just fallen off like that. He was definitely not wondering about that, not at all.

When Caldyn stirred, it was a relief as much as a reason to worry. Gwyneth wasn’t done yet, hadn’t even started on the second eye. Breannan hoped she’d be able to finish her work. For now, she pulled her hands back.

“Bren… Breannan. Why… I had a dream. My… my eye… it was— it.” Caldyn gasped for air, struggling to get his left hand up. It was tangled in Breannan’s petals, and before Caldyn could free it and lift it to his face, Breannan caught it and held it.

“It’s alright. Gwyneth is here. She’ll take care of it.”

“Hey, Caldyn,” Gwyneth said, her hands resting in her lap.

“Gwyneth? Is it… evening?”

“No. Not yet. I came a bit earlier today.” Her tone and meaning were calming. “I heard you had a… nightmare,” she spoke slowly, “and I came to check on you.”

“Night… mare.” Caldyn tried to move his hand again. This time Breannan let him. Caldyn’s fingers were trembling as he touched the charred bark, not daring to get too close to his eye. He turned his head, to the side and back, swallowing. “You… you fixed it. Thank you. Thank…” His hand dropped. “Sorry. ‘m tired.”

“It’s alright.” Breannan reached for Caldyn’s hand, pulling it back close to his chest. “You can rest. We’ll take care of it.”

“Take… care.” Caldyn’s slurred words were hard to make out. “Will you… fix the other, too?”

“Yes. I will.” Gwyneth raised her hand to his forehead, stroking it. “Don’t worry. Sleep.”

It took mere seconds for Caldyn’s body to go limp. Breannan cast a worried glance at Gwyneth, but she was already reaching for her tool again.

“It was the right decision, Breannan,” she said, looking up with a sad smile. “His mind is trying to protect him. Not having to deal with that anytime soon, if at all, is for the best. And it seems to feel right to him, so now I’ll take care of the other one as well. You should…”

“Yes,” he said quickly, closing his eyes, leaning back once more.

While Gwyneth worked, he found himself becoming calmer than he had been before. Despite knowing what she was doing at this very moment, he managed to think of something else. Something positive. Like which book he would pick to read to Caldyn later in the evening, as he so often did before he went into his bedroom for the night.

“I’m done.”

Breannan slowly opened his eyes. Earlier he had been too distracted by Caldyn’s awakening to pay much attention to what Gwyneth had done. Now he sat up straight, taking a deep breath before daring to look.

Despite Gwyneth’s words, what she had formed did look like eyes, in a way. The only difference was that they were white; colorless, rather, like the inside of a soft root that had never seen the sun. It was less unsettling than the charred bark around them. And if Caldyn’s earlier reaction was any indication, it didn’t seem to cause him any pain, perhaps not even discomfort. That was certainly more than he could say about some of his other injuries.

“Thank you.” Breannan managed a smile; shaky, but genuine. “Really, thank you. I was… I didn’t know what to do.”

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for.” She returned his smile, looking more tired than anything else. “Perhaps not exactly that. I’m just glad it worked. I’d like to stay and wait how he reacts, but I’m not sure he’ll wake up anytime soon. I will fall asleep any moment though, so I’ll have to get home.”

“Are you alright?” On second glance, Breannan realized with worry, she looked more than tired. “Should I…” He faltered. He’d like to offer to bring her home, but he didn’t want to leave Caldyn alone.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go home and sleep. You need to stay with him. I’m not sure what he will remember when he wakes up, or how he will react. He shouldn’t be alone.”

Breannan nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

He watched her get up, steadying herself against the shelf for a moment. Then she picked up her bag, smiled once more and left, her steps a little bit slower than usual.

Breannan waited until they had faded, then he leaned against the wall. He wished he had some of the blankets in reach, regretting briefly that he hadn’t asked Gwyneth to hand him one. It couldn’t be very comfortable for Caldyn like that, but there was nothing he could do about it, not if he didn’t want to let him go. And he couldn’t, not yet.

Perhaps in a bit; when Caldyn would wake up, when he would talk to him. When he would tell Breannan that he was fine, even if he wasn’t, and would decline when Breannan would ask him if he was hungry. Then Breannan would have to let go, to clean up Caldyn’s bed, and fetch some water, for his friend would surely be thirsty. He’d have to grab the book as well, the one he had thought about earlier. He’d do all of that, as soon as Caldyn would wake up. As soon as he knew Caldyn was truly alright.

It felt like hours later, but the light outside the window was still bright when Caldyn stirred, making it early afternoon at best. He lifted his hand, feeling Breannan’s petals and finding his arm, resting there. Breannan closed his fingers around his friend’s.

“Breannan?” Caldyn’s voice was sleepy, but calm. “I had… a strange dream.”

Aaaaand this one is the last entry for his recovery arc. With the next part, we’ll finally be dragging Lily into this mess :)

Also, please blame any anatomical inaccuracies on the fact that he is a plant. Thanks. And in case you were wondering, the dog got scared and went to hide.

Tagging: @villainsvictim @dont-touch-my-soup @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whump-cravings @frenchfries893 @siren-of-agony @badthingshappenbingo @whumpmasinjuly

#Thorns and Jasmine #whump #fantasy whump #non human whumpee #badthingshappenbingo #prompt: loss of sight #fandom: original work #wij22day30 #eye whump #kinda #I mean that's probably not the spirit of the wij prompt but #It's also a BTHB fill so there is another prompt in there #somewhere #my writing

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morganaspendragonss · 4 years

Text

@badthingshappenbingo request for @221bsunsettowers. thank you for the prompt!

also written for Day 1 of @whumptober2020.

prompt(s): Water Torture (BTHB) & waking up restrained

fandom: 9-1-1: Lone Star

ao3

Carlos wakes up slowly. He cracks his eyes open, wincing at the pounding in his head. He lifts his hand to massage the pain away, only to discover that his hand won't move, the cool metal of handcuffs biting viciously into his wrist. He frowns, forcing his eyes wider, taking in the room he’s in.

It’s dirty, litter strewn across the stone floor, clearly having been abandoned for years. The windows are broken and the low ceiling looks liable to fall in at any moment. Carlos shivers, a chill stealing through him; he’s barefoot and his shirt is missing.

His head aches dully as he strains to remember what happened. He’d been on an undercover mission, trying to expose Austin’s latest drug ring, he’d been so goddamned close to finally getting a breakthrough.

Fuck.

There were more officers with him on the case, but Carlos knows there’s very little chance of any of them coming to find him. Judging by the lack of light filtering through the windows, it’s still night, which means they won’t notice anything’s amiss until he misses check-in in however many hours. It’ll take longer to figure out that he’s been taken, and longer still to find him, presuming they do. And by that time…

Well, Carlos doesn’t want to be pessimistic, but he knows his odds. It’s realism, if anything.

He just wishes he could talk to T.K. one last time. Tell him he loves him. Tell him he’s sorry.

A door bangs open behind Carlos. He tries to crane his neck to see who it is, but he’s stiff and his mobility is already limited by the restraints. He doesn’t have to wait long, however; the guy makes his way around to face him, and Carlos instantly recognises him as one of the gang leaders. Anderson, his name is. He’s carrying a chair, which he sets down in front of Carlos.

“Good to see you awake,” he says, an ugly smile twisting his features. He sits, leaning forward, steepling his hands together. “To business, then. Carlos - can I call you Carlos? - we have a little problem, you and I.”

A chill of fear steals through Carlos at the sound of his name. He doesn’t understand how he knows it - he thought he’d been so careful.

Anderson chuckles. “Yeah, we know who you are. You can dress how you want, pretend to be whoever you want, but you smell like a cop. I had the lads do some digging, it didn't take long to come up with a name. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Carlos Reyes.”

Anderson stands and walks behind Carlos, placing his hands roughly on his shoulders. “Now, that brings me onto my problem. You see, I know there’s more of you. Two, three, I don’t know. They’re better than you are. I have my suspicions, of course, but I need to be sure, you know? Can’t be getting rid of some perfectly good workers now, can I? So.” He digs his nails into Carlos’s skin, leaning close. “You tell me who your little cop friends are and I promise I’ll make it quick for you. Scout’s honour.”

In answer, Carlos throws his head back, relishing Anderson’s pained yell as it connects with his face. The pressure disappears from his shoulders, but the moment is short-lived; Carlos grunts as a hand connects with his head, snapping it forwards.

Breathing hard, Anderson comes to stand before Carlos, a hand cupping his cheek. Carlos feels a stab of disappointment at that - he’d been aiming for the nose. Still. It’s a victory, albeit a somewhat pointless one.

That fact is kind of rammed home when Anderson growls, “Poor choice, Reyes. Very poor choice.”

He nods curtly, eyes fixed on a spot just over Carlos’s left shoulder. Carlos tries to see, but once again the restraints stop him. He can still hear, though, and he can tell that there’s at least two other people in the room. Whether or not they came in with Anderson, Carlos doesn’t know, but he knows that their presence can’t be good.

He’s proven right when one of them comes into view, a mask covering his face. Anderson moves his chair away and pulls on his own mask, though he gives Carlos one last shark-like grin before he does so. A camera replaces the chair, red light blinking, and Carlos feels sick with dread as he realises what is going to happen.

He hears Anderson’s other guy step behind him and he braces himself for whatever they’re going to throw at him.

“You’re gonna tell us the names, one way or the other,” Anderson says, voice silky soft. “But, just in case you’ve got any ideas about resisting, I think I ought to add a little extra...incentive.”

He bends down, lips almost brushing Carlos’s ear. “T.K. Strand,” he whispers, dragging out the syllables.

Carlos recoils as much as he is able, staring at Anderson with undisguised horror. “What have you done to him?”

Anderson laughs. “Nothing, yet. But he’ll be watching, Reyes. He’s gonna watch you die, but not before he watches you spill every little secret the APD has.”

Carlos can’t breathe. “No -” he manages, but then there are hands in his hair, on his face, forcing his head back harshly.

He has time for one last gasping breath before a cloth is forced over his face and water comes pouring down.

Carlos doesn’t know how long it’s been. He’s exhausted, and soaked, and he can’t stop shivering. The handcuffs are the only things keeping him in the chair at this point, and even then it’s a close thing. He coughs, and apparently Anderson considers that defiance enough as his men throw another pail of ice water over him.

“C’mon Reyes,” Anderson wheedles. “You’re dead already. I know that. You know that. Don’t you have any last words for our audience, huh? Any...I don’t know, names? Don’t you want to get revenge on the captains sitting pretty in their office while you die for them? Huh? You gotta make your death mean something, Carlos.”

Carlos forces another breath, then slowly, laboriously, raises his head up. He meets Anderson’s eyes before turning his gaze to look directly down the camera.

He tries to speak, but he’s too tired, the words refusing to come out. Anderson leers at him. “Need some water there, Reyes?” he asks, delight clear in his voice.

Carlos panics. “No,” he croaks. Then, louder, “No!” He takes a moment to compose himself and sits up as straight as he can, forcing himself to smile.

“T.K.,” he says, hoping that T.K. is listening, and also dreading that exact thing. “T.K., I’m sorry. I love you. I love you. I -”

The cloth is forced back over his face and Carlos chokes as water fills up his mouth and eyes and nose. It’s left on longer than before - too long - and Carlos wonders if he’s pushed them too far, if this is when he dies. The thought isn’t as terrifying as it had been earlier.

But then the cloth is ripped away and replaced with Anderson’s face, mask pulled back to showcase the full extent of his fury.

“That was sweet,” he snarls. “And stupid. You overestimate your importance to me, boy.” He pulls back, staring down at Carlos with disdain. “Finish it.”

And Carlos doesn’t have time for another thought as he’s grabbed again, fists flying at every inch of his body. At some point, the chair tips over, and the cold pain of his face being pummelled into concrete is the last thing Carlos knows.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t -

Carlos brings his hands up to his throat, eyes flying wide with panic as everything comes flooding back to him. There are voices, shouting, but Carlos can’t figure out what they’re saying through the haze of fear. A face comes into view and it feels familiar, but it’s gone too quickly, replaced by strange hands and eyes and a beeping that’s getting louder and louder -

Carlos falls into the dark.

The next time he wakes is a lot calmer. He can breathe now and relishes in the feeling, before remembering that he’s not supposed to be breathing at all.

Carlos cracks his eyes open, squinting at his surroundings.

Ah. A hospital.

He doesn’t know how he got here, but he’s too exhausted and his throat is too sore to bother trying to ask. Instead, he rolls his head to the side, instantly cheering when he spots the figure slumped in the chair. Carlos notices T.K.’s hand sitting limply in his own, so he squeezes it gently, knowing from experience of this situation in reverse that T.K. will be on high alert for any sign of life.

True to form, T.K., jerks awake, wide-eyed gaze seeking out Carlos. “‘Los,” he croaks, voice still thick with sleep, but to Carlos it sounds like the most beautiful thing in the world.

Tears slip down T.K.’s cheeks, but he brushes them away and presses a kiss to Carlos’s hand. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he whispers.

“Me too,” Carlos admits, but the effort of speaking scratches his throat and sends him into a painful coughing fit. T.K. holds him through it, and when it passes, there’s a cup at Carlos’s lips, pre-empting his request.

He settles back into the pillows, his eyes drifting closed. T.K.’s hand cards gently through his hair and Carlos drifts back to sleep, at peace and safe.

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ashkazora · 4 years

Text

2020 Fic Roundup

Stats:

Fics Posted (Total): 13

In chronological order: Cold Floors and Warm Hearts - a fluffy shance fic about the three times Shiro accidentally wakes up in Lance’s room. Exchange fic. 3,441 words.

These Boots Are Gonna Walk All Over You - a small klance fillet based on the US tv show, The Blacklist. 639 words.

the water was dark (and it went down forever) - a Lance-centric gen fic exploring his relationship with the Blue Lion, and her control over him. 15,618 words.

Coffee Grinds and Morse Code - a post-s8, Shance fic written for the valentines shance exchange! 3,593 words.

Nectar and Ambrosia - my first Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt fill for the square ‘denied food as punishment.’ Lance whump. 2,641 words.

there ain't no rest for the wicked - another Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt fill for ‘big brother instincts,’ but this time with Plance and Lance whump. 3,508 words.

Of Claws and Steel - a science-fiction, super sentai cat armour AU entered around the Lions as futuristic mecha armour. Most underrated fic here. 14,344 words.

Hairline Fractures - another Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt fill, ‘bleeding through bandages.’ Lance whump (again). 5,059 words.

Leverage - last Bad Things Happen Bingo fill for the year, for the prompt ‘on a leash.’ Featuring Shance, and Lance and Shiro whump. 7,743 words.

Lay It Down To Save It - Leakira Klance AU written for Leakira week. Made in collaboration with @crapoftheworldblr! 18,102 words.

to the stars and back - The Dragon Prince Plance AU with Prince!Lance and Elf!Pidge. In collaboration with @rosieclark! 36,574 words.

Sweeter Than Honey - written for the Blue Moon Lance zine! Features BAMF!Lance as the honeypot on a mission. 4,098 words.

In The Closet - Klance fic for the winner of my fic giveaway. Fluffy, and definitely a bit saucy. 2,363 words.

Fics Posted (Gen): 5

the water was dark (and it went down forever) Nectar and Ambrosia Of Claws and Steel Hairline Fractures Sweeter Than Honey

Plance: 2

there ain't no rest for the wicked to the stars and back

Shance: 3

Cold Floors and Warm Hearts Coffee Grinds and Morse Code Leverage

Klance: 3

These Boots Are Gonna Walk All Over You Lay It Down To Save It In The Closet

Collaborations: 2

Lay It Down To Save It to the stars and back

Ship/Character breakdown:

Ship breakdown:

This year, the biggest ship I wrote for was Shance (3 fics), with Plance (2) and Klance (2.5) coming in from behind. The k/l ficlet doesn’t count as a full fic.

Character breakdown:

Of the 13 fics, Lance is in the most with 13 (insert surprised pikachu face here), then it goes Shiro (12), Keith (10), Pidge (8), Hunk (7), Allura (6) and Matt Holt (2). Other characters appear only once, such as Coran, Haggar and Kolivan. Technically, the Blue Lion clocks in at 2 mentions.

Characters that had the main focus:

Lance had the sole POV for 7 of those fics, and shared POVs (in a collaboration) iin 2 additional fics. Shiro had the second most POVs at a total of 3, while Keith had 1 sole POV and 1 shared POV, and Pidge with one shared POV.

Specifics:

Best/worst title?

Best title: the water was dark (and it went down forever), but honestly so many other fics has titles I liked. This title was based off of the Tim Winton short story by the name name, The Water Was Dark And It Went Down Forever, where the main character swims and debatably drowns. So it’s fairly fitting.

Runners up titles include Sweeter Than Honey, to the stars and back, and Lay It Down To Save It.

Worst title: Hairline Fractures. It’s dumb and it makes no sense. It was the first thing that came to mind.

An honourable mention includes Leverage, which would be first if not for the fact that the title inspired the ending, so it’s not too bad.

Best/worst last line?

Best: From the water was dark (and it went down forever):

Blue’s grasp on him was like an endless expanse; an opulent and brilliant ocean. Her waters were dark, and it went down forever.

This was definitely my favourite, even though it’s pretty cringe. The way it was formatted in ao3 and the way it related to the title plus the reoccurring symbolism of water made it pretty neat!

Worst: From there ain't no rest for the wicked:

Pidge laughed, and turned her back from the darkness.

I’m sorry. This ending was so cringey. I hate it. There’s nothing else to say except I have no idea how to fix it. Oof.

General questions:

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

tbh, I wrote a lot more, considering I had my final exams this year. Breaching 100k was crazy.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

Honestly? Klance. I’m not the biggest fan of the ship but writing it is very interesting, and I enjoyed it.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

Of Claws and Steel hands down! It’s the first fic idea I ever had for VLD, and the one I really love the most. One day I’d love to write a continuation of it, but the reception of the fic wasn’t great so idk.

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

the water was dark (and it went down forever) even though it was started in 2019, was finished this year and is my most popular fic of all time! It’s got 4k+ hits and 450+ kudos. Crazy, since it was only supposed to be a dumb little warm up fic to get me back into writing in preparation for Of Claws and Steel. Alas, turns out people really liked it!

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

Of Claws and Steel. It was the fic I worked the hardest on this year but got the least amount of attention :)

Story that could have been better?

Easily there ain't no rest for the wicked. There was so much plot and so many things I wanted to include but didn't. There’s a lot of things missing and bad plot flow. One day if I got more time, I’d love to write more on it.

Sexiest story?

In The Closet, hands down. It gets a bit steamy with a k/l makeout session. Originally it was going to be a lot saucier but I wasn’t too comfortable in my ability to write it well ahaha.

Saddest story?

None of my stories were sad, per se. Most of the sad ones were more scary/foreboding rather than actually being sad. I guess to the stars and back right now, because it’s dealing with Lance’s insecurities and Pidge’s desperation to find her brother (and a lot of other things, which will be revealed in the future!)

Most fun?

Sweeter Than Honey! It was fun to write and is my most fun fic. BAMF!Lance and his witty commentary is always a great laugh.

Story with single sweetest moment?

I can’t choose :,). It’s a three-way tie between Cold Floors and Warm Hearts’s last scene where Shiro realises Lance bought him the necklace, Lay It Down To Save It’s scene that I can’t say because it’s technically unpublished ;), and to the stars and back’s scene where Lance and Pidge talk about what they would like to be in life (ch3).

Hardest story to write?

Probably Of Claws and Steel, as I completely stagnated on the story for a long time. It took me 8 months to write it. Without Rue’s help, I probably would have taken so much longer. Runners up is Leverage, as it took me like a solid week to write 90% of it, and 3 more months to write the remaining 10%. For some reason, parts of that fic were such a pain to write.

Easiest/most fun story to write?

The easiest was definitely to the stars and back. I could relate to a lot of Lance’s actions and thoughts in the fic, so writing his POV was super easy and rather cathartic ngl. However the most fun was probably Sweeter Than Honey, as it was super self indulgent ahaha.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

Lay It Down To Save It changed my perception of Keith. I don’t particularly like Keith in canon, but I’ve warmed up to his fanon self and general character after writing from his POV.

Most overdue story?

Of Claws and Steel easily! It was the first VLD fic idea I had but took 8 months to write. Oops?

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

For the first time I incorporated HTML coding into my fics, which taught me a lot about coding and different ways to convey certain messages and detail things. These codings altered fonts and colours, which you can see in

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

Write my tua/vld au fic, which will be my first solo multi chapter fic, and hopefully finish it by the end of next year. Also, sticking to a consistent writing schedule and try to write at least 100 words a day, plus finishing TSSAB. I’d also like to finish some more BTHB prompts!

That’s all, folks! Thank you all for sticking with my writing! Hopefully 2021 brings even more writing, fun times, and great fics. Happy New Years (in 24 hours), everyone!

#ashka writes #fic roundup #2020 fic roundup #MASSIVE shoutout to rue for giving me these questions #if you've read ocas ur officially my favourite person #ao3

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collapse-and-comfort · 4 years

Note

Prompts you say? If you want to/it intrigues you - any (and all) Geralt whump would be amazing! As far as a specific prompt - maybe something involving poisoning? Something lethal to humans and not-so-fun for Witchers? But only if you want to! -@sick-bae

Oh, my goodness!!! Thank you, @sick-bae for the amazing prompt! Sorry it took me so long (roughly forever) to write it! I meant to make it a drabble. (Oops!) Here is a bunch of Geralt whump for the sake of Geralt whump! I hope you enjoy!

It also helped me fill another @badthingshappenbingo square! (View my BTHB Card.)

Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix)

Whumpee: Geralt of Rivia

Caretaker: Jaskier

Pairing: None

Squire Filled: Delirium

Word Count: 3,303

Jaskier sat in their little camp and plucked at his lute’s strings. The tune was flippant, atonal nonsense but Jaskier stopped and started again as though he’d made a mistake.

This is taking too long, he thought as the sun slipped below the horizon.

He nudged away the familiar pang that came with being unable to do anything in these situations. He continued to strum, and imagined the thing Geralt was hunting -a creature that was feline and reptilian in grace and appearance. It was difficult not to find inspiration in that horror, though. His fingers sussed out a new rhythm. He looked into the fire and wondered if the creature's eyes were similar in color, how Similar to Geralt’s.

Jaskier stopped abruptly when the brush to his left rustled. He gripped the neck of the lute tightly and jumped.

“You’re back,” Jaskier said as he huffed out self-deprecating laughter, but gave a smile that insisted he knew it was Geralt all along. “You really-”

Something was wrong.

The fact Jaskier had heard Geralt approach was testament to that fact. Geralt’s steps were slow. His right hand held his ichor-slicked silver sword, and he kept his left arm across his abdomen. Jaskier couldn’t see the blood very well against the dark fabric of Geralt’s tunic, but he could see that the hand covering the wound was stained crimson.

Jaskier set his lute down, stood and walked closer without bothering to brush the dirt from his clothes. In the pale evening light, Jaskier could see the sheen of sweat covering Geralt’s face. In the back of his mind, Jaskier wondered where Geralt’s armor was.

“Hey,” he said as he reached out to take the sword, or help in some way. He wasn’t really sure.

“Leave it,” Geralt growled as he slumped against a tree. He winced and swallowed hard.

Jaskier would not be so easily rebuffed. He let Geralt take a couple of breaths before walking over and taking a soft hold of Geralt’s forearm with one hand, and the sword’s pommel with the other.

“Is it dead?”

“Hmm,” Geralt said by way of confirmation.

“Then let go,” Jaskier said.

It was not a request. He supposed it might have been an imitation of Geralt. Jaskier squeezed his forearm lightly. Geralt, for his part, looked at Jaskier with annoyed resignation as he uncurled his fingers and let Jaskier relieve him of his weapon.

Without taking his eyes off of Geralt, Jaskier carried the sword and placed it by Geralt’s things. He opened his mouth to lament Roach’s absence when Geralt heaved himself away from the tree trunk and tried to walk. One step, then another that faltered. Jaskier closed the distance between them and caught Geralt under the arms before gravity could claim him. It must have pulled the wound; Geralt gave an abrupt, pained grunt.

“Sorry,” Jaskier said as he helped Geralt right himself.

He nudged his way under Geralt’s left arm and was surprised by the heat Geralt’s body was putting off.

“You’re so warm.”

Geralt leaned more heavily on Jaskier, but said nothing.

“Come on,” Jaskier said as he took as he took a step.

Geralt’s movements shadowed Jaskier’s as they made their way to Geralt’s bedroll. The going was slow and with each step, Geralt leaned more heavily on Jaskier. They paused when they reached the bedroll. Jaskier struggled for something to say. Expressions of concern were jumbled with glib proclamations about how heavy Geralt was. He settled on silence and focused on settling Geralt. Jaskier’s knees threatened to buckle, and he felt the strain in his back, but he didn’t let go until Geralt was on the ground.

Jaskier huffed out a breath and smiled at how close he’d come to toppling. His smile was short lived, though. Jaskier had expected Geralt to begin rumaging through his pack and begin the process of making himself well. But Geralt sat there, jaw clenched, with his hand still holding his side.

“You’re hurt,” Jaskier said.

His words didn’t spur Geralt into action, but it did earn him a half hearted scowl.

“I'm allowed to indulge in stating the obvious every once in a while,” he said. “What do you need?”

“Thirsty,” Geralt said.

Jaskier was used to Geralt answering with sounds, gestures, or monosyllabic words, but his voice was quieter than it should have been; he sounded so worn. Jaskier located Geralt’s water and handed it to him. Geralt drank from the skin with the urgency of someone who had been stranded in a desert. Geralt’s breathing escalated with the effort, and Jaskier watched with both worry and morbid fascination as some of the water ran down Geralt’s chin and onto his chest. Geralt exhaled harshly when he was done. He let the water skin fall from his hand, then scrubbed a broad palm over his face and winced.

The longer Geralt took to make a move for his pack, the more nervous Jaskier became. He couldn’t see the extent of the wound on Geralt’s side, but that seemed like as good a time as any to mention it.

“We should get that cleaned,” Jaskier said.

Geralt made no move for his things. He just sat there, staring forward with his jaws clenched, sweat on his face beading anew.

“Do you need a potion, or-”

“No.”

Geralt’s voice was flat and impatient, but not angry enough to dissuade Jaskier from pressing the issue.

“What can I do?”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Geralt said as he looked up at Jaskier.

Jaskier guessed he was trying to glare, but Geralt looked too tired to muster any real menace. Jaskier frowned, but quickly marshalled his expression.

“If I were an insecure person, I might think that remark was about my value as a travelling companion.”

“The venom,” Geralt said as he bowed his head and moved it from side to side as though he were hoping to clear his vision. “There’s no potion. Nothing.”

Jaskier thought of the people the creature had already killed; their ends hadn’t been pretty. Icy fear crept into his gut.

“You just intend to curl up and die then? What if...”

Jaskier’s impassioned speech about not giving up fell short. He looked at Geralt. He looked miserable and ill, but not afraid. But then, Geralt couldn't usually be relied upon to display his emotions in a way that would allow Jaskier to gauge the desperation of the situation.

Geralt sighed and looked up at Jaskier with a flash of aggravation.

“It’s fatal to humans,” Geralt said.

Not to witchers, Jaskier thought, unable to miss the subtext of Geralt’s statement.

Geralt licked his lips and swallowed hard before slowly enumerating all the ways he was about to suffer. It hurt Jaskier to hear the frankness with which Geralt discussed the inevitability of his own agony. It was far from the first time Jaskier wondered how much pain Geralt had withstood in his past to make this seem acceptable.

Geralt moved his hand from his side. He put both of his palms on the ground and lowered himself down; he shook as he did so. He rested on his uninjured side and wrapped his arms around himself. Jaskier walked over and knelt down next to Geralt and put a hand on his arm.

“Don’t,” Geralt said as his muscles bunched. “Leave me. I told you I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier said. “You did.”

He didn’t like how Geralt’s voice seemed to come from miles away, or the way he was trembling. But he removed his hand and stood. The sky had darkened; it called to attention how low the fire was burning. That thought gave Jaskier direction. He got some of the wood he’d gathered earlier and added it to the fire. The kindling popped, hissed and shifted in the flame.

He cast a glance back at Geralt before making his way to the nearby stream for water. He rushed back, but everything was as he’d left it. Geralt’s chest moved with short, quick breaths and the deep furrows in his brow informed Jaskier Geralt’s sleep was not a restful one. There was no comfort he could offer his friend in that moment, but he sang one of his own ballads dto himself as he found a pan, then filled it with water and put it over the fire. He willed the water to boil as inactivity grated on him. He considered picking up his lute, or cleaning the sword. Anything but the impotence of waiting.

Jaskier shifted his weight from foot to foot, then made a noise in the back of his throat before getting a blanket from his own belongings. He brought it over to where Geralt lay, and folded it. He sank down behind Geralt. With gentle hands, Jaskier lifted Geralt’s head and put the blanket beneath it. Jaskier felt how damp Geralt’s hair was, and a concerned tut escaped his mouth. He moved a hand to Geralt’s forehead, then his cheek.

Too warm, Jaskier thought. Far too warm.

Geralt’s eyes slid open when Jaskier moved his hand to his throat, but he did nothing to prevent Jaskier from helping.

“You’ve got a fever,” Jaskier told him as he focused on the way Geralt’s pulse jumped under his touch. Was it too fast for a witcher?

Jaskier was unsure if the heat radiating off of Geralt’s body, or his lack of response was more worrying. Geralt’s eyes seemed to look right through him. Jaskier was disabused of any notion of pressing Geralt for a way to help him when Geralt’s body seized up and began to shake.

“Nonononono,” Jaskier said.

Geralt had told him this would happen, but he wasn’t ready for it. He didn’t want to see the way Geralt shook; he didn’t want to see the way Geralt’s eyes rolled back in his head. He put a hand on Geralt’s arm and another on his hip, if for no other reason than to let Geralt know he was there. He knew the gesture was useless, but maybe, maybe, it would keep Geralt from shaking himself apart.

“Okay, you’re going to be okay,” Jaskier said. His voice was barely above a whisper. “You said so yourself.”

Geralt’s back remained straight as his limbs and head shook and spasmed with malignant force. The stuttering, uneven hiss of Geralt’s breath being dragged in and out of his noise was the only sound Geralt made. Jaskier wanted to tear through Geralt’s pack and search out a potion, but he knew that would have been absolute idiocy. He knew whatever he selected would, in his hands, likely do more harm than good.

Pleasepleasepleaseplease, Jaskier prayed to whichever deity might have been listening. Please let this stop!

It did stop.

Eventually.

The shaking tapered off. Geralt breathed hard, but his body went slack. He let out a strangled noise, likely the remnant of words that had snared in his throat. Jaskier moved his hands away, though he doubted Geralt noticed their presence in the first place.

A hissing sound drew Jaskier’s attention; the forgotten water was boiling. He leapt up and took it away from the flame and set it aside to let it cool, but his attention returned to Geralt, who was reigning in his breathing. Jaskier walked in front of Geralt where he crouched and cleared his throat. It was so discreet a noise that Jaskier barely heard it himself.

“Are you with me, Geralt?”

Geralt breathed out, in, then out again before giving a little nod. His eyes remained closed.

“Okay,” Jaskier whispered; relief had muted the volume of his voice. He rose and found his way to his pack.

He brought it over to where Geralt was and began rooting through it. He kept odds and ends on hand, little just-in-case things that he thought he would have needed before Geralt ever did. He found the poultices easily enough; he supposed he could have found them by scent alone. A priestess of Miletele had given them to him; he remembered the crinkle in her nose when she’d admonished him about their pungence.

Jaskier moved Geralt’s arm and pulled his tunic up. It came away easily enough; the fabric had barely begun to stick in the blood. He breathed a sigh of relief when he revealed the wounds. His mind had conjured images of spilt viscera and gushing blood. The wounds, undoubtedly inflicted by one of the creature’s claws, were ugly but they were nowhere near as bad as Jaskier had feared. The blood seeped lazily. Jaskier thought that staunching it should be relatively simple. But the skin around the wounds piqued his concern; it was raised and red.

Poison, Jaskier thought.

Or perhaps it was venom. He chose not to dwell on the distinction. He drew a pained groan from Geralt when he put pressure on the wound. Jaskier mouthed the word ‘Sorry,’ but he didn’t relent. Geralt did what he always did. He tolerated the pain; aside from the occasional tensing of muscle or grunt, he made no complaint as Jaskier worked in silence. He did his best to mimic the priestess’s ministrations. When he was done, he chewed his lip and hoped his limited experience as a healer was adequate. At least there was no more blood and Geralt’s breathing seemed to be more even. Jaskier pulled Geralt’s tunic back down and wished his friend a restful sleep, all while knowing unconsciousness wouldn't find him until Geralt returned to himself.

The night seemed in no hurry to pass. Jaskier shifted from one position to the other, trying to escape the aches in his legs, back and neck. The period of time the relief for his muscles lasted was shorter each time he moved. The fire’s warmth was no comfort to him, especially considering how comparable it was to Geralt’s body heat. Jaskier had no reason to believe their problems would fade with the sunrise, but that didn’t stop him wishing it.

Darkness remained. Geralt groaned and curled in on himself. Jaskier feared another seizure, but while Geralt’s body tensed and trembled, Jaskier realized another symptom Geralt had mentioned was presenting itself. Geralt shifted as he made strangled, pained cries, and Jaskier sat with a desolate kind of uselessness as cramps wracked Geralt’s body.

Nothing you can do, Jaskier thought as he rubbed circles on Geralt’s back and intermittently wiped the sweat from his brow.

Geralt raised a hand. Jaskier watched as it stayed where Geralt had lifted it; several fingers were tightly curled as he trembled with the force of his muscle spasms. Jaskier reached out his own hands and wrapped them around Geralt’s before he guided it back down to his chest. Jaskier moved his thumbs back and forth over Geralt’s hand.

He sounded inane in his own ears as he hushed Geralt and tried to comfort him through the pain.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said as he dashed the idea of running for help when it resurfaced.

Geralt said he would get through this and Jaskier had to trust in that. He bit his lip as Geralt’s hand threatened to crush his. He quelled the urge to attempt to wriggle free. Even if Geralt ground his knuckles into dust.

Geralt’s cries crackled with agony, but they tapered off into muffled, breathy sounds, but those too faded into silence as his body stopped warring with itself. Geralt’s muscles eased and his hand went slack in Jaskier’s. When Geralt’s body unwound, Jaskier patted his hand and set it down before nursing his own and sitting back with a long exhalation. Beneath the light breeze and the occasional snap of an ember there was the occasional hitch in Geralt’s breath. No matter how things seemed, Jaskier didn’t allow himself to sink into the calm, relative quiet.

He sat and watched the thankfully steady motion of Geralt’s shoulder as it rose and fell. Jaskier counted as Geralt breathed, one on inhalations and two on exhalations as though it might make time go faster. A thought flitted into Jaskier’s mind. What if the sun didn’t rise? He nearly chuckled at the thought, but it continued to rattle around in his head. Darkness eternal? It was poetic. It could be the subject of a song. There were no words for that song, not yet, but it would begin with a plodding one-two, one-two tune.

But the rhythm became a staccato riot that was accompanied by murmuring. Jaskier had no wish to wake Geralt, even when those murmurs shaped themselves into names. Some Jaskier recognized, some he didn’t.

“I’m here,” Jaskier whispered.

The desperation in Geralt’s voice made him sound so lost and unlike himself. This part would not make it into his song.

Geralt made an ugly, uncertain noise as he rolled onto his back; his mouth hung open as he gasped for air. His eyes, unseeing and ablaze with disquietude, searched the camp.

“No,” Geralt rasped as the corners of his mouth tugged downward and he rolled back over onto his other side, facing Jaskier. He tried to push himself up on shaking arms.

Jaskier knew better than to try to reason with him. He put firm hands on Geralt, who tried to scuttle away. It took hatefully little force to keep Geralt still and his arms, unable to hold his weight, tremored before giving out. It hurt Jaskier to feel the extent that Geralt’s power had fled him. Geralt panted and raved as he struggled weakly against Jaskier, who alternated between apologizing, begging Geralt to be calm and offering him comfort. All told, it did not take long for Geralt’s energy to deplete itself. He stared at nothing as he settled.

“Ma?” Geralt called out again.

“Shh,” Jaskier hushed him as he shook his head.

He brushed silver strands from Geralt’s brow, hoping to show him the gentleness his life so often lacked. Jaskier willed Geralt to close his eyes, to find rest.

Geralt was quiet, save for the occasional, insensible whimper. Those sounds stopped too, though and Geralt lay there with his eyes half-lidded. Jaskier wondered what specters were haunting Geralt and if the venom’s repertoire of tortures had exhausted itself yet. He dabbed the sweat away from Geralt’s brow again. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. He savored the feeling of the muscles in his back stretching. His own heart rate slowed and, despite his best efforts, he felt his eyes begin to droop.

“Huhuh,” he admonished himself as he drew in a deep breath and shook his head. He began to hum while he put another log on the fire. As the flame grew, Jaskier’s humming bloomed into a melody. It was only when he began to mouth the words that he realized it was some half remembered song from his youth, something he’d sung with glee before having had any concern for skill or method.

Geralt’s eyes slipped shut and Jaskier could see that his body had, at last, had enough; his muscles relaxed and his breath evened out.

Jaskier yawned and started singing another song he hadn’t given voice to since childhood. After a verse of that song he came to the realization that, at that moment, there would have been nothing better than to hear Geralt grumble at him to shut up.

He sipped water when his throat and mouth became too dry and he smiled lopsidedly for no reason at all. His eyes burned and when he rubbed them he found tears, though he could not recall when they’d fallen.

When the sky began to lighten, Jaskier was unconvinced that he wasn't imagining it, but when the brightness became tangibly gray, his sleep-deprived mind became giddy. He knew the light would not guarantee Geralt would be well, but the dissipation of the darkness was something.

#bad things happen bingo #delirium #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #bthb #poison #er...venom #drabbles done wrong #fevers #slight wound care #Jaskier helps #geralt!whump #my writing #unbeta'd #released into the wild

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rueitae · 4 years

Note

any plance fic recommendations? I’m new to the fandom and am looking for some good ongoing fics to keep up with!

Welcome to the Garden corner of the VLD fandom! Glad you’re here! This list is by no means all encompassing - I would ask my fellow Gardeners to help out with any currently ongoing plance fics that I have missed!

Also, I’ll point out that everyone I list here, you should definitely check out the rest of their libraries too for some fantastic finished works.

Firstly, @canadiantardis, myself, @ashkazora, and romwaeta on Ao3 are people i know who are taking requests for our Bad Things Happen Bingo cards. So you can request a square for Plance, and we have all been uploading them to our Ao3 accounts.

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canadiantardis/pseuds/Canadiantardis

Connections by Canadiantardis (Altean Pidge AU)

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rueitae/works

https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashkazora/works

Secondly, @anchoredtether is also taking bthb requests on her card to write the plance Galra AU Shatter and Tessellate by AnchoredTether

Where the Sun Meets the Ocean by AnchoredTether (Atlantis AU)

Where Sapphire Roses Grow by AnchoredTether (Beauty and the Beast AU)

The Vacant Ether by AnchoredTether (post s8/kind of s8 fix it? fills in canon gaps for post canon mystery)

Defenders of Aurita by AnchoredTether (monsters and mana universe epic)

Thirdly, subscribe to @seeds-of-the-garden for plance prompts on Tuesdays and Fridays. Find the Ao3 collections below:

@fromageinterrupted

Sprouts: Seeds of the Garden Prompts Filled by Me. by Fromageinterrupted

Seeds by Rueitae

@fallen-angel-nightshade

Longing For You by N1t3sh4d3

And now, for some ongoing plance fics that I am aware of:

@rosieclark

the need for speed(o) by RosieClark (University water polo AU)

stars by RosieClark (demon/contractor AU)

@vivalachocolate

Blood Moons and Bad First Impressions by 13Vivacious13 (urban/modern fantasy shapeshifter AU)

@chibi-pix

Deep Waters by Chibi_Pix (modern/futuristic with Pidge as giant mermaid)

@cgf-kat

Stay With Me by cgf_kat (shameless self promo because I’m co writing this AU with her, AU where Sendak destroys Earth and Pidge and Lance are the last alive and prisoners)

By A Thread by cgf_kat (futuristic with time travel shenanigans)

The Proxy by cgf_kat (dystopian cloning shenanigans with shady vld canon technology)

@hushman

Well you're a Leo and I'm a Crime Boss by Hushman (Pidge is a crime boss and Lance is a civilian)

@dreams-of-kalopsia

Interpretation is in the Mind of the Beholder by Dreams of Kalopsia (Sir_Arghs_III) (canon divergent cute and flirty shenanigans)

@petalpidge

let the bullets fly, let them rain by shadowstint (bnha AU)

@a-haunted-sock

Whistling Past the Graveyard by a_haunted_sock (Frankenstein AU)

@alwaysinsonder

sword & shield. by AlwaysInSonder (BBC Bodyguard AU)

baby mine. by AlwaysInSonder (post canon angst with plance child)

@rainforestgeek (who I believe is still taking commissions!)

If you lose your strength to stand (I'm gonna reach for your hand) by rainforestgeek (canon fix it)

@truegryffindorforever2

Days and Nights in the Garden of Voltron by PlanceGardener21 (post s8 dating adventures)

@toocool2btrue

Plance Detective Au by Toocool2btrue

@madiletio

Little Wonders by Madiletio (post canon)

Others that I don’t know the tumblrs off the top of my head:

What choice do we have? by GrayRivers (post series married plance with kid called back to war)

Honestly, I Just Do Tech by Cookiemonster2000 (high school theater AU)

This Must be Karma by TopShelfOfficial (modern AU with miscommunication)

Voltron Final Season Rewritten by GrandAdmiralMatt (I’m so sorry i haven’t gotten a chance to read this, Matt, i totally plan to)

Moving Forward by loOkMA_iTyPeLiKeDiS (another I haven’t read, but is on my list)

One Shot Collections:

watering my plance by poweradequeen

Plance A-Z by Fairia @aknazer

Tumblr Prompts - Planceby rainforestgeek

Plance Oneshots, Fuck you. by JollyProbiotics

I hope this list is helpful! I’ve listed everything that I could think of that I’ve personally read lately that is ONGOING, so I’m sure there is more that I might be missing. There are plenty more writers out there with finished works that you can find in all of our bookmarks and such.

Also, and I can’t stress this enough, if you read them, please PLEASE leave a comment for the author telling them what you enjoyed about it. There is nothing that motivates someone to write more for a fic than a thoughtful comment. Happy Reading!

#plance #pidgance #fic recs #vld

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 4 years

Text

can we close the space between us now

A/N: second prompt for the @badthingshappenbingo! I had hoped to post this yesterday bc of May the Fourth, but unfortunately it took me longer than expected. Also, the original prompt the anon gave me was for stormpilot, but it just kinda turned into jedistormpilot because I love their dynamic so much! (also, not sure when it will happen, but I fully intend for the next bthb prompt I fill to be for Sanders Sides, bc I got an idea after the latest video... *smirks in angst*)

Prompt from Anon: For the bad things happen bingo, used as bait? The first order captures Finn but makes it obvious where they're holding him, and the resistance is like "no way, this is obviously a trap, we're not getting him", but Poe is like "fuck you that's my husband ((side note: ep9 is 1000x more enjoyable if you go into it imagining that Finn & Poe got married in between movies)) I'm going to get him" and steals an xwing to rescue him and it was a trap but that's not gonna stop Poe

BTHB Prompt: Used As Bait

Warnings: kidnapping, self-esteem issues, death mention (a first order officer and some stormtroopers get killed), kissing

It was supposed to be a routine mission. Steal some much needed supplies from the First Order, then get back to base. Except for things seemed to never go as planned with the Resistance, did it? They ended up getting swarmed by Stormtroopers, and in the Resistance’s scramble to escape- Finn got captured. And worse, after the Resistance was forced to retreat and leave Finn behind (something Poe felt immensely guilty about), the First Order publicly announced that they planned to execute Finn for his betrayal of leaving the First Order to join the Resistance. Not only that, but it was going to be a public execution, and strangest of all- they weren’t exactly shy about where the execution was going to be, as well as where Finn was being held. The execution was scheduled to be held on Corellia, and Finn was being kept on a First Order ship that was orbiting the planet.

“We have to go and save him,” Poe demanded, resisting the urge to slam his hands down on the conference table. Some of the Resistance members shifted around nervously, while Leia’s mouth was set in a firm line.

“Poe. I know you care about him, but-”

“But nothing! With all due respect, General, Finn would do the same for one of us,” Poe fumed, fists clenching at his sides. Leia’s expression didn’t change, but the Resistance members gathered around the conference table looked like they wanted to be anywhere but there.

“He would also not want us to recklessly run into an obvious trap,” Leia replied, her tone firm and brokering no room for argument. Not that that was going to stop Poe.

“So, what, we’re just going to leave him to die?!” he exclaimed, this time giving in to the urge to slam his fist down on the table. The Resistance members jumped, some of them giving out shouts of surprise- but Leia remained resolute. However, after a moment or two of Poe furiously glaring her down, her stoic expression turned sympathetic.

“I am sorry, Poe. But the Resistance is spread thin as it is. There’s nothing we can do,” she replied softly. Poe’s shoulders slumped slightly as he clenched his jaw, finally accepting that this was a battle he couldn’t win with Leia. But that didn’t mean that he was giving up on Finn by any means.

“Understood, General,” he said stiffly, turning on his heel and stalking away from the conference table. He wasn’t completely sure where he was going, but everyone he came across took one look at the barely-contained frustration in his expression and steered clear.

Soon enough, Poe found himself a little ways into the forest on the outskirts of the base. He stood alone for a few moments, until he heard the sounds of something rolling over the dirt, accompanied with a few concerned beeps. A small smile slipped onto his face, despite everything, and he turned around to see BB-8, looking up at him with what seemed to be the droid equivalent of a concerned expression.

“Hey buddy,” Poe said with a sigh. BB-8 let out a questioning chirp, rolling forward to nudge at Poe’s leg. He shook his head fondly.

“I’m fine. It’s Finn I’m worried about,” he replied, nudging BB-8 back a bit. The astromech let out a series of disbelieving beeps, and Poe resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I am fine! Just… considering doing something dumb and reckless,” Poe muttered, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. BB-8 made a shrill screech (the little droid clearly had been spending too much time with R2-D2) and began to berate Poe in a series of beeps and chirps.

“I know what General Organa said! But I can’t just let Finn die,” Poe said firmly, glaring down at his droid companion. BB-8 cooed in concern, his head drooping forward slightly. Poe let out a sigh.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you, bud, but you can’t change my mind. I’m going to rescue Finn,” he said, crouching down to give BB-8 a reassuring pat on his head. BB-8 let out a contented buzz, but still seemed concerned. Poe’s mouth set in a firm line. BB-8 was going to have to deal, because Poe was determined to rescue Finn… even if it was a trap set by the First Order.

It was late at night when Poe made his move. It would be easier to steal an X-wing while much of the base was asleep. If everything went according to plan, he would be well on his way to Corellia before anyone even realized he was gone. But of course, as was the trend lately, things didn’t go according to plan.

“What are you doing?” a voice demanded from behind him. Poe nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around to see Rey standing with her arms crossed. Poe resisted the urge to groan.

“Just- y’know, checking up on the X-wings! Yup… everything looks good, you can probably go now,” Poe rambled, glancing over the X-wings in a show of checking them over. Rey raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

“I know you’re sneaking out to save Finn,” she said flatly.

“What? No! I’m just restless and couldn’t sleep, so I decided to take a walk!” he replied with a nervous laugh. Rey let out an irritated sigh.

“I know you’re lying- your story keeps changing! And besides, BB-8 told me that you were planning to go off on your own to try and save Finn,” Rey said, and it was then that BB-8 sheepishly rolled out from behind her.

“Traitor,” Poe muttered. BB-8 beeped cheerily back at him. Poe shook his head, then looked back to Rey.

“Don’t try and stop me,” he all but growled.

“I’m not. I’m coming with you,” Rey said firmly. Poe practically jumped in surprise, taken aback.

“What?! I don’t need your help- besides, you’re too important!” Poe spluttered. Rey frowned at him in confusion, and it was then that Poe’s brain caught up with his mouth.

“What?” Rey asked quietly, a touch of disbelief in her tone.

“Uh- I mean, General Organa seems to think you’re pretty important, so-”

“And you think you aren’t? To her?” Rey pointed out. This time, it was Poe’s turn to frown in confusion. He couldn’t help but notice that the “to her” part of Rey’s statement seemed like more of an afterthought… did Rey really think that Poe was important?

“I- I mean, I don’t know! What’s your point?” Poe huffed indignantly, crossing his arms.

“My point is that you’re going to get yourself- and Finn- killed if you go by yourself. So I’m coming along,” Rey replied, and Poe couldn’t help but notice how similar she was to Leia in that moment- fierce, determined, and not taking no for an answer. BB-8 beeped in a slightly indignant tone, and Poe let out a sigh of defeat.

“Aw hell- fine. You and Rey can come along,” Poe conceded. Rey smirked at him.

“Not that I was giving you a choice in the matter, but I’ll let you think that it was your idea for us to come along,” she teased. Poe rolled his eyes, and started to head towards the X-wings, but was stopped by Rey putting a hand on his arm.

“Now what?” Poe groaned, brushing off her hand and sulking slightly.

“We can’t rescue Finn in an X-wing. It can’t fit two people, and even if the two of us somehow managed to squeeze in there, Finn wouldn’t have anywhere to go. Besides, if we flew up to the First Order’s ship in recognizable Resistance ships, we’d get shot down before we even get to Finn,” Rey explained. Poe huffed out a breath of frustration- Rey was right.

“You have a point- but then what are we gonna do?!” Poe demanded. Rey gave Poe an “I-have-a-plan-and-you’re-an-idiot” smirk (a look he was far too used to getting from her at this point).

“BB-8, you remember when you, Finn, and Rose stole that ship to get back to the Crait outpost?” Rey asked. BB-8 chirped an affirmative, and Poe resisted the urge to grimace.

“The Xi-class light shuttle? You want to take that to rescue Finn?” Poe asked incredulously. BB-8’s head swiveled between Rey and Poe, seeming a little concerned, but the two of them were too focused on each other to notice.

“Whatever happened to ‘I can fly anything?’” Rey scoffed. Poe rolled his eyes, and BB-8 let out a concerned, warbling chirp.

“My piloting abilities are not the problem, the problem is that thing has light weapons and minimal shields- not the kind of thing you wanna fly to take on the First Order,” Poe shot back. This time Rey was the one to roll her eyes, and BB-8 chirped again, only to be ignored yet another time.

“This is a rescue mission! Not a battle!” she hissed.

“And an unauthorized rescue mission, at that,” a voice piped up. Both Rey and Poe jumped, quickly turning to see Leia standing not too far off, her arms crossed. BB-8 let out a series of irritated chirps at Rey and Poe, and both seemed a little embarrassed at ignoring BB-8 and getting caught by Leia.

“Uh- hey there, General,” Poe said with a sheepish grin.

“Cut the pleasantries, Poe,” Leia replied with a firm glare.

“It was my idea,” Rey blurted. Poe looked to her with a shocked expression, and Leia just chuckled and shook her head.

“There’s no need to lie, Rey. And I know now that trying to stop either of you is a fruitless effort,” she said, a hint of something fond and affectionate in her tone.

“General?” Poe asked in disbelief.

“Go. Take the Xi-class light shuttle- and I’ll act plenty mad at you for disobeying direct orders when you come back with Finn,” she ordered, smirking slightly. Poe stood in shock for a moment, but soon regained his composure and exchanged grins with Rey, and then the two of them darted off to the shuttle, BB-8 rolling along behind them.

Finn tried his hardest not to squirm against the binders on his wrists. He glared at the First Order officer who was staring him down smugly. The officer was a general, but Finn hadn’t bothered to catch his name- the important thing was that at least it wasn’t General Hux. Another aspect in Finn’s favor was that this particular general was too pompous to contact General Hux, or Force forbid, Kylo Ren, because he wanted the glory of executing the traitor himself. Unfortunately, Finn got the feeling that Hux and Ren were letting the general do this- so that they could destroy the Resistance members that would try and rescue Finn. Well, the joke was on them, then- no one was coming to rescue Finn. The Resistance would see the obvious trap, and why would they risk that for an ex-stormtrooper? Finn hadn’t even been very important when he was a stormtrooper, so it wasn’t like he had any important information that the Resistance could use.

“Anything to say, traitor?” the general spat.

“Just that your plan won’t work,” Finn shot back.

“Oh please, the Resistance comes for every pathetic cog in their infernal machine, no matter how worthless it actually is,” the general sneered. Just as the words escaped his mouth, the cell doors whooshed open behind him, and the sound of a blaster’s safety being clicked off was heard.

“He’s not worthless,” a voice fumed, and the general whirled around- only to get shot down immediately. The general’s body fell to the floor, revealing Poe standing in the doorway with a downright murderous expression on his face, and Rey standing beside him with an equally terrifying expression.

“Poe? Rey? What are you doing here?!” Finn hissed, not sure if he should be grateful or angry at his friends’ recklessness.

“Rescuing you, buddy. What else?” Poe scoffed, a lopsided grin growing on his face as he scrambled over to undo the cuffs on Finn’s wrists.

“But-”

“But nothing. We’re rescuing you, trap or not, because we care about you, not because you’re a ‘cog’ in our ‘machine,’” Rey said firmly, but there was a soft smile on her lips and a slight twinkle in her eyes. Finn couldn’t help but match her smile as he massaged the feeling back into his previously restrained wrists.

“Hold it right there, Resistance!” a voice barked from the doorway. The three of them looked up to see a squad of stormtroopers filing in and surrounding them, their blasters trained on the trio. Rey grit her teeth together, taking a defensive position in front of them with one hand hovering near the lightsaber hanging from her belt. A tense silence settled over the room as the stormtroopers regarded Rey semi-nervously, while a strange, almost deadly serene calm emanated from Rey.

One stormtrooper’s foolish move to shoot first caused all hell to break loose. In the blink of an eye, the lightsaber flew into Rey’s hand and she ignited it. Rey deflected the shot with ease, shooting the trooper in the chest, and all the other troopers started firing in an instant. Rey deflected every single one, picking off the stormtroopers one by one until Rey was the only one standing, with Poe and Finn crouched behind her. Letting out a slow breath, she sheathed the lightsaber and clipped it back onto her belt, then turned to Poe and Finn.

“BB-8’s waiting at the ship. Let’s go,” she said, reaching out a hand to help Finn up. He took her hand, standing up and seeming awestruck. Poe stood as well, letting out a sound between an exasperated sigh and a hysterical laugh.

“You sound so casual after just taking down every stormtrooper in here,” Poe scoffed semi-incredulously.

“You shot the First Order officer,” she replied bluntly.

“He was belittling Finn!” Poe shot back.

“I don’t know if I should be awed or horrified,” Finn said numbly.

“Try thankful, buddy,” Poe replied with a grin, playfully shoving at his shoulder. Rey rolled her eyes with a groan.

“Find the word for it later, we need to go now,” Rey said firmly. Poe and Finn didn’t argue, and followed after Rey. They darted down the corridors of the ship, and while they did encounter several stormtroopers, Rey and Poe made quick work of them.

“BB-8, we’re almost to the hangar, get the shuttle ready to leave,” Poe said into his communicator after they had managed to take down another squad of troopers. The three of them continued down the corridors, and in a matter of moments they reached the hangar. Alarms were blaring, and Finn could hear the heavy footsteps of stormtroopers echoing down the hall they had just come from.

“This way!” Rey shouted, heading to an Xi-class light shuttle parked not too far away. Poe and Finn followed after her, and the two of them were so focused on reaching the ship that they hadn’t realized that Rey had frozen in her tracks. Finn and Poe barely managed to stop before the bowled Rey over, and they looked to her with concern. But she wasn’t looking at them- her gaze was focused on another Xi-class light shuttle coming in for a landing. Finn felt a chill fill the room when he looked to the approaching shuttle, and he felt there was something… familiar, about the whole thing.

“Rey…” Finn trailed off, voice barely a whisper.

“It’s Kylo Ren,” she said shallowly.

“What?! How do you- you know what, nevermind. I can figure out your weird Force thing some other time, because in case you forgot, we’ve got troopers on the way!” Poe exclaimed, putting each hand on Rey and Finn’s shoulders respectively, then more or less pushed them towards the shuttle BB-8 was waiting on. Rey snapped back to the moment, and she hurried onto the ship’s ramp, waiting until both Poe and Finn had gotten into the ship before going in herself and closing the hatch after her. Poe was at the ship’s controls, flicking switches and getting the ship up into the air with BB-8’s help. For a moment, it seemed like they were home free- until the ship suddenly lurched backwards.

“What’s happening?!” Finn cried out, stumbling to one side as the ship shuddered beneath his feet.

“They can’t have activated a tractor beam within the ship… could they?” Poe asked, trying to urge the shuttle forward even as it continued to be pulled back.

“No… it’s him, he’s pulling us back,” Rey said with a touch of horror.

“Stupid Force-wielder holding back my stupid ship with no rear cannons- can you do a Jedi thing to make him go away?” Poe asked, half-muttering. Rey’s face scrunched up in annoyance, and Finn would have found the exchange rather adorable if their ship wasn’t currently being pulled back down to the hangar floor.

“That’s not how- nevermind,” Rey muttered, hitting the button to open the hatch with perhaps more force than was necessary.

“Whoa, what are you doing?!” Poe demanded, turning around in the pilot’s seat to look to Rey with wide eyes.

“Give Finn your blaster. Since this ship doesn’t have rear cannons, we’re going to have to improvise. Just be ready to get out of here once we break Kylo Ren’s hold on the ship,” Rey ordered, unclipping the blaster from her hip. Poe didn’t argue, and tossed his blaster over to Finn. He caught it, and hurried over to stand next to Rey. Finally, after an agonizing period of time that in reality was only a few seconds, the hatch doors opened wide enough for them to see Kylo Ren standing in the hangar below. They opened fire immediately, Kylo Ren clearly not expecting the barrage. He held his ground for a moment or two, until Finn got a lucky shot that hit his shoulder, and he lost his grip on the ship. It was only a brief moment, but it was enough for Poe to fly free. Rey closed the hatch once more, and once fully out of the hangar, Poe made the jump to lightspeed.

It was early morning when they made it back to base- dawn hadn’t even broken yet, but that didn’t mean what felt like the entire Resistance was waiting for them when they touched down. Finn wasn’t exactly expecting a hero’s welcome when they exited the shuttle, but there was definitely something… tense, in the air. He glanced suspiciously between Rey and Poe, who were uncharacteristically quiet. BB-8 let out a concerned warble, and Finn raised an eyebrow. Leia was waiting for them near the bottom of the ramp, and although she wore an unimpressed expression, Finn could have sworn he saw relief in her eyes when she saw him.

“Had a fun joyride?” she asked, staring down Poe. He grinned sheepishly, and BB-8 let out a flurry of soft beeps that seemed like nervous laughter. Rey looked a little embarrassed as well, and the pieces fell together for Finn.

“Wait a minute. Did you rescue me without permission from General Organa?!” Finn demanded.

“Technically I was just gonna rescue you, but then Rey and BB-8 decided to tag along-”

“You were going to go alone?! Of all the reckless-” Finn exclaimed, interrupting Poe and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He heard an amused chuckle from Leia, and he glanced up to see her poorly hiding a smirk.

“Here I thought I would have to chew them out, and you’re doing my job for me, Finn,” she said, amusement lacing her tone. Finn felt a grin growing on his face, despite everything.

“Sorry about that General, you can go ahead if you’d like,” he said, gesturing at Poe and Rey, who looked distinctly embarrassed, but no less regretful of their actions. Leia chuckled and shook her head.

“No, I think you’ve done enough. Welcome home, Finn,” Leia said with a smile. Poe and Rey both let out the breaths they had been holding, and even BB-8 seemed to sigh in relief.

“We’re sorry for running off-” Rey began, but Leia held up a hand to stop her from continuing.

“Don’t lie to me, Rey- just try not to run off and get yourself killed again. Right now, I’m betting you three need rest,” she said, looking to each of them pointedly.

“Can’t argue with that, General,” Poe said with a cocky grin. Leia rolled her eyes fondly, and the three of them headed off to their quarters.

Finn sat on his bunk, finding himself unable to sleep. Morning was breaking now, and Finn hadn’t been able to catch a wink since escaping the ship he had been held captive on. He was considering just starting his day and trying to carry on normally, but a knock at the door interrupted him before he made up his mind.

“Come in,” he sighed. The door slid open to reveal Poe standing in the doorway, looking as tired as Finn felt.

“Hey,” Poe said, seeming awkward for maybe the first time since Finn had met him. He stepped in, and the door slid shut behind him.

“Hey yourself,” Finn said. Silence stretched out between them for a moment or two. Finn scooted over on his bunk slightly, and patted the open spot next to him. The action seemingly caused Poe to snap to attention, and he wordlessly walked over and sat at Finn’s side.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he blurted. Finn was surprised- both at the silence and the words that broke it- but he quickly schooled his expression to a soft but teasing smile.

“Don’t tell me that the Resistance’s resident fearless hotshot pilot was worried,” he teased. Poe looked to him with a thin bravado, but Finn could see the raw emotion that lurked beneath the surface. Before he was really sure of what he was doing, Finn reached out to take Poe’s hand in his. Poe didn’t fight his soft grip, and he finally let the brave mask he wore crumble away.

“I was,” he said weakly. Finn squeezed his hand comfortingly.

“But you saved me. I’m safe now,” Finn reminded him softly.

“I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Rey. If she hadn’t caught me before I left, I would have flown to Corellia with an x-wing, guns blazing,” Poe scoffed. Finn let out a light chuckle.

“I’m beginning to think Rey has become all of our impulse control… but it still was you that flew us out of there, and you that shot down that First Order officer. You saved my life, Poe,” Finn said softly. Poe’s eyes flew wide, and seemingly against his will, Finn’s free hand came up to tuck a wayward curl behind his ear. Poe’s breath hitched at the touch, and Finn couldn’t help but smile.

“Finn, I…” Poe trailed off in favor of simply gazing into Finn’s eyes.

“Yes?” Finn asked, resisting the urge to laugh. He didn’t want Poe to think he was laughing at him, but something about Poe’s expression made Finn feel bubbly inside, and it was hard to keep that feeling from escaping in fond laughter.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got beautiful eyes?” Poe blurted. Finn couldn’t stop the burst of laughter that escaped if he tried, but luckily Poe was grinning too.

“No, I don’t think anyone has,” Finn replied, still chuckling slightly.

“Everyone else must be blind then,” Poe said softly. Finn felt his face burning slightly, and he couldn’t find it in himself to resist Poe any longer. He wasn’t really sure which one of them had moved closer, but somehow their lips ended up meeting, and it was everything Finn hadn’t realized he was missing. Poe was soft and pliant against him, one hand coming up to cradle his jaw like he was something precious. Finn let go of Poe’s hand in favor of burying both hands in his hair. Poe snaked his now free arm around Finn’s waist, and he tugged him into his lap without breaking the kiss.

A sudden knock at the door caused them to break apart in surprise. Their breaths mingled together as they stared at each other wide-eyed. Poe’s face was flushed, and his hair was a disheveled mess- had Finn really been the cause of that? The knock sounded again, and Poe let out a soft sigh of annoyance, pouting adorably.

“Just pretend you’re asleep?” Poe suggested. Finn rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to reply- but was cut off by a voice from the other side of the door.

“I know you two are awake,” the voice said, unmistakably Rey. Finn sighed, dislodging himself from Poe’s lap to sit next to him once more.

“Come in,” Finn said, and the door slid open. Rey stepped inside, and it seemed being perpetually sleepy was becoming a trend at the Resistance base, if the exhaustion in Rey’s expression was anything to go by.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Rey asked, the beginnings of a smirk on her face. But Finn couldn’t help but notice that there was something… sad, or regretful, perhaps, about Rey’s demeanor. Finn frowned slightly. He wasn’t sure on what exactly his feelings were, but he knew that whatever they were, they were the same for Poe and Rey. He didn’t want either of them to be unhappy.

“I have something I need to say,” Poe blurted, before Finn even had a chance to ask Rey what was wrong. Rey cocked her head to the side in confusion, and Poe patted the open spot on the bunk next to him. Rey walked over, and Finn and Poe had to shuffle over a bit so that she could sit down, but they managed to fit all three of them on the bunk.

“Well then? What is it you wanted to say?” Rey asked. Poe didn’t answer at first, hands fidgeting in his lap for a moment or two, before he reached out for Finn’s and Rey’s hands respectively. Finn took his hand immediately, while Rey hesitated before gently grasping his hand.

“I’ve been sitting on this for a while, and I didn’t fully realize until we went to rescue you, Finn, but- I- I really care about both of you. And not just like in a friendly way,” Poe confessed softly. Finn and Rey seemed to let out sighs of relief simultaneously.

“Oh thank Force,” Rey murmured, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Poe’s cheek. Poe flushed brightly, and was a sight Finn was sure he could get used to. Poe blinked in surprise before he came to his senses, a lopsided grin growing over his face as he tried to pull Rey in to kiss her properly. However, he was stopped by Rey putting a finger to his lips, and Finn once again found himself resisting the urge to laugh, this time at the pout that came over Poe’s face.

“Easy there, flyboy. Let’s check in with Finn first,” Rey said, looking to Finn with a concerned expression. However, that concern melted away when she saw the grin on Finn’s face.

“I am definitely alright with you two kissing, as long as I get a turn,” Finn said cheekily. A slight smirk curled Rey’s lips.

“Good,” she said simply, before turning to pull Poe into a kiss that was fierce, yet soft all the same. When she pulled away, Poe looked absolutely lovestruck, and Finn couldn’t have agreed more. Especially as Rey leaned over Poe to cup Finn’s face and pull him into a kiss as well. It was then that Finn realized that the three of them? It felt right, and it felt like the beginning of something wonderful.

Tagging: @notalwaysthevillian @today-only-happens-once

#star wars #jedistormpilot #poe dameron #finn #rey #general leia organa #bb-8 #bad things happen bingo #sage writes

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