#amow winter whumperland 2022

[sardonic-sprite]

Home Alone

Some days, Tim was really fucking glad to have Batman for a next-door neighbor.

He couldn't exactly remember a time when he was quite this glad or relieved, though. He'd never been on the verge of being kidnapped before.

But that was ok. He wasn't going to be kidnapped.

He had a plan.

Call the police would probably have been more rational, but the power was all still dead from the snowstorm, and Tim figured the roads to Bristol were blocked up, too. At the very least, his driveway was, and it was long enough to be considered its own short road.

Stupid fucking snowstorm. It was its fault that Tim's parents couldn't get back in town, and that he was alone and trying not to end up kidnapped on Christmas.

But it was ok. Because he wouldn't. Because he had a plan. And about two hours to set it into motion. And if it failed, the kidnappers were probably just going to be so pissed they'd kill Tim, so technically his goal of don't get kidnapped would still be met.

Technicalities were usually much more fun.

Tim ran around the house in a frenzy, darting glances out the window every few minutes to make sure the creepy men hadn't gotten any closer. But no, they were still huddled around their fires out in the yard, waiting for him to surrender.

Big fat nope to that one. Tim didn't know who they were working for, or why that guy wanted an eleven-year-old kid, but he knew it was most definitely for something very bad, and he wasn't interested in the particulars.

He paused, shuddering at the thought that entered his head, then scattered a few more Lego pieces on the floor.

The thing was, Tim could neither call for help nor run away while the power was out and the bad guys were surrounding the house. But if he got them inside the house, and made sure they couldn't follow, then he could race across the half-mile stretch to the property line. Crossing that would trigger Batman's security, and he'd come and investigate and bring Tim somewhere safe and beat up the bad guys, and maybe even be impressed at how clever and resourceful Tim had been.

Of course, even getting outside hinged on how many bad guys actually did come inside, and how many got caught in Tim's traps long enough to give him a head start. The traps had never been tested, after all, and Tim only had time for so many math calculations to determine their effectiveness. Drake Manor was also so large that he couldn't sufficiently cover it. He'd have to guide the bad guys where he wanted them to go.

Which meant he was using himself as live bait.

... It was gonna be fine.

The clock began striking nine as Tim finished his second-floor traps and double-checked the wiring. His heartbeat was going crazy in his chest, and he took deep, slow breaths in time with the chimes to steady himself. If he hyperventilated and passed out, he was worse than dead.

"TIMOTHY DRAKE," boomed the voice that had called out before, somehow magnified so that each word was perfectly clear, "THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE. SURRENDER NOW AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED. REFUSE, AND WE WILL USE ALL FORCE TO APPREHEND YOU."

Tim threw open the nearest window and stuck his head out, squinting against the snow to see the nearest fire. He didn't know if the man was at that one or not, but it didn't matter. He was sure his cry of "FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE! EAT SHIT!" was heard by all.

He slammed the window shut as the voice yelled furiously and sprinted down the stairs, skipping over the wires and traps. He wasn't sure how many were going to enter in each direction, but the first landing was the best place to bring them all closer.

Tim had to wait there for several minutes, anxiety building, before he heard the first cry of pain. It sounded like it came from the front door, and Tim smirked, thinking of the heavy vase that had just gotten shattered over the bad guy's head.

Strangled swearing erupted from the kitchen where superglue had stolen shoes to bare feet to a sea of Legos. A howl rose from the living room where a hot plate had been set under the window.

"DRAKE!"

"Last chance to surrender!" Tim hollered mockingly, wiping sweaty hands on his pants.

Screams and a terribly loud bang meant that his flashbomb had successfully blinded someone, and the most creative swear Tim had ever heard in his life confirmed that sticking his mother's sewing needles into the grey carpet had been a stroke of genius.

"You will pay for this, you insolent whelp!"

"You want it in cash or credit?" Tim needed them closer. Besides, it was just a little bit fun to tease.

"In blood!"

The first man appeared at the foot of the stairs. He held his right hand close to his chest, but otherwise looked unharmed. He must have avoided the lighter in the hall, though by the sound of it, one of his buddies hadn't.

Tim gulped. All he could see above the black ninja mask was the man's eyes, and he looked furious.

"Um, how about traveler's checks?"

The man started up the stairs with a roar and immediately toppled backwards, slipping on the generous coating of oil over the hardwood.

"Oh, yeah, I just polished that."

One man staggered into the foyer from the front hall. He still had dust and broken pottery on his head and shoulders, and his eyes looked unfocused. Another limped in from the kitchen, barefoot and glaring. He drew a knife, and Tim scrambled backwards.

"No!" The first man grabbed the other's wrist. He didn't look happy about it, but he said, "Lord Ra's wants the boy alive."

"He can live without his arrogant little tongue!"

Tim tried to think up something clever to say, to get them to come up the stairs, but he really did not want them any closer than they were. Out in the yard, they couldn't hurt him, but here they could. They could hurt Tim very, very bad.

Two more ninjas stumbled in, one blinking and squinting, pant leg still smoldering. The other, who looked like a woman, was walking on the sides of her feet. She left a thin trail of blood behind her, and Tim both felt sorry and wished it were worse all at once.

"He's lost his tongue even without your blade, Hans," laughed the first man. "Not so brave now, are you, boy?"

Brave, Tim. Brave like Robin.

Jason wouldn't be scared of these goons, and neither would Dick. Dick would make fun of them, and Jason would cuss them out, so Tim did both.

"Like hell I'm scared of you shit-faces! The wax dummies at the history museum would make better ninjas than you!"

Hans yelled and ran at the stairs. He didn't hear the first man yell, "Fool, it's oiled!" until he was already flat on his back. Tim listened very hard, but couldn't hear anyone else in the house. He taunted, "Where's the rest of you? Maybe you could use the power of friendship to figure it out," to make sure.

"Thank whatever god guards you there are none others," the woman snarled. "Or you would choke on your blood even as you laugh."

"Dramatic," Tim quipped weakly, voice a bit too high.

"How did we fail him that Lord Ra's would punish us this way," moaned Pottery Man. "Being tormented and mocked by an infant."

"Hey!" Tim cried, indignant. "I'm eleven and five twelfths!"

"Enough of this!" Number One shouted. "Hans, the servant's stair, Edda, the back stair. Jethro, the dumbwaiter." They scattered, and One began stalking up the oiled stairs, clinging to the rail and motioning the blinded man to stay behind. "You think we do not know every hall and stair in this house, boy? Every entrance and exit? What do you think will be your salvation if you stall us?"

Tim swallowed, edging into the hall and carefully pushing open the first door. He may have to adjust his escape plan.

"Indiana Jones, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Steven Spielberg, 1981!" Tim hollered. He dove out of the way as his father's massive, prized floor globe, the one twice the size and weight of Tim, rolled down the improvised ramp and onto the stairwell, gathering speed every second.

Tim took off, running down the hall to his bedroom without looking back. He heard screaming from several parts of the house, and would have jeered at them about not expecting him to know how to trap his own house, but he no longer wanted to give away his location. He'd need extra time now. Climbing down from his window was going to be a hell of a lot harder than climbing the rope he'd put in the dumbwaiter for himself.

Tim pulled out his army knife as he passed the dumbwaiter door and started sawing at the rope, grateful the set-up could double as another trap. He didn't even have to cut all the way through, the ninja's weight snapping the fibers in seconds once they frayed. He heard a yell and an awful snap.

The cry of, "I'll kill you, brat!" should not have been comforting, but Tim didn't want to have killed anybody, so it was.

He made it to his room, shut and locked the door, then shoved his dresser against it, grunting and panting. He had to lean against it for a moment to catch his breath, swiping the sweat from his forehead. He gave himself thirty seconds, but dropped it to twenty when the shouting drew nearer.

"I can do this," Tim whispered, stepping onto the windowsill and staring down. "I can totally, one hundred percent do this."

He sat down and shimmied around until he was clutching the window ledge with ungloved hands. His fingers were already freezing. His toes hung and flailed in open air for a few terrifying seconds before they found crevices in the weathered brick.

Tim took a deep breath.

Slowly, inch by inch, he worked his way down the wall until his feet hit the top of the first floor window. His fingers scraped and bled against the bricks, turning white with cold and terror. Sweat ran down his face and back, making him hot and cold both at once. Once he got his hand or foot on a hold, it was hard to make himself move again.

Carefully -- oh, so, so carefully, when Tim's feet hit the top of that window, did he turn his head over his shoulder. The snow rose to the bottom of the window, making the drop only about three feet into a cushion. Tim closed his eyes and jumped.

The snow crunched loudly beneath him, and he broke through it up to his knees. He didn't dare waste time celebrating, but immediately started off, hoping the blizzard would help to cover his tracks.

Half a mile due east. Tim could make it.

Half a mile through ever-deeper snow, in wind and dark, with only a coat and boots, and furious ninjas hunting him down.

Tim had to make it.

At first he tried to run, shoving his hands in his pockets to make them warm, but it was like trying to run through a pool, and Tim soon found himself basically swimming with his arms and legs. Within minutes (though each felt like an hour) he couldn't feel his fingers at all.

The snow was high enough to slip into the tops of his boots, melting into his socks and making his feet grow numb. Tim started crying, only realizing it when the tear tracks burned down his cheeks and froze there. Every breath became a white cloud in front of his face.

The whole world had turned into the snowstorm. Tim didn't know anymore if he was going east or west, north or south, up or down. If he was still going towards Batman and safety, or if he'd got so turned around he was about to run right into the ninjas' arms. He stumbled and staggered, knowing he had to keep moving no matter where he ended up. Fall down in the snow, and he was never getting back up.

Then finally, finally, Tim saw light in the distance.

"Help!" he cried, but his voice was ripped away by the wind.

"Batman! Mr. Wayne! Robin! Help me, please!"

A shadow blocked the light, and Tim sobbed in relief as arms hugged him tight.

"So this was your clever plan, was it, boy? No wonder Lord Ra's took an interest in you."

Tim screamed and started thrashing, but the ninja had his arms pinned, and the snow blocked his kicks. He tried to bite, but there was nothing in front of his face but thick cloth.

"Let go!" he wailed. He was so close, he couldn't fail now. "Let me fucking go! Hel--mmph!"

Tim was spun around and a hand covered his mouth, grip bruisingly tight, enough that Tim couldn't even move his jaw, let alone bite.

"Oh, no, boy," the ninja snarled in his ear. "You will be brought before the Demon's Head, and punished for every injury inflicted, and even the great Detective can't save you!"

"Can't he?"

Tim's heart leapt as a hulking shadow appeared out of the snow, Batman's unmistakable growl now a roar over the wind. He had done it! He'd gotten to Batman! He was saved!

And then he felt ice cold metal against his throat.

"Stay out of this, Detective. Lord Ra's cares not if he must resurrect his prize."

Tim trembled, even though he'd stopped shivering ages ago. He didn't know what that meant, but he never wanted to find out.

"He should care that Gotham and its people are under my protection. Let the boy go, or there will be retaliation."

"We do not fear your posturing, Detective," the ninja sneered. He started dragging Tim back, away from Batman and safety. "And we do not fear your allies. But continue to oppose us now, and we will strike you down--"

"Wanna bet?"

There was a loud thunk and the ninja's hold went slack. The knife dropped to the snow, its wielder crumpling, and Tim stumbled, grabbing for his throat to be sure it wasn't bleeding.

"Kid? Kid, what's wrong, are you hurt?" Robin hollered over the wind.

Tim slowly shook his head, staring at the ninja. He felt something warm and big and surprisingly soft drape over his shoulders, like a blanket, and looked up to see Batman leaning over him with his cape.

"You're freezing," he murmured, sounding much more like Mr. Wayne. "Robin, get him inside!" His voice dipped back to a growl as he said, "I'll deal with the League."

"Here, kid."

Batman was replaced by Robin, but the cloak remained wrapped around Tim. He was bundled tighter into it, then scooped right off the ground and into Robin's arms. He squeaked in surprise, but pressed closer because Robin was so warm.

"Geez, you're tiny!" Robin half-shouted, wading through the snow only a little faster than Tim had. "How old are you, kid?"

"Eleven and a half," Tim mumbled. Jason Todd was a fine one to talk about being small for one's age.

As Robin muttered something like, because the half makes all the difference, a big black shape loomed out of the snow right in front of Tim's face. It took him far too long to realize it was a Bat-Snowmobile; Robin had plopped him on top and climbed on behind him before he registered the headlights had turned on.

"Hang on tight!" Robin ordered, and the engine roared to life.

Tim yelped, grabbing Robin as the vehicle lurched and zoomed into the storm, throwing his arms around the older boy's neck and hiding his face against his shoulder. One arm wrapped around Tim's waist and gently squeezed.

"Just hang in there a few more minutes, squirt. It's not far."

"What's not far?"

Not Tim's house. Please, not Tim's house. He didn't want to go back and run into the rest of the bad guys -- the League -- without Batman. Robin was awesome and warm, but Batman was powerful, and Tim didn't think the League would give up without more of a fight.

Robin hesitated before answering. "Wayne Manor is just under a quarter mile. They can look after you while I go back to help Batman."

Tim sighed in relief. Wayne Manor would be warm and safe, and until Batman and Robin came back to be Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd, Tim would no doubt be looked after by Alfred Pennyworth, and he was as powerful as Batman himself in Tim's book.

I did it, he thought happily, cuddling closer to Robin's warmth. I actually fucking did it.

"Eat shit, Lord Ra's."

Robin laughed.

After only a few more minutes, Wayne Manor appeared, looming out of the dark with a few cheerily lit windows. There was a glowing Christmas tree visible through one, and seeing it warmed something other than Tim's fingers.

Robin parked the Bat-Snowmobile outside the back kitchen door and swung himself off, then scooped up Tim to plop him on the ground. He kept an arm around Tim's shoulders as he went and knocked on the door. Tim could see the kitchen lights on, and it only took a minute before the door opened to reveal Alfred Pennyworth in a robe and nightshirt.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, and immediately backed up to usher them inside.

"Mr. Pennyworth, this is Tim Drake, your next-door neighbor," Robin introduced. "His home was attacked tonight by the League of Assassins, and he had to run a long way through the cold. If you would look after him and warm him up, Batman and I will be back before too long."

"I-- yes, of course," Mr. Pennyworth said, surprise changing to concern. "Thank you, Master Robin."

Robin nodded and ruffled Tim's hair. "You'll be safe here for a while, ok, squirt? Batman or I'll be back soon."

Tim nodded, and Robin grinned and left. Tim could hear the roar of the Bat-Snowmobile as it tore off outside.

Mr. Pennyworth turned to put a kettle on the stove, then told Tim, "Come, let's get you out of those wet things, Master Tim."

Tim nodded eagerly, stumbling a bit on frozen feet as he followed Mr. Pennyworth to a bathroom, still clutching Batman's cape around his shoulders.

"I'll set some of Master Jason's things outside the door for you. You're about the same size, I think. If you can find your way back to the kitchen, I'll have hot cocoa ready in moments."

"You don't have to go to any trouble," Tim said shyly.

"Nonsense, dear boy." Mr. Pennyworth smiled. "Tisn't any trouble at all, I assure you."

He left, and Tim stripped out of his sweats and socks. He hated to drop Batman's cape on the ground, but it had gotten soggy with snow just like everything else. He tried to fold it up, but it was like trying to fold his sheets, it was so huge.

A knock came at the door, and Mr. Pennyworth called that there were pajamas and a sweatshirt outside. Tim answered with a thank you and waited a moment before sticking one hand out the door to snatch the bundle.

He was startled into a laugh to see that the pajamas were themed like Batman and the hoodie like Nightwing. He wondered if Dick had gotten it for Jason. There were also a non-themed pair of slippers, and now that the feeling was coming back to Tim's toes, he could tell they were wonderfully soft.

Once dressed, he found his way back to the kitchen, where a kettle was starting to whistle before Mr. Pennyworth plucked it off the stove.

"Warming up, Master Tim?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth."

The butler tutted. "Alfred is quite alright, dear boy."

"Thank you, Alfred," Tim corrected shyly. He'd never called an adult by their first name before.

A very loud yawn from behind made Tim jump, turning to look at the doorway, where...

Tim blinked.

Where stood Jason Todd.

He was dressed in Wonder Woman pajama pants and a red hoodie, rumpled like he'd been asleep, but his hair was still damp and his nose and cheeks pink from the snow and cold. His eyes looked bleary and sleepy, like he'd just woken up, but he most definitely scanned over Tim like he was looking for injuries.

"'S goin' on, Alf?" he asked, slurring his voice to sound half-awake. "Who's that?"

Tim just kept staring, dumbfounded, as Alfred said, "You recall young Timothy Drake, Master Jason? I'm afraid he ran into quite the spot of trouble tonight. Robin brought him here for us to look after until the situation is resolved."

Jason's eyes widened like he hadn't himself, as Robin, dropped Tim off ten minutes ago. "No way," he muttered. "What the hell were you doing, Timbit, that you got mixed up in superhero stuff?"

Tim hesitated.

"Batman! Mr. Wayne! Robin! Help me, please!"

"So this was your clever plan, was it, boy? No wonder Lord Ra's took an interest in you."

Tim hadn't had any idea just why he was being almost-kidnapped, except maybe for ransom or something, until the ninja had said that, and Batman showed up seeming to know all about that Lord Ra's guy and his ninja-kidnappers. At the time, he'd been too terrified to analyze, but now he wondered...

Did Ra's somehow know that Tim knew who Batman was? Tim didn't think that was possible. He hadn't even told his parents. But maybe Ra's was a mind-reader. Or had some kind of special powers. But then why would he need Tim to tell him who Batman was? Especially when the ninja sounded like Ra's and his League already knew all about Batman.

"Timber?"

Tim blinked and looked back at Jason. He and Alfred were both watching Tim, sharp-eyed. That was when he realized Jason wasn't just asking as a shocked civilian, he was investigating as Robin. In order to protect Tim, he and Batman needed to know why he'd been endangered in the first place.

"I...I don't know," he admitted. Jason's mouth twisted into a thoughtful frown, until Tim hesitantly added, "But I might have a guess?"

"Yeah? What do you think?"

Alfred set a cup of steaming cocoa on the table in front of Tim. It warmed his face, and he almost thought it burned his hands when he cupped them around it, but he didn't care. One sip warmed him all over inside, like he hadn't been cold or frightened at all. He wondered if Alfred was magic.

There was another clink of ceramic, and Tim realized Jason had gotten a mug of cocoa, too, and had sat down across from Tim. He held out a bowl of marshmallows, and Tim took two with a soft thanks.

Jason waited until Tim had taken two more sips before prompting, "Timmers? What's your guess?"

Tim took a deep breath, trying to calculate how mad Batman was going to be when he found out, and blurted, "I know who Batman and Robin are."

"What? No way! Who are they? How did you figure it out?" Jason gasped, face splitting into a grin, looking for all the world like someone expecting to hear the most amazing secret in the world.

But Tim saw the panic behind his eyes.

"I wouldn't tell you, if you didn't know," he promised. "But they're you. You and Mr. Wayne. I... I know because it was Dick Grayson first. He's the only person ever who can do a quadruple flip, and I saw Robin do it with my own eyes."

Jason stared.

Alfred stared.

Tim ducked his head and stared at his cocoa.

Then Jason said slowly, "You... you saw the first Robin in person? Doing a four-flip?"

"Yes?"

"How... how old were you?"

Tim frowned, calculating. "Nine?"

Alfred coughed.

"You were nine," Jason repeated. "And you were out in Gotham and saw Robin. Doing a fancy flip. And figured out one of the most dangerous and well-kept secrets in the city."

"Yes," Tim said, a bit more confidently. "Like I said, only Dick Grayson can do that flip. And if he's Robin, Bruce Wayne has to be Batman. And you have to be the next Robin. It's... it's just logic."

It's just logic, Jason mouthed. His lips stayed parted in astonishment as he turned to look at Alfred.

"That's... quite impressive, Master Tim," he managed. "Although, might I inquire... just what were the circumstances under which you saw Robin's flip?"

Tim hastily took a sip of cocoa. Jason raised his eyebrows and copied him, not setting down his mug until Tim did. Tim immediately took another sip. Jason and Alfred exchanged a glance.

"IusedtofollowBatmanandRobinaroundatnightandtakepictures," Tim blurted.

Jason blinked rapidly several times before suggesting, "A-again... slowly, please?"

"I... I used to, to follow Batman and Robin around at night. And take pictures."

"And your parents let you?" Jason yelped.

"They didn't... exactly know?"

"How...?" Jason's voice kept sounding more and more strangled. If Tim didn't know better, he'd have thought an invisible villain was throttling him.

"Well..." Tim ducked his head, shoulders almost rising to his ears. He stared intently at the melting marshmallows in his cocoa as he said, "They're not really around much."

"What exactly do you mean by 'not much,' Master Tim?" Alfred asked, both firm and kind, but also concerned.

Tim's ears felt hot. "They're usually on digs. They come back for a weekend or so every couple months. So they never knew I went out at night. I never told them I figured out who you are. I promise that I've never told anybody, and I never would tell anybody, even that Ra's guy, no matter what he did!"

He looked back up at Jason and Alfred, hoping they could see the honesty in his face.

Their faces showed a mix of shock and horror. Jason's eyes were wide and round, but Alfred's were pinched, and his mouth was drawn into a hard line. Tim swallowed nervously.

"You're a very impressive young lad, Master Tim," Alfred said in a carefully measured voice. "If you'll excuse me a moment, I think I ought to go inform Master Bruce of... these developments. I assume your parents were not home tonight?"

"Their flight got cancelled," Tim admitted. He wondered for the first time, as Alfred nodded curtly and stepped out of the room, if Batman had a mind-wipe machine or something. He very much hoped not.

Jason made a low whistle, then murmured, "Well, damn." He took a sip of cocoa, looking at the door Alfred had left through.

"What's 'well damn'?" Tim asked, voice too high.

"Alfie's 'bout'a go off," Jason chuckled, then, seeing Tim's expression, clarified, "not on you, Timberly, on your parents. And Ra's. Definitely also on Ra's."

"Why would Alfred be mad at my parents? And what does he need to tell Batman? Are you mad at me? Because I figured it out? Or..." Tim gasped in horror. "Or because I led them here? I led them here! Oh, God, I told a villain who Batman is! I--"

"Tim! Tim, calm down, it's ok!" Jason seemed torn between laughter and concern, but he reached out and put a bracing hand on Tim's shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong. Ra's already knows who we are. Alfred just has to tell Bruce, um. Not to look for your parents. And why they're not there. And that's why he's pissed off, because nobody should leave a little kid all by himself for all but a few weekends out of the year."

Jason looked pissed himself when he said the last bit. Unfortunately, all of it just left Tim with even more questions. But even as he opened his mouth to ask them, there was a loud rattling and banging from above.

"What was that?" Tim yelped, jumping and spilling cocoa on the table.

"The storm," Jason said, completely expressionless. He grabbed some napkins from the holder on the table and dropped them on the spill, clearing it with one neat swipe. "Don't worry about it."

"You're sure it's not the ninjas?"

Jason snorted. "Don't ever let them hear you call them that. I'm sure, kid. Batman's got it covered."

Alfred came back into the kitchen muttering about reception, and took Tim's and Jason's empty mugs over to the sink to wash. There was a loud pounding from up above, first moving distant, then drawing near again. Tim realized it was running feet.

He raised his eyebrows at Jason.

"The storm, huh?"

Jason shrugged with a smile too mischievous to be innocent.

A moment later, Bruce Wayne appeared in the doorway, hair mussed and face pink, barefoot and wearing a red bathrobe that did not succeed at hiding the Batsuit underneath.

The way he blinked and squinted at the warm kitchen light appeared genuine, but he sounded far too awake as he said, "Alfred, what's going on? Who's this? Jason? I thought you went to bed."

Jason glanced at Tim, mischief peaking.

"Dad!" he exclaimed, jumping up and running over. "Dad, you'll never guess what happened! This is Tim Drake, from next door, and he was attacked by supervillains and Batman and Robin came and saved him and brought him here!"

"Oh! My... God..." Mr. Wayne faltered, glancing from Alfred (who's back was turned to hide his smile) to Tim (who was just as confused as he seemed) to Jason (who was grinning just a bit too wide), before narrowing a bit at the last one.

Jason beamed up at him, and Mr. Wayne apparently decided not to worry about it, because he turned to Tim and asked, "Are you alright, Tim?"

"I... think so," Tim said slowly, staring at Jason, who was mouthing at him. Mr. Wayne glanced down at his son suspiciously, but Jason shut his mouth in an instant.

"Are you hurt at all? Cold?"

"No, I'm ok now. Mr... uh, Alfred's hot chocolate warmed me right up."

Mr. Wayne smiled. "It does that quite well. Are..." He turned hesitant again, glancing at them all before asking, "Do you know if your parents are alright? If they escaped?"

"They weren't even there," Jason said, bright smile turning downright ferocious. "They leave Tim all alone in the house all year and only come in for a weekend every once in a while. And since that's criminal neglect, and Batman and Robin asked us to take care of him, I guess I got a little brother for Christmas like I asked for after all!"

Tim stared. Mr. Wayne stared. Jason beamed. Alfred coughed in a way that sounded much too much like a laugh.

"Um..." Tim started, but had no idea how to continue.

"It... I... don't think it's all quite that simple, Jay," Mr. Wayne cautioned hesitantly. Jason just stared straight up into his face, both grinning and glaring at the same time. It was mildly terrifying, and Mr. Wayne cleared his throat before turning to Tim. "But of course, you're more than welcome to stay with us until it's safe. We'll be glad to have you."

Tim stammered out a thank you, wondering if Mr. Wayne offered because he knew as Batman that it wasn't safe. He hoped not. As awesome as being Jason Todd's little brother sounded, Tim already had parents and a home, even if they were... distant. He also wondered why Jason was pretending he was an ordinary civilian, and that Tim didn't know better. And Alfred was going along with it, even though he'd been about to tell Batman everything just before.

"If you're quite warm and well, Master Tim, I think a good night's rest would do you good," Alfred said, "as it would the rest of us."

"Oh. Um, yes." Tim blinked and looked at the clock, which read 11:30 PM. "Sleep. Yeah."

"Great!" Jason chirped. He did a cartwheel over to Tim, channeling Dick Grayson, probably, and pulled him up, slinging his arm over Tim's shoulders. "C'mon, Timbers, we can have a sleepover in my room."

"Uh, sure."

A sleepover with Robin? Tim was equal parts confused and ecstatic. He followed Jason past a mystified Mr. Wayne, who wished them both goodnight, and up a small back staircase to the second floor.

It wasn't until Jason had showed them into his room and they got settled in bed that Tim finally asked, "Jason? Why didn't we tell Mr. Wayne that I know who you are? Isn't it kind of important?"

"Oh, Timmy Tim Timmers. Think about it. We only get to tell him that once."

"But-- oh. Ohhh."

"Exactly." Jason sounded smug. "Just you wait, Timbit. I have a feeling you and I are gonna be the holiest terrors this city ever saw."

[amonthofwhump]

We are excited to present AMonthOfWhump's Winter Whumperland 2022! Transcripted prompts, event tags, and general info below the cut:

Prompt List:

1. The Nightmare Before Christmas

Nightmares/Shared Nightmare Realm

PTSD

Stalking

Comfort: Hope

2. Home Alone

Missed Holiday

Unhappy Family Reunion

Comic Relief Caretaker

Comfort: Home For the Holidays

3. Miracle on 34th Street

Forced Celebration

Mistaken Identity

Public Whump

Comfort: Getting a Letter in the Mail

4. It's A Wonderful Life

Burning the Yule Log

Wing Whump (or Body Modification)

BBU AU

Comfort: Holiday Lights Show

5. Frosty The Snowman

Turned into Decoration

Trapped In A Blizzard

Self-sacrifice

Comfort: Warm Kisses

6. How The Grinch Stole Christmas

Starvation

Stress Position

Too Late

Comfort: Shared Holiday Meal

7. A Christmas Story

Christmas Wishlist

Can't See

Bleeding Out

Comfort: Holiday Pageantry

8. A Christmas Carol

Holiday Haunting

Revenge Whump

Head Injury

Comfort: Unexpected Kindness

9. The Christmas Shoes

Unwanted Gift

Medical Abuse

Main Character Death

Comfort: Baking

10. Polar Express

Waiting for Santa

Tied to Train Tracks

Abducted

Comfort: Hot Chocolate

11. Elf

Countdown to Christmas

Elf Whump

Strangulation

Comfort: Experiencing Freedom For The First Time Ever

12. The Nutcracker

Forced to Perform

Animal Attack

Forced Transformation

Comfort: Favorite Holiday Movies

Event Tags:

Tags will help us when reblogging! You can help us out by using the event tag, a tag with the name of the prompt fill, and any relevant trigger or character tags.

Example tags for day one: #amow winter whumperland 2022, #nightmares, #your other tags here

General Info:

There are three whumpy and one comfy prompt for each day. Each day is also titled with a holiday movie, and if it inspires you feel free to use the day's title as a prompt as well! You can use any combination of prompts from each day. You can combine multiple days into one fill. Any form of creation is okay! Writing, art, cosplay, doll mod, playlists, tiktoks, embroidery, build a whumpy lego set, you name it! If you make something it counts.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Wrong Bat

Winter Whumperland: Day 10. Abducted

Fandom: DC, Batman, Jason Todd, Red Hood, gn!reader

Summary: Someone discovers your boyfriend is part of the Batfamily so you are abducted and tortured for their identities. Too bad they didn't realize which Bat you were dating.

Word Count: 1229

TW: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Capture, Rescue, Slight Blood, Slight Beating, Shoulder Dislocation, Tied by Wrists to Ceiling, Mentions of Guns

Whack.

Your head snapped to the side as yet another blow slammed into your battered body, this time your face. You tasted blood as your lip split open, just another injury to add to your growing list. The chains that were suspending your arms above your head rattled as your momentum caused you to sway slightly with your bare toes dragging across the floor. Your shoulders were screaming out in pain but you refused to give your captures the satisfaction of crying or groaning. You just had to hold out a little longer….

The lead man, the one who introduced himself as Fisher, grinned as you lifted your head and he saw the blood running down your chin. “You had enough yet? Or do I have to mess that pretty face up even more?”

“Go to hell,” you growled.

Fisher muttered something to his men in a language you didn’t understand, but whatever it was made them all laugh. Turning back to you, he said, “Just one name and we will free you. It doesn’t have to be your bat boyfriend, any one of them will do. Tell us a single one of their true identities and I won’t have to keep hurting you.” 

Glaring daggers at the man before you, you hissed, “You idiots think you’re so smart using me as bait. But just wait until he comes for me. When he’s done, you’ll be lucky if you can even wipe your asses by yourself.”

Fisher pulled a long knife from his belt and twirled it playfully. “Oh yeah? And what’s he gonna do? Bust in here and hit us with his little sticks?”

The other men started to laugh again but the sound died down as they all saw the wide, bloody smile spreading across your lips. Spitting out a large glob of red-tinted saliva, you said, “Wrong bat, asshole. My boyfriend’s the one who uses guns.”

As if on cue, the glass ceiling above you shattered, and a large figure dropped heavily to the floor. Slowly rising up to his full height amongst the dust and debris caused by his entrance, Jason looked like your own personal demon rising from the depths of hell to rescue you. In some ways, it wasn’t a completely inaccurate description. 

“Hey, baby,” you said as he turned towards you. “Welcome to the party.”

Though Jason was wearing his helmet, you could feel his eyes scouring your body, cataloging each and every cut or bruise they had given you. You gave him a small nod to let him know you were okay but the rage emanating off of him was so intense it was almost a visible wave of fury. Giving you his own nod in return, he turned towards the men as he drew his guns.

You couldn’t see a lot of what was going on from your position, but you heard the screaming and gunfire. Cursing silently under your breath, you just hoped that Jason could restrain himself somewhat in his current rage-fueled rampage. The last thing either one of you needed was to deal with Bruce’s outrage over the death of one of these assholes. 

After a few minutes, the sounds began to dwindle until the room was mostly silent save for the occasional low moan of pain. Then you heard the familiar sound of heavy combat boots stalking in your direction and Jason’s helmet suddenly appeared before you. Slipping it off to reveal the small red domino mask underneath, he cupped your battered face in his hand.

“Are you okay?” Jason asked as he gently ran his thumb over the bruise on your cheek.

Leaning into his touch, you murmured, “I am now. Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Every time,” he said, pressing his lips to your forehead. “But let’s not make this a habit, alright?”

You chuckled. “Aww, but I love seeing you in action.”

“Then watch the bodycam footage from the Batcave.” He dropped his hand and turned to examine the bodies strewn around the room. “Which one’s got the keys?”

You nodded your head towards Fisher. “Inside jacket pocket.” 

As Jason bent down and began digging through his pockets, Fisher started to raise his head with a groan. However, a quick punch to the face made him unconscious once more.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to do that,” you said as Jason returned to your side with the keys.

He didn’t respond as he unlocked your cuffs and you collapsed into his arms. Your legs felt numb after hanging for so long and Jason wrapped his arms around your waist while you regained your footing. Once you were able to take a few steps on your own, he slowly released you.

You tried rolling your shoulders but between the stiffness and pain, you quickly gave up that idea. However, Jason must have seen your expression because he reached out and ran his hand lightly over your shoulder. “Where’s it hurt?”

“Just all over. My shoulders are stiff from hanging like that for so long and I think the left one might be dislocated. Also, my ribs are pretty bruised, but I don’t think they’re broken.” You ran your fingers gently across your midsection and groaned 

Jason stepped closer and brushed his lips against the edge of your ear, “How about I take you home and give you one of my deep tissue massages? I’ll even use that expensive lotion that you like.”

You closed your eyes and hummed, “Mmm, don’t threaten me with a good time, mister. You know what your massages do to me.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.” He nuzzled his nose deeper into your hair. “A deep massage, followed by a long bath together, and then we’ll see where the night takes us.”

“That sounds like Heave– AH!” you cried out as Jason suddenly grabbed your arm and shoved your shoulder back into place. However, the blinding pain only lasted a few seconds before fading to a dull ache, which was a huge improvement from moments before. “Thanks.”

Jason nodded. Reaching out, he swiped his thumb across your chin and when he removed it, you saw it was covered in blood. Jason stared down at it as he growled, “You have nothing to thank me for. I’m the reason you’re here in the first place.”

Grabbing his chin between your finger and thumb, you forced his head up so he was looking at you. “Hey, this wasn’t your fault, it was mine. I got sloppy and let someone see us together while you were in the suit. Then I wasn’t paying attention and let them grab me. I should’ve been more careful. But I’ll be fine, babe. Because you saved me. Okay?” He nodded softly and you released his face. “Good. Now take me home. I seem to remember you mentioning a back rub? And afterward, maybe I’ll think of some way of repaying you for saving me.”

Jason grinned. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, babe.” Despite the split in your lip, you pressed your mouth against his. 

As he kissed you back, Jason pulled out his grappling gun with one hand and wrapped his other arm around your waist. Holding you tightly, he fired the gun and the two of you were lifted up out of the warehouse and into the night.

Taglist: @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @lolzghost, @thefictionalcharacterssimp, @venomsvl, @sugarysweetsandpainfulteeth, @your-friendly-neighborhood-al, @hellfire-fan-club, @blue-aconite

[ashintheairlikesnow]

No More No

CW: Dehumanizing language, medical abuse, medical whump, Facility whump, defiant whumpee, sadistic whumper, Some references to noncon

Nova’s pieces can be found in this masterlist

For @amonthofwhump, day 9: Medical abuse

-

"Here we go, little lady, time for round two. Just be a good girl and lay back for me, okay?"

"No! I don't want it, no, you can't make me, not again, not again, no!"

"Hey, now. You're not supposed to know that word-"

"No, no, not the needle, no no no-"

Her voice cut off when the asshole's hand smacked into her forehead, forcing her writhing body back against the padded bench. Some fucking doctor, she thought, kicking out and nearly succeeding before he ducked, the sides of his white coat flapping under the cold florescent lights. She felt her big toe just graze his brown hair and bared her teeth in a snarling hostile grin, her own thick, long black hair hanging in her face like a demon ready to drag him to the depths.

"What the fuck, did she not finish her first round?"

"No," The trainee's handler said, frowning more in confusion than anger. "She did. She was fine, coming along nicely, until she just lost her shit yesterday. She mentioned a cousin."

"They don't have cousins."

"Yeah, hence me signing her up for another round. Come on, Ninety-Seven, you know better than this. You've been my sweet soft girl for two weeks, what happened, huh?"

"Maybe I just got sick of eating you out-"

"Ninety-Seven! I can handle some rebellions, but crude language is subject to severe consequences for you!" Her primary handler grabbed her right wrist with gloved hands. She made quick work of jamming it up above her head and locking it into the restraints, the magnets catching with a strength 445097 couldn't fight, not at this angle. 

She yanked at her wrist anyway, just to hear the little chain rattle, and tried to throw a punch. "I'll use whatever fucking crude shitty language I want!"

Handler Abernathy pulled just out of reach, some wispy brown hair escaping her severe bun to frame her face. It made the trainer pause at the unexpected softness it gave to her handler's usual severity. 

"I don't want the needle," She said, plaintive now, trying for the soft puppy voice, I'll be good now sound that everyone seemed to like from her. She couldn’t make tears well up, but she could put the tremble of them into words. "Please… please, Handler, no."

Handler Abernathy softened, just a little. “Ninety-Seven-”

"Too bad." The stupid doctor grabbed at her other wrist and this time her heel caught his chin, sending him stumbling backwards, knocking over the tray of syringes and pale, faintly colored liquids lined up there. "Jesus Christ! That bitch-"

"Back off, Bill, let me get her handled," Handler Abernathy said, voice thin with effort as she managed to evade 444097's flailing legs and get her other wrist secured. "She does better for me anyway.  Don't you, babygirl?"

"Please, please, not the needle, I can train without it, I can learn-"

"Hey. Hey, sweetie." Abernathy's glove was cool where the leather touched her cheek. The trainee raised her chin and opened her mouth for the kiss, Abernathy's lips picking up the trainee's expertly applied lipstick. She lowered her eyelashes, heavy with mascara. Her breath came in pants that raised her chest up and down, just brushing the front of Abernathy's black WRU handler uniform. 

The oversized t-shirt meant she couldn't use it entirely to her advantage, but she tried. Sometimes a show of being overcome would soothe the handlers, calm them, get her what she wanted or just out of trouble. 

"There we go." Handler Abernathy dropped to a whisper, lips moving against the trainee's cheek. "You'll be good for Dr. Bill, right? It's just a little prick."

"Not that little," Dr. Bill said, a little affronted. 

"I meant the needle, dumbass." Abernathy groaned, closing her eyes in brief annoyance. "Just get it going, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah. She knocked all of it over, give me a second." Bill rifled through a cabinet in the small exam room while Abernathy turned back to the trainee and smiled. 

"Here we go, sweetie. Just give me that pretty little ankle… here we go…" The trainee swallowed, watching as Abernathy moved her foot into the stirrup and buckled her ankle in place, then did the same with her other leg. "There's my good girl. There she is. Much better, right?"

"Handler… I-I don't want the needle, please, I promise I don't remember anything, it was a mistake…" She jerked her left ankle but all it did was rattle in place. She tried to tear up, next, but she couldn't seem to make the tears come, no matter how her voice trembled. "I don't need it, I don't…"

"Ninety-Seven." Abernathy shook her head, tucking those stray little hairs the trainee had thought so pretty back behind one ear. "We all know you're lying right now. It's what your kind does. You start acting up with aberrant memories, we have to wipe them away again."

The trainee's eyebrows furrowed. "Handler." Her voice was a whimper, a whine. "Please, Handler, no…"

"There's that word again." Abernathy sighed, disappointed. "Bill, get her hooked up. Don't worry, babygirl. Just a couple of days should do it. Then… no more cousin, no more bad girl behavior, and no more no, huh?"

"Fuck you." She dropped the sad eyes and spat, watching with a thin thread of satisfaction as Handler Abernathy wiped the saliva from her cheek. 

The doctor snorted. "Better for you, huh? Doesn't seem like it."

"Oh, shut up."

There was nothing she could do - the trainee could only shake in the restraints as Bill came over, humming cheerfully with an IV bag on a roller full of a cloudy liquid. The trainee's eyes latched onto the sight of it as her heart started to race. 

"No, no please, please please please my name is my number I'm a pet not a person, I know, I know, I signed up for this all pets legally consent to giving up their former failed identities in exchange for a safe secure home and future I know what you want me to think, I know!"

"I know you do, baby, I know." Abernathy smiled, taking her chin in hand and turning her to look into her handler's sparkling eyes, drinking in her fear and helplessness as Bill wiped something cold and tingling along the crook of her elbow. "But, listen to me, honey. Listen. Say 'yes, Miss, I'm listening."

Now, the tears came. 

The trainee's lower lip trembled as she swallowed and then said, in a whisper, "I'm l-listening, M-Miss…"

"Good girl. I know you know all the right things to think, to say. But…"

The pinch of the needle made her flinch, and Abernathy leaned forward to kiss her. Her handler's lips were soft but pressed hard, swallowing her whimper as the needle was placed and the first rush of cold fluid raced through her blood toward her pounding heart. 

"We need to make sure," Handler Abernathy murmured, pressing one more quick kiss before pulling back, "that you don't remember any of the wrong things to think and say, either."

"Please… p-please, no, please don't make me do this again!"

Handler Abernathy turned and left the exam room, her boots clomping loudly across the floor. The tears came, now, and the trainee could barely see through them and her hair as the doctor grinned at her, staying behind to watch, for just a moment, as the trainee's muscles felt heavier by the second.

Once she slumped backwards, the doctor stepped up close. 

"Be a good girl and just chill here for a while, okay?" He patted the side of her face. Each soft touch felt like a blow. 

"Don't… don't leave me al, alone, please-"

"I'll come back once that perfect pretty head is so empty you can hear the wind blow right through it." He gave her hip a squeeze, then patted her thigh like the flank of a horse before he turned and walked out, too.

The door buzzed locked behind him.

Her eyes were already drifting closed, the Drip taking its terrible hold. The small sweet face she had been holding in her mind, of a cousin she had known, whoever she had been, was already fading. 

"Don't-... D-Don't leave me al, alone…"

There was no one left to listen.

-

@eatyourdamnpears @sableflynn @orchidscript @whump-tr0pes @burtlederp @arlinthesnep @finder-of-rings @hackles-up

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Wrong Bat

Winter Whumperland: Day 10. Abducted

Fandom: DC, Batman, Jason Todd, Red Hood, gn!reader

Summary: Someone discovers your boyfriend is part of the Batfamily so you are abducted and tortured for their identities. Too bad they didn't realize which Bat you were dating.

Word Count: 1229

TW: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Capture, Rescue, Slight Blood, Slight Beating, Shoulder Dislocation, Tied by Wrists to Ceiling, Mentions of Guns

Whack.

Your head snapped to the side as yet another blow slammed into your battered body, this time your face. You tasted blood as your lip split open, just another injury to add to your growing list. The chains that were suspending your arms above your head rattled as your momentum caused you to sway slightly with your bare toes dragging across the floor. Your shoulders were screaming out in pain but you refused to give your captures the satisfaction of crying or groaning. You just had to hold out a little longer….

The lead man, the one who introduced himself as Fisher, grinned as you lifted your head and he saw the blood running down your chin. “You had enough yet? Or do I have to mess that pretty face up even more?”

“Go to hell,” you growled.

Fisher muttered something to his men in a language you didn’t understand, but whatever it was made them all laugh. Turning back to you, he said, “Just one name and we will free you. It doesn’t have to be your bat boyfriend, any one of them will do. Tell us a single one of their true identities and I won’t have to keep hurting you.” 

Glaring daggers at the man before you, you hissed, “You idiots think you’re so smart using me as bait. But just wait until he comes for me. When he’s done, you’ll be lucky if you can even wipe your asses by yourself.”

Fisher pulled a long knife from his belt and twirled it playfully. “Oh yeah? And what’s he gonna do? Bust in here and hit us with his little sticks?”

The other men started to laugh again but the sound died down as they all saw the wide, bloody smile spreading across your lips. Spitting out a large glob of red-tinted saliva, you said, “Wrong bat, asshole. My boyfriend’s the one who uses guns.”

As if on cue, the glass ceiling above you shattered, and a large figure dropped heavily to the floor. Slowly rising up to his full height amongst the dust and debris caused by his entrance, Jason looked like your own personal demon rising from the depths of hell to rescue you. In some ways, it wasn’t a completely inaccurate description. 

“Hey, baby,” you said as he turned towards you. “Welcome to the party.”

Though Jason was wearing his helmet, you could feel his eyes scouring your body, cataloging each and every cut or bruise they had given you. You gave him a small nod to let him know you were okay but the rage emanating off of him was so intense it was almost a visible wave of fury. Giving you his own nod in return, he turned towards the men as he drew his guns.

You couldn’t see a lot of what was going on from your position, but you heard the screaming and gunfire. Cursing silently under your breath, you just hoped that Jason could restrain himself somewhat in his current rage-fueled rampage. The last thing either one of you needed was to deal with Bruce’s outrage over the death of one of these assholes. 

After a few minutes, the sounds began to dwindle until the room was mostly silent save for the occasional low moan of pain. Then you heard the familiar sound of heavy combat boots stalking in your direction and Jason’s helmet suddenly appeared before you. Slipping it off to reveal the small red domino mask underneath, he cupped your battered face in his hand.

“Are you okay?” Jason asked as he gently ran his thumb over the bruise on your cheek.

Leaning into his touch, you murmured, “I am now. Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Every time,” he said, pressing his lips to your forehead. “But let’s not make this a habit, alright?”

You chuckled. “Aww, but I love seeing you in action.”

“Then watch the bodycam footage from the Batcave.” He dropped his hand and turned to examine the bodies strewn around the room. “Which one’s got the keys?”

You nodded your head towards Fisher. “Inside jacket pocket.” 

As Jason bent down and began digging through his pockets, Fisher started to raise his head with a groan. However, a quick punch to the face made him unconscious once more.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to do that,” you said as Jason returned to your side with the keys.

He didn’t respond as he unlocked your cuffs and you collapsed into his arms. Your legs felt numb after hanging for so long and Jason wrapped his arms around your waist while you regained your footing. Once you were able to take a few steps on your own, he slowly released you.

You tried rolling your shoulders but between the stiffness and pain, you quickly gave up that idea. However, Jason must have seen your expression because he reached out and ran his hand lightly over your shoulder. “Where’s it hurt?”

“Just all over. My shoulders are stiff from hanging like that for so long and I think the left one might be dislocated. Also, my ribs are pretty bruised, but I don’t think they’re broken.” You ran your fingers gently across your midsection and groaned 

Jason stepped closer and brushed his lips against the edge of your ear, “How about I take you home and give you one of my deep tissue massages? I’ll even use that expensive lotion that you like.”

You closed your eyes and hummed, “Mmm, don’t threaten me with a good time, mister. You know what your massages do to me.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.” He nuzzled his nose deeper into your hair. “A deep massage, followed by a long bath together, and then we’ll see where the night takes us.”

“That sounds like Heave– AH!” you cried out as Jason suddenly grabbed your arm and shoved your shoulder back into place. However, the blinding pain only lasted a few seconds before fading to a dull ache, which was a huge improvement from moments before. “Thanks.”

Jason nodded. Reaching out, he swiped his thumb across your chin and when he removed it, you saw it was covered in blood. Jason stared down at it as he growled, “You have nothing to thank me for. I’m the reason you’re here in the first place.”

Grabbing his chin between your finger and thumb, you forced his head up so he was looking at you. “Hey, this wasn’t your fault, it was mine. I got sloppy and let someone see us together while you were in the suit. Then I wasn’t paying attention and let them grab me. I should’ve been more careful. But I’ll be fine, babe. Because you saved me. Okay?” He nodded softly and you released his face. “Good. Now take me home. I seem to remember you mentioning a back rub? And afterward, maybe I’ll think of some way of repaying you for saving me.”

Jason grinned. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, babe.” Despite the split in your lip, you pressed your mouth against his. 

As he kissed you back, Jason pulled out his grappling gun with one hand and wrapped his other arm around your waist. Holding you tightly, he fired the gun and the two of you were lifted up out of the warehouse and into the night.

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @11thstreetvigilante, @merlehs,@mayhem24-7forever, @sunshineflowerchild789, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @schaarfyx, @happinessricardotapia

[callaeidae3]

A Month of Whump (@amonthofwhump ) - Day 10: Polar express

Waiting for Santa | Tied to train tracks | Abducted | Comfort: Hot chocolate

Except it's not a polar express, it's an early summer express.

Whumpee has been lying there a while.

Can they even be sure a train is coming? Or have they been left tied to tracks that no train ever uses anymore? Left abandoned, left to die of dehydration unless someone or something finds them first?

[befuddled-calico-whump]

AMOW Winter Whumperland

@amonthofwhump Day 9: Unwanted Gift

(got a bit carried away with what was supposed to be a short piece. Chances are, I won't write more, but anyone who likes the concept is invited to continue the storyline lol)

Hero tapped their fingers on the table in an anxious rhythm. Vigilante was due over for lunch any minute now, and as usual, they didn't know whether to look forward to or dread her visit.

True, their agendas were aligned as far as crimestopping was concerned, but their methods… not so much. Vigilante was fun, but unpredictable, and outright bloodthirsty when it came to justice. Hero had never been bold enough to confront her more chaotic methods, no matter how much they wanted to.

Still, she was more or less a friend, and one of the few people they could actually talk to about their chosen occupation. And it was fun to have joint complaint sessions about their shared nemesis, Villain, though it was apparently his quiet season. Maybe he'd taken to hibernating all winter, like some kind of woodland creature.

Adding to their anxieties, last time they'd spoken with Vigilante, she'd slyly mentioned having a surprise for Hero. Considering the last present she'd left them was a roomful of unconscious criminals (a gift Hero had accepted with the grace of a cat owner who'd found a dead lizard on the porch), Hero was a little… uncertain about their stance on this.

A knock pulled them to their feet with a light sigh. They opened the door to reveal Vigilante, a smile on her face and a huge crate sitting on a dolly behind her. Hero raised both eyebrows, squeezing their eyes shut for a moment to compose themselves.

"Vigilante. Uh, wow. That's, uh, that's a bit more than I expected."

She laughed, tugging on the handle of the dolly to pull the package inside after her. Whatever it was, it looked like it weighed a lot. "Duh, wouldn't be a surprise if you expected it."

She hung her hat and coat, kicked off snow-covered boots, then wheeled the thing into the carpeted living room, where it took up most of the free space. 

Hero clicked their tongue. "So… you want some lunch, or..?"

"Are you kidding? I wanna see you open this up first."

Hero nodded, putting on a smile that felt more like a grimace. They always felt so awkward opening up gifts in front of people, nevermind a gift that was so unexpected. It was more than a little nerve wracking. What would be inside? Knowing Vigilante, it could be anything from a lifetime supply of biscotti, to a live tiger, (to a dead criminal...)

Hero shook off the thought with a shudder. She wouldn't. She wouldn't go that far, at least… at least not in front of them. Right?

Vigilante nudged them. "Come onnn, crack it open! I wanna see the look on your face."

Hero let out a nervous laugh. "Okay." They reached for the crate. It had latches running down the side, so that it would swing open like a refrigerator once they were removed. At least they wouldn't have to bring out a crowbar.

They undid the first latch. Something inside the crate moved.

Hero took a hasty step back, casting a glance at Vigilante. 

"What the–"

"Just open it! Don't freak out, okay? I promise it's safe."

Sure it was. Taking a breath to steady themselves, Hero moved back to the box, undoing the remaining latches one by one, their stomach doing backflips as they slowly, slowly, pulled the door open to reveal…

"Villain?" they murmured, momentarily frozen in place. 

It was him alright. Curled into a tight ball, his hands shielding his face, his body shaking. Hero took it in. The bruised flesh, the lack of warm clothing, the fear they could practically feel coming off of him.

"Vigilante– this, it's… no. This isn't—" Hero stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Do you like it?" Vigilante was unfazed. Maybe she took Hero's shock as something good. They'd been surprised all right. 

"Vigilante–"

"You don't have to worry about him bugging you anymore," she said brightly. "Watch." She snapped her fingers, and Villain flinched, then slowly uncurled himself and crawled out of the crate, pushing himself into a kneeling position, head bent.

Hero couldn't move, could only watch, horrified, as their once-proud enemy trembled before them.

"You… you trained him?"

"Surprise!" Her cheer was undampened. How could she be so okay with this? Had it been her who'd left all those bruises and half-healed wounds?

Villain's hair had grown long, shaggy strands obscuring his face. Hero took a cautious step forward, and instantly regretted it as the new angle gave them a good view of Villain's back, split open by dozens of whip marks. Their hand flew to their mouth. They were going to be sick.

"What did you do?" they said, barely past a whisper.

"You don't like it." Vigilante sounded disappointed.

"I don't— I— you hurt him. This isn't… I can't stand for this kind of torture." They tore their eyes away from Villain, who didn't seem to be reacting at all to the situation.

Vigilante had a pouty expression on her face, completely oblivious to the gravity of all of this. "Not even if it's Villain? Come on, you hate him. I thought this would make you happy."

Hero shook their head. "No. No, I wanted to stop Villain. I-I wanted him to be caught. To face justice."

"That's what I did. I caught him. I delivered–"

"This isn't justice."

She fell silent for a moment, looked up at them with puppydog eyes. "I did this for you, Hero," she said quietly.

I never asked you to, Hero wanted to say, but what would happen if they rejected her misguided gift? Would she take him back? Kill him? No matter what Villain had done, Hero couldn't sentence him to torture, to death.

So they swallowed down the words, nodding. "Okay. Just… just give me some time, okay? We'll talk about this later, I-I just need to think."

Vigilante nodded back, and they could see tears forming in her eyes. She'd truly believed they would like it. They tried to quell the barrage of mixed emotions within them as they saw her to the door, pushed down every questioning thought as they walked back to Villain, who still hadn't moved.

How long had it been since they'd last seen him? Five months? Six? How much of that time had he spent a captive?

Hero knelt in front of him, caution at the forefront of their mind, but more out of habit than any real sense of danger. They had no doubt they could easily overpower the beaten figure in front of them if the need arose.

"Um, hey," they said, eliciting no response from Villain. How far gone was he? They tried again.

"Look at me," they said, trying to make the command soft, non-threatening. Villain took a quiet, shuddering breath, then raised his head to meet their eyes.

His face was partially obscured by dark hair, but Hero could see bruising on his cheekbone, his jaw. His eyes were sharp with fear, and Hero felt like he was searching them. Looking for intent.

"I'm not going to hurt you," they said. "You, uh… I'm sorry this happened. I never intended–"

With a sudden cry, Villain lunged forward, knocking Hero onto their back. Hero threw up an arm, ready to defend against a blow, but Villain was already stumbling away.

He wasn't attacking. He was running. 

Hero pushed themselves up as their nemesis reached the front door, fumbling at the handle with shaking fingers before throwing it open and running outside.

After a moment's consideration, Hero ran after him. They couldn't just let him go, but more than that, he was barefoot and barely clothed, and it was snowing.

It didn't take long to catch up. When he looked back to see Hero in pursuit, he put on another burst of short-lived speed that left him collapsed in the road.

Hero knelt down to help him up, and was met by several weak blows.

"Don't. Please, just…" Villain barely got out a few words before the sentence dissolved into sobs.

Hero scooped him into their arms, his body shaking violently against the cold. No matter how big a pain in the ass Villain was, they'd never wanted to see him like this. But like it or not, here he was.

They couldn't hand him over to law enforcement. They couldn't give him back to Vigilante. Hell, they didn't even know if he had any friends who would take him in. They were all he had.

They carried him through their still-open front door, set him on the couch, and piled on a few blankets. It was several minutes before Villain's sobs began to quiet, and Hero took that time to put soup on the stove and boil water for tea.

It was obvious Villain didn't trust them. Why would he? He'd probably try to run again as soon as he had the chance. He'd need an eye kept on him, and a lot of patience to go with it. 

Vigilante hadn't been wrong. This was certainly a surprise. A difficult one, but Hero was willing to work with it. To wait, to hope for the best.

To help their enemy heal.

[whumpookies]

AMOW Winter Whumperland 2022

A Christmas story day 7..

Prompt: Bleeding out @amonthofwhump

Series: Gülperi bölüm 29.

[wolfeyedwitch]

not to be evil but standing cuffs for celeste

Yes to be evil. You 100% mean to be evil. Don't even try to lie.

Also for @amonthofwhump day 6: stress position

CW for female conditioned vampire whumpee, it as a pronoun, manhandling, stress position (duh, but I figured I'd say it anyway), sadistic whumper, pet whump, multiple whumpers

Masterlist

---

The vampire never knew what to expect when it was dragged to this room. It seemed that every time, its trainer brought something new. 

The only constant was that it would hurt.

The men dragged it in and hauled it to its feet. Its legs quivered under the strain of its own weight, receiving a nasty chuckle from the men in response. 

“Tired already, pet?” came its trainer’s voice. 

Its eyes snapped to the man. Stupid, stupid, stupid, it had been too focused on its escorts to even notice the trainer. It couldn’t afford such mistakes!

Hesitantly, it nodded. It had long since learned not to speak. Words are for humans, not vermin, after all.

The trainer smiled like a shark. “Good.”

It tried to ask with its eyes, hoping he would condescend to explain what he meant.

“Your existence is no longer your own. You’ve begun to accept that, finally.”

“Took it long enough,” one of its escorts muttered. 

The trainer gave him a sharp look before continuing. “Now you must accept that this applies to everything else about you, as well. You no longer set the terms of your un-life. That is for your owner to do. You will do as your owner directs, even if such things seem impossible.”

It didn’t like the sound of that. Fear started prickling along its limbs and gnawing at its empty stomach.

“Hands,” the trainer commanded.

The men restraining the vampire extended its hands towards the trainer. He grabbed something hanging from the ceiling, then fastened what turned out to be manacles—thankfully steel rather than silver—around its wrists. He stepped back. The others followed suit, letting the vampire fall. 

It didn’t make it all the way to the floor. The chains connected to its manacles stopped its collapse, resulting in a harsh yank to its already injured shoulders. The vampire couldn’t hold back a whine at the pain. 

The men only laughed. 

At a nod from the trainer, the chains began shortening. The vampire was dragged upwards by the wrists, and it scrambled to get its feet under itself to decrease the awful strain on its arms. The chains only ceased shortening when the vampire was balancing on its toes, heels hovering off the ground.

The trainer stepped forward again, looking the vampire over as it struggled to remain standing.

“This,” he said, soft and sweet as poisoned honey, “is where you belong. As entertainment for your betters.” He patted its cheek, the touch too hard to be comforting but not quite hard enough to be a slap. 

It was just grateful he wasn’t wearing the silver gloves today.

He stepped back with another sharp-edged smile. “Your task for today is simple: remain silent. If you can manage that? I might consider rewarding you,” he said.

It nodded fervently. It could do that. It would do that.

One of the others held out a leather pouch to the trainer, who accepted it and poured the contents into his hand. They looked like…

Oh, no. Oh no.

If it hadn’t just been told to be silent, it would wail in despair. 

The trainer held up a handful of what might have been jacks, if not for the sharpened points. The metal gleamed unmistakably.

“Silver caltrops. Let no one accuse me of being too soft on the pets I train,” he said with a smirk. “If I were, how would you learn?”

He stepped behind the vampire, and it stiffened as he disappeared from its view. 

The next sound it heard was that of metal against stone. It stiffened; tears pricked in its eyes. 

It could feel the hated heat of silver beneath its feet. 

It struggled to grasp the chains connected to its manacles, to both ease the strain in its shoulders and avoid the caltrops by holding itself up. The men laughed at its display.

“Like I said,” came the trainer’s voice as the man circled back around to face the vampire. “Entertainment.”

---

Taglist:

@kim-poce @cupcakes-and-pain @nonbinary-disaster @onlybadendings @neverthelass @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog @ghostfacepepper @someonesnamesblog @rainbows-and-whumperflies @extemporary-whump @thecyrulik @myhusbandsasemni @heart4brains @kixngiggles @whumpsday @whumppsychology @elrysdoesstuff @towerlesskey @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @haro-whumps @pigeonwhumps @cc1010foxy

[much-obliged-timothy]

Winter Whumperland #9

Devil May Cry - #9 - Baking

I completely forgot I used the comfort prompt for this day but I guess I needed to give the Sparda boys a break from suffering

*

“This is ridiculous,” Vergil said.

“It’ll mean a lot to the kid,” Dante said, knocking on the front door. 

“It’s still ridiculous,” Vergil said. “And a complete waste of time.”

“Oh, don’t be such a grinch!” Dante said.

The door opened and Kyrie smiled at them. She had an apron on, and it was thoroughly covered in flour and melted chocolate. Delicious scents wafted out of the open door, making Dante grin.

“Ready to taste test,” he said, saluting her.

“The kids won’t let you get away with just that,” she said, gesturing them in. “They will definitely be excited to have someone with your appetite, though.”

Cheerful music played inside the house and the sound of laughter and clanking utensils accompanied it. Vergil made a face as they entered the kitchen.

The children were rolling dough with their bare hands. Filthy little creatures. 

But then one of them picked something up off the floor. Nero nudged him and pointed to the sink, and the child obediently went and washed his hands, humming to himself as he did so.

“Nero! Nero!” a boy said, holding an orange up to Nero. “Make the chocolate better.”

Nero took it from him, then hoisted the boy up into his arms and handed it back. “Here, I’ll hold you over the chocolate, and you do it.”

The boy began to carefully zest an orange over a bowl of chocolate. He got a mischievous look and quickly held the orange over Nero’s head, shaking some of the orange bits off on his hair and laughing.

“Hey!” Nero said, but he was grinning. He took the orange from the boy’s hand and flipped the child upside down, easily holding him by his ankles and swinging him playfully. The boy was laughing harder, struggling futilely. “I’m gonna zest you next if you do that again, brat.”

“Lemme down!” the boy said through his laughter. “Nero! I’m gonna tell Kyrie!”

“Were you also going to tell me he was torturing you because you were picking on him again, Julio?” Kyrie said.

“Kyrie! Help!” he squealed. 

Vergil hung back, but Dante went right into the kitchen and snatched the kid up, setting him on his feet. “C’mon, kid, I can help you take him down. Think he’d look better wearing some flour?”

Vergil watched them laugh and throw little handfuls of flour at each other, making a disastrous mess of the kitchen as the other children joined in. He could not possibly comprehend how they found this fun when they were making such a mess to clean.

Kyrie stood next to him, smiling fondly at the scene. “It’ll be a pain to clean, but the memories are worth it. They’ll always remember how much fun they had baking with him. Nero never gets mad, even when they make a mess. He just plays right along.” 

Vergil didn’t respond. Nero had finally spotted him.

A child tugged at Nero’s shirt, so Nero lifted the kid into his arms. He came over to Vergil.

“You actually came,” he said.

“Dante wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed to,” Vergil said.

“Well, come on. The cookies actually taste good,” Nero said. “Even when Carlo puts too much brown sugar.”

The boy in his arms swatted at Nero’s arm in retaliation for the comment. Nero ruffled his hair affectionately. 

“Who’s he?” Julio asked as Vergil reluctantly followed Nero towards the counter.

“He’s…my father,” Nero said, the words clumsy on his tongue, and followed by an unsure glance at Vergil. “His name is Vergil.”

Vergil stiffened, expecting the children to make a fuss about his status as Nero’s father. Instead, they were staring from Vergil to Dante.

“They look the same!” the littlest of the boys cried.

“You take that back. I’m way more handsome,” Dante said.

It sent the boys giggling and broke the awkwardness. They got back to bustling about the kitchen, now with Kyrie back to direct them and bring a little order to the chaos. 

There were only three boys in the kitchen, but it felt like an army of them with how they moved about and how messy they were. Vergil felt like there was no safe space to stand, but was relieved they were drawn to Dante and his childish playfulness. They continuously begged him to try their cookies or to help them reach some ingredient too high up for them.

But then one wandered over to Vergil, looking up at him. “Aren’t you gonna bake? You should help Nero.”

“Nero is doing fine on his own,” Vergil said.

The child frowned. Despite how often their names were called, Vergil could not remember which boy was which. All he knew was that this one was not the oldest of them. 

“But…he helps us,” the child said.

Vergil could not stand children’s inability to have a coherent conversation. “That does not mean he needs help.”

The child pouted, as if equally irritated with Vergil’s inability to follow his very nonlinear thought process. “He helps us! And you’re his dad, so you should help him! That’s how it works.” He didn’t outright say “duh”, but his voice strongly implied the presence of it. 

Vergil looked over at Nero as Nero helped one of the children drizzle chocolate over cookies freshly pulled from the oven. He had a large, genuine smile on his face, something Vergil had not seen much from him.

How could Vergil go over there? He would not help. He would only wipe the smile from Nero’s face. 

But the child was stubborn, if nothing else. He grabbed Vergil’s hand and yanked him forward. Only the surprise of some bold small boy grabbing him without fear got Vergil following him.

The boy pushed him at Nero. Nero glanced up at Vergil, cracking a little smile.

“I see you’ve discovered the kids are a little ballsy,” he said. “Mind helping? We’re pretty slow at this.”

He handed Vergil a plastic bag filled with chocolate, the corner snipped off. Vergil slowly squeezed the bag, watching the chocolate drizzle over the cookie.

He had a sudden flash of memory; his mother, guiding his hands gently as he frosted a cookie. Her laughter filling the room because Dante had gotten the frosting all over his face trying to hastily sneak a cookie while she helped Vergil. That quiet joy in his heart. 

He looked over at his son, gently guiding the child’s hands as Eva had guided Vergil’s so long ago. Nero had her smile. The revelation made his breath stutter a little.

“Uh, Vergil? You’re doing a great job drizzling over the pan, but our goal is the cookie,” Nero said. The child giggled, earning another smile from Nero.

Vergil shook himself. “Right. No need to add to the mess.”

“Mess is half the fun,” Nero said, hugging the kid to himself. “Right?”

“Right!” the kid echoed gleefully. He picked up a cookie and held it out to Vergil. “Try it! Try it!”

Vergil did. And he tried every cookie the children offered him after that. His own discomfort did not fully evaporate, but baking with Nero and his children, watching Dante chase them around, watching Kyrie and Nero work so easily together to manage the children…it brought a quiet peace he had not known for years back into his heart.

[justplainwhump]

The Prisoner

Tyler and Carly interrogate Tara's informant, and Tyler takes desperate measures.

Part of [Way Over His Head / Tyler's story].

Also, this is for @amonthofwhump 12 Days of Whumpmas, Day 6 - "Stress Position" and "Too Late".

Content / warnings: BBU, Facility Whump, Whumper PoV, captivity, stress position, interrogation, drugging (in an interrogation), torture, light notes of medical whump, syringe, memory loss, protagonist making some drastic choices. Seriously. Tyler is not a hero.

The miracle box, Doctor Wood called the collection of vials and syringes in the case Carly had sent Tyler to pick up for the interrogation.

He knew some of the color coded ones, single purpose to induce pain, panic or pleasure.

"All our specialties", the Doc had said. "Don't mix and match though. However much Handler Thompson likes to play. Give it at least two hour before you change colours. Otherwise, the subject's mind gets temporarily..." She mimicked an explosion. "Fried."

Tyler had just nodded. He'd only ever used one of them - purple, the aphrodisiac - to prepare 238 for her owner in the final stages of her training. He lacked the fantasy of what they'd need that one for, when dealing with the pet lib activist and he refused to delve into it any further. Nor did he think about why he had volunteered for this. He could've just gone home. Slept through his hangover. Kept himself from making just another stupid decision in today's collection of stupid decisions. He could've erased that note he'd written the fridge. Went on with his life.

But no, here he was in WRU facility 002, openly carrying a box of drugs, suitable to erase a whole person.

Here he was, covertly carrying a recording phone, barely able to say what he was expecting to find, much less what he would do with it after.

Tyler felt sweat collect in his collar, single droplets running down his spine. Don't let her see, he told himself. Don't make yourself suspicious. Be your normal workplace self. Handler Parker. Doing his job.

He forced himself to unclench his jaw, relax his shoulders, and just walk behind Carly.

Facility 002's interrogation rooms were on the ground floor, just on the other side of the staff cafeteria. Tyler had never been to this wing of the building, he realized, as matching the pace of Carly's easy stroll. He'd expected storage rooms here, or garages, or something maintenance-related. He'd not expected barred cells that were even tinier than the rooms they kept the trainees in. He'd not expected rooms so obviously fitted with hooks and chains and torture implements.

It made sense, in a way.

What they did to the trainees in the main wings happened in clinically clean white rooms, with uniform layouts and precisely inventarised equipment. Well documented, perfectly designed. They had chaptered handbooks and detailed reports. Rules and regulations. It was horrifying, how easily he'd adapted to that framework.

And now, here, in the not-even-secret, not-even-in-the-basement, wing C, the sheer cover was stripped to expose what it really was WRU did. They were torturers. It was nothing but a business model.

They were torturers, and Handler Tyler Parker was one of them.

His knees threatened to give in, and he leaned to a wall, as casual as he could manage. Keys jingled, when Carly opened one of the doors. Keys, not the perfectly white key cards with the handlers' ID numbers on them. Of course. No paper trail. Not even in their systems.

"I'd love to tell you she's a piece of work," Carly said conversationally, while pushing the door open. "But she's not. She's a weak and whiny cry baby, broken as can be. No idea where she got the guts to stand up to us, but I guess it was a person, and I guess she'll give us some names soon, will you, kitten?"

All she got in return was a pained, high pitched whine.

The woman was strung up in the middle of the room, bent forward, with her arms fixated to a metal bar that pressed against her shoulders. A chain from the ceiling pulled the bar up, while another to the ground forced the woman to kneel.

It looked like something he'd be disciplined for, using on 238. Too dangerous, too much risk for lasting damage. But this one? She wasn't an investment. She wasn't here to be sold, she was here only to be broken.

A garbled scream escaped from her throat when Carly rested a gloved hand on the prisoner's strained shoulder. "Zsuzsanna. Susy, I recall, to your friends?"

"Please," she whimpered. "I know nothing! I never did anything. Please, let me go."

Without so much as a change of expression, Carly backhanded her, watching as she screamed and her body spasmed in pain. "Drop the drama, Suzy. We all know you'll cease to exist once this is done. Question is, how long will your pretty body make it. Do we go through the effort to find pet 002242, the one with your face on it, a nice loving home, or do we use her as a bait in Guard Dog training. Personally, I favour the latter. Poetic ending for a pet lib slut, being torn to pieces by the very pets you wanted to save." She chuckled to herself. "But. This is not about me. It's your call. Will you give us some names, some of those pet lib friends of yours, or will you seal 242's fate?"

"Please!" The woman looked up, dark eyes searching for Tyler, silently pleading. Her face was wet, covered in a thin film of tears and snot. She looked horrible. For a moment he wondered, if that was normal. If all involuntary acquisitions went through that. If their perfect, pretty 238 had been messily begging like that, too. He'd made the lying to himself so easy.

Tyler shook his head, folded his arms and straightened his back. His grey handler's uniform felt too tight around his neck. The weight of the phone in his pocket felt too heavy. The prisoner didn't notice, though. Tyler was tall and muscular, didn't need much effort to be intimidating.

"Too late," he said. He was talking to himself, more than her, and it felt horrible.

Her sob turned into a scream when Carly's baton cut through the air and landed on her ribs.

"Tyler, give me some of the yellow," she said smugly, before bringing down the baton again, calling forth another cry. "Let's spice this up. We don't have forever. I want to watch the game at four."

Tyler opened the kit with numb fingers, while Carly paused her beating long enough for letting the prisoner see the vials.

Natural team work. As if they did this every day. And, Tyler realized, he did. Him and Alan with 238. A demonstration of scary effic, their routines gripping into each other like matched dials.

"Yellow," Carly said, as she turned to watch Tyler draw up the syringe. "It's for pain, you know. After that, the tiniest brush of my fingers will hurt you, more than my baton could. I can caress you into agony." Her fingers lightly wandered over the woman's arm, and she whined under Carly's touch. "Please, I... I don't even know pet lib, I just... I just try and protect the kids in my shelter, please..."

"Already getting talkative, huh?" Carly's fingers ran over the woman's neck playfully, up, until she cupped her cheek. "How about we start with this journalist you've been talking to, then?"

The syringe almost snapped in Tyler's hand. No. No. Not Tara, not so soon.

"Journalist? I haven't... I don't know what you're talking about, I... She's..."

"Ty?" Carly prompted.

He stared into the kit. Colours mashed into a blur in front of his eyes. 'The journalist'. She couldn't. He... He couldn't.

"She's got... nothing to do with this, please, I... I don't..." He heard another whimper. Carly had wrapped her fingers around the prisoners neck, leaned in obscenely close, as she whispered something into her ear. None of them looked at him. None of them saw, how he snapped open another vial with shaking fingers.

Don't ever mix and match.

He hoped it'd be fast. He hoped it'd be okay.

"Come on." Carly grabbed the woman's hair and yanked her head to the side, other hand taking the syringe from Tyler and jabbing it into the woman's bared neck.

She didn't even scream.

[sardonic-sprite]

Wake me up when it's all over

Dick was running, sprinting as fast as he could and yet never drawing closer to his goal. Laughter and screams clamored in freakish dissonance, underscored by a taunting, threatening, tick, tick, tick...

The building still looked a mile away, but Dick had made it close enough now to hear the snapping of bones.

"Can't fly with broken wings, now, can we, birdie?"

Jason sobbed. Fly? He couldn't even move. Just trying to breathe hurt, the agony so persistent that each new blow barely registered as new pain.

He could hear the wet, ragged gasps of sunken-in lungs, fighting for enough air. Jason was always fighting.

Dick had promised he wouldn't have to fight alone anymore, but he was, he was, and Dick was too fucking slow, why couldn't he get any closer?

He was dying.

Jason was dying.

Dick couldn't save him.

The laughter crescendoed, drowning out the sobs and gasps but not the tick, tick, tick...

"Dick. Dick. Dick!"

"JASON!"

Boom.

Dick screamed as everything went dark, grabbing at empty air like he could snatch his brother away from the blast.

The air wasn't empty.

A young voice yelped and oof'ed as Dick dragged him close and held him tight, burying his head in their hair and pressing his fingers to the quick, steady pulse at their throat. Alive.

"Dick..." the wrong brother whispered. "It was a dream."

Light flared and assaulted Dick's eyes as another voice, this a half-awake growl, demanded, "What happened?"

"Nightmare," Tim said quietly, pulling out of Dick's arms. He met Dick's eyes sadly. "You had a nightmare, Dick."

So Jason wasn't-- No. No, Jason was dead. The dream's lie was that Dick could have even tried to save him. A sob slipped out.

Tim lay down against him again, burrowing closer and hiding his face in Dick's shoulder. Bruce turned the light off and sank down on the side of the bed, setting a bracing hand on Dick's knee.

"It's alright, chum," he lied, voice wavering. "He can't be hurt or afraid anymore."

Jason was suffocating, black smoke choking out all the air and light. He thrashed against the rubble that pinned him down--

--and it flew off him with a yelp.

Jason jerked and blinked, and everything reset and snapped back to clarity; the lamp on the table showing him the small boy in rumpled robes, several paces back, and the light from the hallway framing the woman still in day clothes, stepping closer.

He took a shuddering breath and drew his knees up to his chest, hiding his face against them, as if it could block sight of his tears.

"Akhi?" Damian called tremulously, and Jason slowly reached out with one hand. A small, warm hand slipped into his grasp, and Jason tugged him close, adjusting to curl around Damian, like the kid was Jason's teddy bear. Like Jason was the kid's shield from a blast.

Jason barely felt the mattress sink on his other side before a cool, gentle hand smoothed his sweaty hair away from his face. A second later, lips pressed a kiss to his temple.

Talia didn't tell him he was safe now. She wouldn't lie. But she did whisper, "Go back to sleep, Jason. I will protect you."

And she wouldn't lie.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Make Me Forget

Winter Whumperland 2022: Day 8. Unexpected Kindness Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader, former Bob x reader

Summary: Soon after a tragedy strikes, Jake finds you at his door late one night. Will he do what he has always dreamt of and you are now begging him for? Or will he find the strength to do what is right?

Word Count: 4300

TW: Emotional Angst, Grief, Death of a Loved One, Main Character Death, Tears, Drunk Reader makes bad decisions, Intoxicated Kiss, Tattoo

Notes: Thank you to @lorecraft and @green-socks for talking me through this and their support! I love you guys!

Sequel to No Laughing Matter but can also be read as a stand-alone piece.

As Jake poured his third glass of bourbon of the night, he was starting to regret not taking Coyote up on his offer to go to the movies with him and his new girlfriend. There wasn’t anything interesting playing, but it would have been nice to take his mind off of things and just mindlessly watch some robots blow some shit up or whatever for two and a half hours. But instead, he was sitting alone in a dimly lit room with only his drink for company. Not his smartest idea, but he just didn’t know how to act around his best friend at the moment.

For the past eight months, Jake had been on an extended medical leave back in Texas after he was injured in a training exercise. The break was actually doing him a lot of good. He had forgotten what it felt like to not have to try to be the best all the time. For the first time since joining the Naval Academy straight out of high school, he let himself relax and didn’t worry about how he compared to those around him. He stopped cutting his hair and grew a beard, both things he was never allowed to do while on active duty. It felt like he had control over everything in his life for once. That was until he had gotten the phone call.

Which was how he found himself staying in this rental house back in California a month before he was to be cleared for active duty. Though they had kept in contact through texts and emails, he hadn’t expected to be in person with the entire Dagger Squad again this soon. Or at least…. almost the entire squad.

Downing the rest of his glass of bourbon, he reached for the bottle to pour another when a knock on his door drew his attention. At almost one a.m., he had no idea who it could be. Only a few people even knew where he was staying, and he had made it clear he wanted to be left alone tonight.

Throwing the door open, Jake inhaled sharply as he saw the last person he expected standing just outside. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, hello to you too, Jake. You sure know how to make a girl feel wanted.”

“No, I’m sorry. I was just surprised to see you here. Especially this late.”

Neither of you spoke for a long moment, each just staring at the other. Jake hadn’t seen you since the service a few days ago but you looked even worse than you had then. Your hair was a mess, your lipstick was smudged, and your eyes looked sunken and bloodshot. It wouldn’t surprise Jake if he learned you hadn’t slept more than a few hours over the last few days. Not that he would have blamed you. 

Finally, you broke the silence and asked, “You gonna make me keep standing out here, or are you gonna let me in?”

 “Oh, right, sorry.” Jake held the door open wider as you pushed past him into the house. “How’d you get here? You didn’t drive, did you?”

You scoffed. “No. Do you really think I’m that irresponsible? Phoenix put me in a car after she made me leave the bar. The guy was driving past and I remembered you were staying here while you were in town.” You stumbled slightly as you walked around the small space examining the decor. It was clear why Phoenix sent you home for the night, though Jake was surprised she hadn’t insisted on going with you.

You spotted the still-open bottle of bourbon sitting on the table and grabbed at it, almost knocking it off the table. Without even trying to look for a glass, you pressed it to your lips and took a long swig. You grimaced as you swallowed yet raised the bottle for a second drink, but Jake placed his hand on your wrist before you could.

He gently eased the bottle out of your hand and set it back down. Running his hand lightly up and down your arm, he asked, “Not that it isn’t great to see you and all, but whatcha doing here, sweetheart? It’s late and it looks like you’ve already had an exciting night. Maybe you should just be heading home. I can drive you.” He reconsidered as he remembered the three glasses of bourbon he had drank that night. “Well, I can make sure you get home safely.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” you muttered faintly as you ran your fingers through the few drops of bourbon that had fallen onto the table. “I came here for you. I want you to do what you said…. last year in the bar.”

Jake’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember what you might be talking about. “I say a lot of things. You wanna give me a hint which one you’re talking about?”

Awkwardly removing your jacket and letting it fall to the floor behind you, you took a step closer causing Jake to step back so you didn’t bump into his chest. “You said one night was all it would take. That after one night with you, I would forget his name. I’m here so you can help me forget.”

Jake felt all the blood drain from his face as he realized what you were talking about. The night in the Hard Deck when he had gotten very drunk and tried to fight Bob. Not that it had been much of a fight considering Bob had laid him out with a single punch, but Jake had still felt awful about it. He apologized to both you and Bob the next day and it seemed like that night had been pretty much forgotten by everyone involved. But he guessed he was wrong….

Jake placed his hands on your now bare shoulders. “Sweetheart, you know I didn’t mean that. It was a stupid, drunken mistake that–”

“You meant it.” Your tone wasn’t harsh or accusing, just matter-of-fact. You took yet another step closer. “You’ve wanted me since the first day we met, don’t deny it. And you can try to brush off all your comments as teasing but I saw the look in your eye when you made them. You meant every word. But that’s okay. Because tonight, I’m giving you exactly what you’ve always wanted.”

You slammed your lips against Jake’s, catching him by surprise as you pushed him back against the wall. Your hands threaded through his long locks, grabbing hold and using them to pull him even deeper into your lips. Jake could taste the strong sting of alcohol on your breath as your tongue slipped clumsily into his mouth and he froze, unsure of what to do.

For just a second, he considered it. He had dreamt about you often since the day Bob introduced you, and they were always the sort of dreams where he couldn’t look Bob in the eye for a few hours afterward. Yet he had resigned himself to the fact that even if you and Bob ever broke up, you weren’t the kind of girl to go for someone like him. So this, this kiss, this chance, it was more than he ever hoped for.

And yet the second you slid your knee up to rub against the growing bulge in his pants, he snapped out of it. Grabbing your wrists, he gently untangled your hands from his hair and eased you off of him. Your eyes darted across his face, so desperate and confused as to why he pulled away that he almost lost his resolve and pressed his lips against yours once more.

Panting slightly, he whispered, “We can’t do this. I–I can’t do this.”

“Why not? It’s what you always wanted.”

“I can’t,” Jake whispered again, shaking his head.

Running your thumb over his cheek, tears began to roll down your face as you whispered back, “Yes, you can. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone, Jake. He’s gone, and I’m falling apart without him. I just need someone right now. I need you. I need you to take me back into the bedroom and do what you’ve always wanted, just…. just make me forget. Please. Just for tonight. I just need this pain to go away for just one goddamn night.”

You leaned forward again but he shifted slightly so instead of your lips meeting, your foreheads did. Pressing firmly against you, Jake closed his eyes and took several long, deep breaths before he muttered, “Please don’t ask me again. I’m not a good enough man to deny you a third time. You’re right, I’ve always wanted you. I still want you. But not like this. We both deserve better than that.” Jake opened his eyes and stared directly into yours. “He deserves better than that.”

You jerked your head back as if he had slapped you, rapidly blinking in shock. Releasing him, you stumbled back from the wall, turning your back to him. When you finally faced him once more, Jake could tell some of the alcohol-induced fog had lifted. Tears were streaming down your face more quickly now and your bottom lip was quivering so hard, he could almost hear your teeth chattering.

Wrapping your arms across your chest, you sobbed, “What am I doing? He’s been gone for only a little over a week and I’m already throwing myself at one of his best friends.” 

Jake wasn’t sure if you were just being hyperbolic in the heat of the moment, but hearing you call him “one of his best friends” caused a knot to form in Jake’s chest. But he ignored his own pain and tried to gather you into his arms, “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

You struggled to free yourself from his embrace. “No, it’s not! I promised him I’d never do something like this. That he was the only one I ever wanted to be with. And now…. Now I almost–” Another wailing sob ripped through you, cutting off the rest of your words. 

Jake didn’t know what to do. In fact, he’d been having a harder time than expected dealing with what happened. As unrealistic as it was, Jake couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different if he had been back from leave and flying with the squad. Maybe he could have provided cover for Phoenix and Bob’s plane. Maybe that lucky bullet from the enemy wouldn’t have broken through the canopy and struck Bob in the neck. Maybe then he wouldn’t have bled out before Phoenix could even land the plane.

But all the what-ifs and could-have-been’s in the world wouldn’t change the fact that Bob was dead, and you were currently falling apart in Jake’s arms. However, where Jake might not have been there to help Bob then, he damn sure was going to do everything in his power to help you now.

“Sweetheart, look at me. Look at me!” You stopped struggling and gazed helplessly into Jake’s eyes. “I can’t be your Band-Aid to try to stop the pain, but you did nothing wrong tonight. It was only just a kiss and even if it had gone farther, you wouldn’t have been breaking any promises to him. Even in marriage, these things are only ‘til death do us part’, right? You held up your end of the bargain and he would understand. He would want you to be happy.”

 “But I’m not! How am I ever supposed to be happy again when Bob is gone! We had our whole lives planned out together. He was going to propose and leave the Navy after his next tour so we could start a family. But now it’s all gone and I don’t know what to do.” 

All of the fight suddenly went out of you, and you collapsed limply into Jake’s arms. Holding you tightly, Jake slowly sank to the floor and pulled you into his lap. Balling your fists into his shirt, you clung to him frantically as your body was wracked with sobs. There was nothing Jake could do but hold you tight and remind you that you weren’t alone.

After what seemed like hours, your sobs softened into sniffles before you eventually fell silent. Finally, you whispered, “Jake, how do I do this? It’s just too big. How do I deal with it?”

He took a deep breath and held it for a second before slowly releasing it. “I honestly don’t know. I guess you just take it one day at a time. It’s the best any of us can do. But you’re not alone. Let your friends help you through this.”

“Is that what we are, Jake? Friends?”

“I’d like to think so.” There was a moment of silence before Jake asked, “Why did you really come here tonight? To me. Was it just because you were driving by or….”

“You weren’t supposed to be this noble,” you chuckled dryly. “I thought out of everyone… Coyote has his new girlfriend, Fanboy and Payback can barely look at me right now, and Rooster’s been glued to Phoenix’s side all week. She’s trying to be strong for me but I know how much she is hurting too and he’s really helped her deal with things. So, that left you. And with your reputation and your little thing for me, I thought it was a full-proof plan. I guess I underestimated you. I’m sorry.”

“No, I guess that’s fair. You were right when you said I wanted you and that there was some truth behind my jokes and teasing. But I hope you know I would never have actually done anything. I wouldn’t have done that to Bob.”

You smiled softly as you linked your fingers with his before squeezing his hand. “I know. And so did he. He never minded your flirting because he said he knew at the end of the day you would never actually try it or make a move. And that I would never try anything either. So he just ignored it.” You shook your head softly. “God, how could someone have been so good?”

“I don’t know.” Jake wiped a tear off your cheek. “But he loved you so much. You were all he ever talked about when we were on a mission, just getting back to you. And Phoenix says your name was the last thing he said before…”

“She told me. I just wish I had been able to say goodbye.” Your voice broke and Jake pulled you tightly against his chest as your tears began to fall once more.

But they didn’t last very long. All of your crying must have taken a lot out of you because as your sobs began to dwindle and fade, Jake felt you slowly sagging in his arms. When he glanced down, he saw your eyes drooping further and further. The tears, alcohol, and late hour of night were all catching up to you and it wouldn’t be long before you had passed out completely.

Jake carefully helped get you to your feet before rising off the floor himself. His legs were numb from the way he was sitting, but he tried his best to ignore the sensation as he led you toward the bedroom.

“Where are we goin’?” you mumbled sleepily, your head leaning against his shoulder as he guided you.

“It’s late and I think it’s best if you stay here tonight. You can take my room and I’ll stay out on the couch. That way you can have the bed and a door with a lock if you want it.”

You chuckled softly without lifting your head. “Jake, I literally tried to force myself onto you tonight, and you turned me down. I think I can trust you not to sneak into the room while I’m sleeping.”

“True, but whatever makes you the most comfortable.” 

He helped you climb into bed and covered you with his blanket. Almost immediately, your eyes fluttered closed and your breathing slowed. For just a moment, Jake stood there watching you sleep. You looked so relaxed and peaceful, that he wondered what you were dreaming about. It probably involved a blue-eyed, glasses-wearing WSO, or at least, he hoped it did. 

Leaning over, Jake softly pressed his lips to the top of your head as he whispered, “Good night, sweetheart.”

Then he quietly backed out of the room and went to try to make the couch as comfortable as possible.

The sound of the front door clicking shut woke Jake the next morning. After raising his head slightly and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he saw a note and a still-steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of him. Sitting up, he brought the coffee to his lips as he read the note. It was short and sweet: Thanks for what you did…. and didn’t do.

Jake didn’t hear anything from you after that. He tried to text a few times, but you never responded. He talked to Phoenix so at least he knew you had made it home okay after you left his place, but that was all the information she would give him. 

Days went by and he was just starting to think that he would never see or hear from you again when a knock sounded at his front door. And just like a few nights earlier, he opened it to see you standing there.

This time, you looked more like the you he remembered from before Bob’s death. The bags under your eyes weren’t as pronounced, your clothes looked more put together, and when you smiled at him as he opened the door, there was actually some light in your eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey….” he said as he leaned heavily on the door. “I’ve been thinking about you. How are you?”

“Um, better, I think. Still not good, and I don’t even know if I’ll ever be good again, but I guess progress is progress. Just taking it one day at a time, right?”

He smiled. “Yeah. One day at a time.”

There was a long pause before you said, “You really don’t like inviting me in, do you?”

“Oh! Sorry. Come in.” Jake stepped to the side, allowing you to pass by him, your arm lightly brushing his chest as you did. Once you were inside, he closed the door and asked, “So, uh, what can I do for you, sweetheart?”

With your back to him, you said, “I wanted to thank you for the other night. I wasn’t in a good place and I had been drinking and I made some bad decisions. And while I’m still not in a good place, now that I’m sober I’m mortified about said decisions. But the way you handled it….” You turned to face him, your lip quivering slightly. “Honestly, Jake, I don’t know how I would have ever forgiven myself if I woke up the next morning and realized we had gone through with it. Just thinking about it makes me physically ill.”

“Damn. I don’t think I would have been that bad in bed,” Jake scoffed, but he gave you a wide grin to let you know he was joking.

You smiled softly. “I’m sure you would have been exceptional. And I have no doubt that you could have lived up to your promise of making me forget everyone and everything but you in that moment.” Your face fell. “But after, when I did remember,…. It would have destroyed me. And I’m not saying I’ll never sleep with anyone ever again, but doing it that night– for that reason– would have felt like such a betrayal to Bob’s memory. So thank you for stopping me. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy decision to make.”

Jake ran his hand over the back of his neck. “I won’t lie and say part of me doesn’t regret not going through with it just a little bit, but overall I’m also glad it didn’t happen. When you feel like it’s time to take that step, you have every right to sleep with whoever you want and you’ll have nothing to feel guilty for. But I agree that night wasn’t the best time for it.”

“No, it wasn’t.” You shifted slightly as you looked at the floor. “I, uh, I was having an extra hard time that night because the Navy finally gave me a box of Bob’s stuff and I found a receipt where he had put a down payment on a ring.”

Inhaling sharply, Jake said, “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head. “It’s okay. We had talked about it a lot and I knew he was going to propose soon, I just wasn’t expecting that soon. It just made me think about all of the plans we had made that won’t ever happen now and…. I tried to drink the pain away but when that didn’t happen, I turned to you. It’s not an excuse for why I did what I did, but I thought you should have a little more context for why it happened.”

“No context needed. You got drunk and tried to sleep with the first available person you found. Who hasn’t been there?” You reached out and took his hand, giving it a small squeeze of thanks. The shift in your position drew Jake’s attention to something he hadn’t noticed before. He nodded towards the gauze poking out of the bottom of your shirt sleeve. “Didya do something to your arm?” 

A soft smile spread across your lips as you glanced down at the floor. “I did, actually. I thought a lot about the other night and you made me realize that no matter how painful it is, I never want to forget Bob…. ever. I love him and I will always love him and I don’t want to forget a second of our time together or what he means to me. So, I found a way to keep a constant reminder of that with me always.”

Slowly, you rolled up your sleeve and unwrapped the gauze from your arm, revealing a vibrant tattoo underneath that hadn’t been there the other night. It was a heart made out of a thin branch or vine covered with leaves and small, five-petal blue flowers accented with yellow centers. It was a delicate design that perfectly fit the curvature of your arm.

“Wow. That looks amazing. Remind me to ask for your guy’s number if I ever decide to get more ink.”

Jake reached out to touch the design but hesitated as you whispered, “They’re forget-me-nots.”

He glanced at your face which was still smiling though he could see a hint of moisture collecting in your eyes. When you gave him a small nod, he let his fingers gently graze the tender skin of your freshly inked arm. It was only then that he noticed the small, faint lettering on the stem at the bottom of the heart: BOB. 

Running his thumb over the letters, Jake said, “He would’ve loved this.”

“I think he would’ve too.” You ran your finger over one of the flowers as you gazed at it lovingly. Then you dropped your hand as you cleared your throat. “So, how much longer are you in town?”

Jake straightened up, removing his hand from your arm. “Just a few more days. I should be getting my medical clearance at the end of the month so I need to go home and make sure everything is in order for me to return to active duty.”

“That’s sort of a shame. I think your time on leave has been good for you.”

Jake frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You’re…. different. Like, it’s not just the longer hair and the beard– both of which look really great on you by the way– but it’s your attitude and how you hold yourself. Plus I don’t think the old Jake would have ever done what you did the other night.”

“Yeah, well, then maybe this new Jake is just an idiot. He’d have to be to ever push you away.”

“Not an idiot. Just a better man than people give him credit for.” Leaning over, you lightly pressed your lips to his cheek. 

Jake felt his heart leap in his chest and it took everything in him not to turn his head and capture your lips with his. But you were right, he had changed. The old Jake probably would have kissed you, yet now….

Clearing his throat as you took a step back, he asked, “What do you think you’ll do now?”

Sighing, you said, “I don’t know. Without Bob, I don’t really have a reason to stay in California. My parents want me to move back near them so I have a familial support system around and I’m considering it. I think a change would be good for me.”

“Apparently, it did wonders for me,” Jake teased. “But whatever you decide, I’m always here if you need anything, anything at all. You have my number.” 

Reaching out, you placed your hand on his arm and gave it a light squeeze. “Thank you. I’ll remember that. And good luck going back to work. Be safe up there.”

You dropped your hand and started to walk out of the door. When you were halfway down the steps, Jake called out, “Hey… Maybe one day in the future if you decide it’s time to move on with someone new, you look me up.”

Glancing back towards the door, you gave him a small, reserved smile. “Maybe…. One day. Goodbye, Jake.” Then you turned and soon disappeared from view. 

Taglist:@nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996, @luckyladycreator2, @valoraxxx-blog, @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog,  @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @slutforadambanks, @americaarse, @reneki, @ynbutbetter , @sugarcoated-lame, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff, @salty-thembo, @rachelizabethgraham, @duckandrobin, @queenbbarnes, @grincheveryday, @uselesslyromantic, @choochoo284, @littlebadariell, @blue-aconite, @thescarletknight2014, @jamesbuckyburns, @a-sweet-little-fangirl, @happyblogstuff, @randomlifeunit, @boringusername3, @lclove2012-blog, @3tabbiesandalab, @back-tooo-black, @supernaturaldawning, @thestagsheadsblog

[ashintheairlikesnow]

A Lot Like Christmas

CW: Pet whump, dehumanized whumpee, references to beatings and torture, burns, sadistic whumper

Antoni’s tag | Masterlist (scroll down)

For @amonthofwhump, day 3: Forced Celebration

-

On Christmas morning, the ashtray wakes up on his little cot in his tiny room to cold sunlight through the bars of his high, small window. His nose is so cold that it feels like it all but burns his hand when he presses a palm against it to warm it, burying himself even further under the scratchy but warm wool blankets he is given in winter.

The light makes a broken square on the floor, and he lays there watching it slowly move, bit by bit, as the quality of the light changes.

All down his back the newest burns ache and itch. They’re slathered with the heavy, healing cream that would keep him from scarring if Mr. Davies did not burn him again and again in the same places. As it is, his master is pressing new burns over old scars, and the ashtray shifts only a little as the itching grows with every second he thinks about it, gripping hands onto his collar to keep himself grounded, to feel safe.

Last night had been a night of bourbon, warm and brown in a glass, clove cigarette smoke down his throat filling up his lungs, holding perfectly still for every bright hot pain until finally he could not hold back his whimper. 

Last night had ended like so many nights end now, the smoke driven out of his throat by something he will not think about, will not remember, will simply put somewhere else in his mind. Mr. Davies, afterward, had fed him sips from the glass of bourbon and whispered, “It’s after midnight. Merry Christmas,” and sent him with a jar of the salve to his bed, to rub all the wounds he could reach and ignore, as hard as he can, the greater wounds inside.

A bird calls outside the window. 

Eventually, he hears the sound of Mr. Davies on the stairs, and he pushes himself up to seated and then to standing. His feet freeze on the chilly concrete floor, and he shivers in the loose sweats he is allowed to wear. 

It takes four steps to cross from bed to door, three if he lengthens his strides.

He opens the door, peering out into the hallway. The warmer air in the heated part of the house hits him like walking into a wall, and he comes to a sudden stop and lets his skin prickle and goosebump as it acclimates. The burns itch worse in warmth, but he ignores that and pads barefoot down the hall, walking on the heavy soft rug.

He can hear the clinking of silverware against dishes as he nears the kitchen. His own stomach twists, empty and light, at the scent of freshly-baked cinnamon rolls. He enters with his eyes down, letting his gaze move to Mr. Davies’s feet in his fuzzy fur-lined slippers.

“Ah, the lazy little pet wakes,” Mr. Davies says, with amusement. “Say Merry Christmas, darling.”

The ashtray looks up to follow his command, only to realize it isn’t meant for him.

Next to Mr. Davies is the woman, who looks at him with blank eyes that see but don’t comprehend. She just stares at him, blinking once or twice, and then says in a soft voice, “Merry Christmas.”

The ashtray thinks she probably had a lovely way of speaking, a long time ago. She forms each word like a singer, all enunciation and melody, but it’s a harsh rasp now, a broken violin voice. 

Her hair is perfectly curled and pulled back at her nape, with tendrils framing her face. Her lower lip is busted, a burst of bright red where she was bleeding, but she doesn’t even seem aware of it. She just puts a forkful of cinnamon roll into her mouth and chews. Any awareness she had of him seems gone in an instant. 

“Very good, love.” Mr. Davies is rubbing her back with one hand. If she tenses a little at the touch, it isn’t obvious beneath the warm, fluffy robe she wears in a deep royal purple lined with gold thread embroidery. “Say Merry Christmas, ashtray.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Davies. Merry Christmas, ma'am." The ashtray’s voice is low, carefully shaping each word to make his accent as slight as possible. He almost succeeds, and it’s enough to win a rare smile from his master. He doesn’t feel warm at the sight of it - only the absence of any new fear of punishment. 

“Come and eat,” Mr. Davies says, gesturing broadly. 

The ashtray’s eyes drop to discover an empty plate and set of silverware, a mug of steaming coffee with a little carafe of cream beside it. He dares to look back at Mr. Davies, and finds him smiling. 

"... at the table?”

“Yes, at the table, you brainless thing. Sit.” 

The ashtray moves forward, jerking like a puppet moved by strings, and finds himself sitting at the table staring across at the woman, who doesn’t look at him anymore, only off to the side, as if dazed or dreaming. There are bruises layered dark over her wrists, in the shape of the ropes Mr. Davies ties her with at night. She sleepwalks, he explained once to the ashtray, who had not asked. He’d said it like testing out the story, the way you practice a speech to a wall. She’ll wander out into the street and get hit by a car, you know. I have to keep her in one place. Anything could happen if she leaves.

There’s a threat, in those words, and the ashtray heard it. He only nodded, and wondered what in his face had made Mr. Davies feel the need to explain.

Her black eye from last week has nearly healed, which he knows only means another one is coming soon.

The cook puts a cinnamon roll on his plate, and the ashtray thanks him. He receives no reply, but he didn’t expect one either. 

Warm, fluffy cinnamon-sugar sweetness bursts in his mouth when he eats, and he shivers at how unfamiliar it is to eat warm food, or to eat anything that tastes this good at all. He exhales, and takes another bite, and another. Somehow, the whole thing disappears into his mouth before he even understands that he’s eating it.

He stops when Mr. Davies starts to laugh, with cruel good humor, and looks up, briefly meeting those cold eyes. 

“... Mr. Davies, I’m sorry, I did not mean to eat so quickly-”

“Hush. Call it a gift. I’ve nothing for you under the tree, after all.” He turns to the woman, who doesn’t look at him, only stares through the window at the trees outside, as if she could will herself out there if only she could remember how to walk out. Mr. Davies leans over to give her a kiss to the side of her head, and the ashtray watches her eyes briefly close, then open again to focus back on the world just beyond the walls.

“Darling,” Mr. Davies says in a low voice, “My ashtray and I need a smoke, I think. Will you go and wait by the tree for me? I’ll open your gifts for you afterward.”

The woman looks at the ashtray.

Just for a moment, something surfaces from beneath the still pool of her mind. She knows what happens when he and Mr. Davies are alone in the office, he thinks. And for just a second, he can see that she feels all the grief for him that he tries to feel for her.

Then her expression goes blank again and she nods, standing and drifting into the grand living room where the 12-foot-tall Christmas tree glistens with perfectly coordinated ornaments, tinsel, and a star on top.

The last the ashtray sees of her is how she sits on the couch with her hands in her lap, and turns her eyes back to the window.

Then Mr. Davies’s hand is on the back of his neck, and the ashtray’s stomach flips. Suddenly that perfect warm soft sweet bread sits like a brick in his stomach, and he wonders if he’ll keep anything down after they’re done. Sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes after-

But it’s not happening.

It doesn’t happen to him.

Not if he doesn’t let himself think about it.

Nothing happens in the office.

Mr. Davies is already lighting a cigarette, the scent of cloves is settling against his skin and soaking into his hair, his sweatshirt and sweatpants, burying itself so far down in his lungs that he will never escape the way it steals his breath.

The burns from last night itch.

The older ones do, too, as the ashtray follows Mr. Davies to the office and wonders where the new ones will go now.

His master’s hand rests at the base of the ashtray’s spine, stealing up under his sweatshirt to press like a brand against his skin. 

The ashtray burns long before the embers ever touch him.

Mr. Davies hums as he walks.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlinthesnep @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @emdeighamae @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Make Me Forget

Winter Whumperland 2022: Day 8. Unexpected Kindness Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader, former Bob x reader

Summary: Soon after a tragedy strikes, Jake finds you at his door late one night. Will he do what he has always dreamt of and you are now begging him for? Or will he find the strength to do what is right?

Word Count: 4300

TW: Emotional Angst, Grief, Death of a Loved One, Main Character Death, Tears, Drunk Reader makes bad decisions, Intoxicated Kiss, Tattoo

Notes: Thank you to @lorecraft and @green-socks for talking me through this and their support! I love you guys!

Sequel to No Laughing Matter but can also be read as a stand-alone piece.

As Jake poured his third glass of bourbon of the night, he was starting to regret not taking Coyote up on his offer to go to the movies with him and his new girlfriend. There wasn’t anything interesting playing, but it would have been nice to take his mind off of things and just mindlessly watch some robots blow some shit up or whatever for two and a half hours. But instead, he was sitting alone in a dimly lit room with only his drink for company. Not his smartest idea, but he just didn’t know how to act around his best friend at the moment.

For the past eight months, Jake had been on an extended medical leave back in Texas after he was injured in a training exercise. The break was actually doing him a lot of good. He had forgotten what it felt like to not have to try to be the best all the time. For the first time since joining the Naval Academy straight out of high school, he let himself relax and didn’t worry about how he compared to those around him. He stopped cutting his hair and grew a beard, both things he was never allowed to do while on active duty. It felt like he had control over everything in his life for once. That was until he had gotten the phone call.

Which was how he found himself staying in this rental house back in California a month before he was to be cleared for active duty. Though they had kept in contact through texts and emails, he hadn’t expected to be in person with the entire Dagger Squad again this soon. Or at least…. almost the entire squad.

Downing the rest of his glass of bourbon, he reached for the bottle to pour another when a knock on his door drew his attention. At almost one a.m., he had no idea who it could be. Only a few people even knew where he was staying, and he had made it clear he wanted to be left alone tonight.

Throwing the door open, Jake inhaled sharply as he saw the last person he expected standing just outside. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, hello to you too, Jake. You sure know how to make a girl feel wanted.”

“No, I’m sorry. I was just surprised to see you here. Especially this late.”

Neither of you spoke for a long moment, each just staring at the other. Jake hadn’t seen you since the service a few days ago but you looked even worse than you had then. Your hair was a mess, your lipstick was smudged, and your eyes looked sunken and bloodshot. It wouldn’t surprise Jake if he learned you hadn’t slept more than a few hours over the last few days. Not that he would have blamed you. 

Finally, you broke the silence and asked, “You gonna make me keep standing out here, or are you gonna let me in?”

 “Oh, right, sorry.” Jake held the door open wider as you pushed past him into the house. “How’d you get here? You didn’t drive, did you?”

You scoffed. “No. Do you really think I’m that irresponsible? Phoenix put me in a car after she made me leave the bar. The guy was driving past and I remembered you were staying here while you were in town.” You stumbled slightly as you walked around the small space examining the decor. It was clear why Phoenix sent you home for the night, though Jake was surprised she hadn’t insisted on going with you.

You spotted the still-open bottle of bourbon sitting on the table and grabbed at it, almost knocking it off the table. Without even trying to look for a glass, you pressed it to your lips and took a long swig. You grimaced as you swallowed yet raised the bottle for a second drink, but Jake placed his hand on your wrist before you could.

He gently eased the bottle out of your hand and set it back down. Running his hand lightly up and down your arm, he asked, “Not that it isn’t great to see you and all, but whatcha doing here, sweetheart? It’s late and it looks like you’ve already had an exciting night. Maybe you should just be heading home. I can drive you.” He reconsidered as he remembered the three glasses of bourbon he had drank that night. “Well, I can make sure you get home safely.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” you muttered faintly as you ran your fingers through the few drops of bourbon that had fallen onto the table. “I came here for you. I want you to do what you said…. last year in the bar.”

Jake’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember what you might be talking about. “I say a lot of things. You wanna give me a hint which one you’re talking about?”

Awkwardly removing your jacket and letting it fall to the floor behind you, you took a step closer causing Jake to step back so you didn’t bump into his chest. “You said one night was all it would take. That after one night with you, I would forget his name. I’m here so you can help me forget.”

Jake felt all the blood drain from his face as he realized what you were talking about. The night in the Hard Deck when he had gotten very drunk and tried to fight Bob. Not that it had been much of a fight considering Bob had laid him out with a single punch, but Jake had still felt awful about it. He apologized to both you and Bob the next day and it seemed like that night had been pretty much forgotten by everyone involved. But he guessed he was wrong….

Jake placed his hands on your now bare shoulders. “Sweetheart, you know I didn’t mean that. It was a stupid, drunken mistake that–”

“You meant it.” Your tone wasn’t harsh or accusing, just matter-of-fact. You took yet another step closer. “You’ve wanted me since the first day we met, don’t deny it. And you can try to brush off all your comments as teasing but I saw the look in your eye when you made them. You meant every word. But that’s okay. Because tonight, I’m giving you exactly what you’ve always wanted.”

You slammed your lips against Jake’s, catching him by surprise as you pushed him back against the wall. Your hands threaded through his long locks, grabbing hold and using them to pull him even deeper into your lips. Jake could taste the strong sting of alcohol on your breath as your tongue slipped clumsily into his mouth and he froze, unsure of what to do.

For just a second, he considered it. He had dreamt about you often since the day Bob introduced you, and they were always the sort of dreams where he couldn’t look Bob in the eye for a few hours afterward. Yet he had resigned himself to the fact that even if you and Bob ever broke up, you weren’t the kind of girl to go for someone like him. So this, this kiss, this chance, it was more than he ever hoped for.

And yet the second you slid your knee up to rub against the growing bulge in his pants, he snapped out of it. Grabbing your wrists, he gently untangled your hands from his hair and eased you off of him. Your eyes darted across his face, so desperate and confused as to why he pulled away that he almost lost his resolve and pressed his lips against yours once more.

Panting slightly, he whispered, “We can’t do this. I–I can’t do this.”

“Why not? It’s what you always wanted.”

“I can’t,” Jake whispered again, shaking his head.

Running your thumb over his cheek, tears began to roll down your face as you whispered back, “Yes, you can. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone, Jake. He’s gone, and I’m falling apart without him. I just need someone right now. I need you. I need you to take me back into the bedroom and do what you’ve always wanted, just…. just make me forget. Please. Just for tonight. I just need this pain to go away for just one goddamn night.”

You leaned forward again but he shifted slightly so instead of your lips meeting, your foreheads did. Pressing firmly against you, Jake closed his eyes and took several long, deep breaths before he muttered, “Please don’t ask me again. I’m not a good enough man to deny you a third time. You’re right, I’ve always wanted you. I still want you. But not like this. We both deserve better than that.” Jake opened his eyes and stared directly into yours. “He deserves better than that.”

You jerked your head back as if he had slapped you, rapidly blinking in shock. Releasing him, you stumbled back from the wall, turning your back to him. When you finally faced him once more, Jake could tell some of the alcohol-induced fog had lifted. Tears were streaming down your face more quickly now and your bottom lip was quivering so hard, he could almost hear your teeth chattering.

Wrapping your arms across your chest, you sobbed, “What am I doing? He’s been gone for only a little over a week and I’m already throwing myself at one of his best friends.” 

Jake wasn’t sure if you were just being hyperbolic in the heat of the moment, but hearing you call him “one of his best friends” caused a knot to form in Jake’s chest. But he ignored his own pain and tried to gather you into his arms, “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

You struggled to free yourself from his embrace. “No, it’s not! I promised him I’d never do something like this. That he was the only one I ever wanted to be with. And now…. Now I almost–” Another wailing sob ripped through you, cutting off the rest of your words. 

Jake didn’t know what to do. In fact, he’d been having a harder time than expected dealing with what happened. As unrealistic as it was, Jake couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different if he had been back from leave and flying with the squad. Maybe he could have provided cover for Phoenix and Bob’s plane. Maybe that lucky bullet from the enemy wouldn’t have broken through the canopy and struck Bob in the neck. Maybe then he wouldn’t have bled out before Phoenix could even land the plane.

But all the what-ifs and could-have-been’s in the world wouldn’t change the fact that Bob was dead, and you were currently falling apart in Jake’s arms. However, where Jake might not have been there to help Bob then, he damn sure was going to do everything in his power to help you now.

“Sweetheart, look at me. Look at me!” You stopped struggling and gazed helplessly into Jake’s eyes. “I can’t be your Band-Aid to try to stop the pain, but you did nothing wrong tonight. It was only just a kiss and even if it had gone farther, you wouldn’t have been breaking any promises to him. Even in marriage, these things are only ‘til death do us part’, right? You held up your end of the bargain and he would understand. He would want you to be happy.”

 “But I’m not! How am I ever supposed to be happy again when Bob is gone! We had our whole lives planned out together. He was going to propose and leave the Navy after his next tour so we could start a family. But now it’s all gone and I don’t know what to do.” 

All of the fight suddenly went out of you, and you collapsed limply into Jake’s arms. Holding you tightly, Jake slowly sank to the floor and pulled you into his lap. Balling your fists into his shirt, you clung to him frantically as your body was wracked with sobs. There was nothing Jake could do but hold you tight and remind you that you weren’t alone.

After what seemed like hours, your sobs softened into sniffles before you eventually fell silent. Finally, you whispered, “Jake, how do I do this? It’s just too big. How do I deal with it?”

He took a deep breath and held it for a second before slowly releasing it. “I honestly don’t know. I guess you just take it one day at a time. It’s the best any of us can do. But you’re not alone. Let your friends help you through this.”

“Is that what we are, Jake? Friends?”

“I’d like to think so.” There was a moment of silence before Jake asked, “Why did you really come here tonight? To me. Was it just because you were driving by or….”

“You weren’t supposed to be this noble,” you chuckled dryly. “I thought out of everyone… Coyote has his new girlfriend, Fanboy and Payback can barely look at me right now, and Rooster’s been glued to Phoenix’s side all week. She’s trying to be strong for me but I know how much she is hurting too and he’s really helped her deal with things. So, that left you. And with your reputation and your little thing for me, I thought it was a full-proof plan. I guess I underestimated you. I’m sorry.”

“No, I guess that’s fair. You were right when you said I wanted you and that there was some truth behind my jokes and teasing. But I hope you know I would never have actually done anything. I wouldn’t have done that to Bob.”

You smiled softly as you linked your fingers with his before squeezing his hand. “I know. And so did he. He never minded your flirting because he said he knew at the end of the day you would never actually try it or make a move. And that I would never try anything either. So he just ignored it.” You shook your head softly. “God, how could someone have been so good?”

“I don’t know.” Jake wiped a tear off your cheek. “But he loved you so much. You were all he ever talked about when we were on a mission, just getting back to you. And Phoenix says your name was the last thing he said before…”

“She told me. I just wish I had been able to say goodbye.” Your voice broke and Jake pulled you tightly against his chest as your tears began to fall once more.

But they didn’t last very long. All of your crying must have taken a lot out of you because as your sobs began to dwindle and fade, Jake felt you slowly sagging in his arms. When he glanced down, he saw your eyes drooping further and further. The tears, alcohol, and late hour of night were all catching up to you and it wouldn’t be long before you had passed out completely.

Jake carefully helped get you to your feet before rising off the floor himself. His legs were numb from the way he was sitting, but he tried his best to ignore the sensation as he led you toward the bedroom.

“Where are we goin’?” you mumbled sleepily, your head leaning against his shoulder as he guided you.

“It’s late and I think it’s best if you stay here tonight. You can take my room and I’ll stay out on the couch. That way you can have the bed and a door with a lock if you want it.”

You chuckled softly without lifting your head. “Jake, I literally tried to force myself onto you tonight, and you turned me down. I think I can trust you not to sneak into the room while I’m sleeping.”

“True, but whatever makes you the most comfortable.” 

He helped you climb into bed and covered you with his blanket. Almost immediately, your eyes fluttered closed and your breathing slowed. For just a moment, Jake stood there watching you sleep. You looked so relaxed and peaceful, that he wondered what you were dreaming about. It probably involved a blue-eyed, glasses-wearing WSO, or at least, he hoped it did. 

Leaning over, Jake softly pressed his lips to the top of your head as he whispered, “Good night, sweetheart.”

Then he quietly backed out of the room and went to try to make the couch as comfortable as possible.

The sound of the front door clicking shut woke Jake the next morning. After raising his head slightly and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he saw a note and a still-steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of him. Sitting up, he brought the coffee to his lips as he read the note. It was short and sweet: Thanks for what you did…. and didn’t do.

Jake didn’t hear anything from you after that. He tried to text a few times, but you never responded. He talked to Phoenix so at least he knew you had made it home okay after you left his place, but that was all the information she would give him. 

Days went by and he was just starting to think that he would never see or hear from you again when a knock sounded at his front door. And just like a few nights earlier, he opened it to see you standing there.

This time, you looked more like the you he remembered from before Bob’s death. The bags under your eyes weren’t as pronounced, your clothes looked more put together, and when you smiled at him as he opened the door, there was actually some light in your eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey….” he said as he leaned heavily on the door. “I’ve been thinking about you. How are you?”

“Um, better, I think. Still not good, and I don’t even know if I’ll ever be good again, but I guess progress is progress. Just taking it one day at a time, right?”

He smiled. “Yeah. One day at a time.”

There was a long pause before you said, “You really don’t like inviting me in, do you?”

“Oh! Sorry. Come in.” Jake stepped to the side, allowing you to pass by him, your arm lightly brushing his chest as you did. Once you were inside, he closed the door and asked, “So, uh, what can I do for you, sweetheart?”

With your back to him, you said, “I wanted to thank you for the other night. I wasn’t in a good place and I had been drinking and I made some bad decisions. And while I’m still not in a good place, now that I’m sober I’m mortified about said decisions. But the way you handled it….” You turned to face him, your lip quivering slightly. “Honestly, Jake, I don’t know how I would have ever forgiven myself if I woke up the next morning and realized we had gone through with it. Just thinking about it makes me physically ill.”

“Damn. I don’t think I would have been that bad in bed,” Jake scoffed, but he gave you a wide grin to let you know he was joking.

You smiled softly. “I’m sure you would have been exceptional. And I have no doubt that you could have lived up to your promise of making me forget everyone and everything but you in that moment.” Your face fell. “But after, when I did remember,…. It would have destroyed me. And I’m not saying I’ll never sleep with anyone ever again, but doing it that night– for that reason– would have felt like such a betrayal to Bob’s memory. So thank you for stopping me. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy decision to make.”

Jake ran his hand over the back of his neck. “I won’t lie and say part of me doesn’t regret not going through with it just a little bit, but overall I’m also glad it didn’t happen. When you feel like it’s time to take that step, you have every right to sleep with whoever you want and you’ll have nothing to feel guilty for. But I agree that night wasn’t the best time for it.”

“No, it wasn’t.” You shifted slightly as you looked at the floor. “I, uh, I was having an extra hard time that night because the Navy finally gave me a box of Bob’s stuff and I found a receipt where he had put a down payment on a ring.”

Inhaling sharply, Jake said, “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head. “It’s okay. We had talked about it a lot and I knew he was going to propose soon, I just wasn’t expecting that soon. It just made me think about all of the plans we had made that won’t ever happen now and…. I tried to drink the pain away but when that didn’t happen, I turned to you. It’s not an excuse for why I did what I did, but I thought you should have a little more context for why it happened.”

“No context needed. You got drunk and tried to sleep with the first available person you found. Who hasn’t been there?” You reached out and took his hand, giving it a small squeeze of thanks. The shift in your position drew Jake’s attention to something he hadn’t noticed before. He nodded towards the gauze poking out of the bottom of your shirt sleeve. “Didya do something to your arm?” 

A soft smile spread across your lips as you glanced down at the floor. “I did, actually. I thought a lot about the other night and you made me realize that no matter how painful it is, I never want to forget Bob…. ever. I love him and I will always love him and I don’t want to forget a second of our time together or what he means to me. So, I found a way to keep a constant reminder of that with me always.”

Slowly, you rolled up your sleeve and unwrapped the gauze from your arm, revealing a vibrant tattoo underneath that hadn’t been there the other night. It was a heart made out of a thin branch or vine covered with leaves and small, five-petal blue flowers accented with yellow centers. It was a delicate design that perfectly fit the curvature of your arm.

“Wow. That looks amazing. Remind me to ask for your guy’s number if I ever decide to get more ink.”

Jake reached out to touch the design but hesitated as you whispered, “They’re forget-me-nots.”

He glanced at your face which was still smiling though he could see a hint of moisture collecting in your eyes. When you gave him a small nod, he let his fingers gently graze the tender skin of your freshly inked arm. It was only then that he noticed the small, faint lettering on the stem at the bottom of the heart: BOB. 

Running his thumb over the letters, Jake said, “He would’ve loved this.”

“I think he would’ve too.” You ran your finger over one of the flowers as you gazed at it lovingly. Then you dropped your hand as you cleared your throat. “So, how much longer are you in town?”

Jake straightened up, removing his hand from your arm. “Just a few more days. I should be getting my medical clearance at the end of the month so I need to go home and make sure everything is in order for me to return to active duty.”

“That’s sort of a shame. I think your time on leave has been good for you.”

Jake frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You’re…. different. Like, it’s not just the longer hair and the beard– both of which look really great on you by the way– but it’s your attitude and how you hold yourself. Plus I don’t think the old Jake would have ever done what you did the other night.”

“Yeah, well, then maybe this new Jake is just an idiot. He’d have to be to ever push you away.”

“Not an idiot. Just a better man than people give him credit for.” Leaning over, you lightly pressed your lips to his cheek. 

Jake felt his heart leap in his chest and it took everything in him not to turn his head and capture your lips with his. But you were right, he had changed. The old Jake probably would have kissed you, yet now….

Clearing his throat as you took a step back, he asked, “What do you think you’ll do now?”

Sighing, you said, “I don’t know. Without Bob, I don’t really have a reason to stay in California. My parents want me to move back near them so I have a familial support system around and I’m considering it. I think a change would be good for me.”

“Apparently, it did wonders for me,” Jake teased. “But whatever you decide, I’m always here if you need anything, anything at all. You have my number.” 

Reaching out, you placed your hand on his arm and gave it a light squeeze. “Thank you. I’ll remember that. And good luck going back to work. Be safe up there.”

You dropped your hand and started to walk out of the door. When you were halfway down the steps, Jake called out, “Hey… Maybe one day in the future if you decide it’s time to move on with someone new, you look me up.”

Glancing back towards the door, you gave him a small, reserved smile. “Maybe…. One day. Goodbye, Jake.” Then you turned and soon disappeared from view. 

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @mayhem24-7forever, @11thstreetvigilante, @merlehs, @green-socks, @sunshineflowerchild789, @shanimallina87, @topguncortez, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @hederasgarden, @callsign-phoenix, @wildbornsiren, @lt-natrace, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @callsign-fox, @imjess-themess, @joalsglasses, @curlyolly, @nobody7102, @footprintsinthesxnd, @thesewordsxlibrary, @double-j, @phoenix1389, @some-lovely-day, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @forever-sleepy-sloth, @notroosterbradshaw, @dezthegeek, @blessupblessup, @cherrycola27, @phoenix1389, @nicangelinee, @smells-like-perfect-senses, @boringusername3, @petlaufeyson, @cycbaby

[serickswrites]

Home Alone

Warnings: referenced gun shot, referenced wounds, referenced blood, referenced hospital, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, caretaker and whumpee

Caretaker smiled as they wrapped Whumpee in a blanket on the couch, mug of hot cocoa sitting on the coffee table, the fire crackling in the fire place. Everything was finally right. 

When Whumper had taken aim and fired at Caretaker, Caretaker had, with one hundred percent certainty, thought that it was the end for them. That the bullet would rip through them and kill them. But no pain came. No burn followed by hot blood followed by nothingness. 

Instead, something heavy collided with them and they fell back, the heaviness further settling on them. It was only when they realized that Whumpee had jumped on top of them that they knew it was serious. 

Because Whumpee hadn’t moved. Hadn’t stirred or groaned with pain. They just lay on top of Caretaker, blood soaking into Caretaker’s sweater. Caretaker had frantically patted Whumpee’s cheek trying to rouse them. Pressed down on the chest wound trying to keep Whumpee’s blood inside them. Begged the universe to watch over and protect Whumpee. To spare Whumpee. 

And the universe listened. Whumpee had lived. They’d spent a few weeks in the hospital recovering. But they had lived. And would live. 

Caretaker settled themself on the couch next to Whumpee, grateful to have another day with Whumpee. Grateful that the universe had heard their prayers. It was a holiday miracle indeed.