#can he bleed and be injured and die? Yes. All of that. Hes forgotten his true nature and so. He is for all intents and purposes...

[iriswords]

Febuwhump Day 20 - Knife Wound

You can also read this on ao3 and find the rest of my febuwhump fics here      

tw: blood and injury

Fandom: Six of Crows

Words: 1344

"The Slat wasn’t far now. She would make it before passing out. Hopefully, Kaz would be in his room and he would know what to do."

Inej is stabbed one night while searching for information on a slaver and tries not to die.

--

Inej Ghafa did not get stabbed. She was the Wraith, terror of the Barrel, Dirty Hand’s spider, captain of her own ship, and slave hunter. And yet here she was, limping her way through the Barrel’s rooftops, stumbling every other step, all grace forgotten. One hand was pressed against her side, where a bleeding wound was, but her hold was becoming weaker with each minute, blood loss taking a toll on her body.

She had made sure to be the best, always the best, so she would not be caught unawares ever again. She had trained relentlessly, pushing herself far past her limits and using every bit of her natural and instinctive grace and agility so that she would be able to defend herself against anyone. 

She had not noticed the assassin, well hidden in the shadows of the ceiling. How ironic it was, that she had been bested because she had not thought to look up when it was so often the strategy she used to surprise others. They had dropped silently while she was busy rummaging through a suspected slaver’s desk for information, and acted fast. Inej barely had time to whip around, her hand going for her own dagger, before the assassin’s knife had pierced skin and flesh. 

She had stabbed them, too, while their blade was still in her, and she had fled. She did not want to die in that slaver’s office, miserable and alone. 

The Slat wasn’t far now. She would make it before passing out. Hopefully, Kaz would be in his room and he would know what to do. 

Once she arrived on the Slat’s roof, the most difficult part was lowering herself onto the ledge next to Kaz’s room and picking the lock on his window. She had done it thousands of times before, in record time and without a sound. Not even Kaz himself had been able to tell until she was already beside him. But this time, her fingers shook and clumsiness nearly made her drop her lock-pick in the street below. Her balance, thankfully, was as sound as ever, even as dizziness settled progressively over her. 

Finally, the window’s lock gave way and the window slid open. Inej slipped inside without the grace she usually displayed but there was no one in the room to witness her stumble. Kaz was not there. 

No one caught her when her last whim of consciousness gave up and she collapsed to the floor. 

 Kaz strolled through the Barrel streets as fast as he could with his permanently-injured leg, his cane slamming rhythmically against the Barrel’s dirty cobblestones. Eyes followed his way through the neighborhood, wary and fearful. Kaz relished in the feeling, but he was impatient to be back to the Slat’s relative warmth. Winter had well and truly made its nest in Ketterdam, and even Kaz was not immune to the icy wind. 

The Slat’s hallway was empty and silent, and the only sound that went through the building was the creaking of the stairs as Kaz made his way up. Anika peeked her head out of her room when Kaz stopped an instant on her floor to rest his leg. 

“Did you just come back?” she asked. 

“Yes,” answered Kaz curtly. He was not particularly in the mood for idle chatter. 

“There was a noise about ten minutes ago coming from your room. Like something falling to the floor.” 

Kaz frowned. He couldn’t think of anything that could have fallen while he was away. Unless it wasn’t something but someone. 

“I’ll be careful,” he said and resumed his way up the stairs. There was no noise coming from his room when he stopped in front of it, and fear did not well up in his chest as he unlocked his door. If someone had broken into his room to attack him, they would be surprised by what Kaz was capable of, injured as he was. 

Kaz had prepared himself for an intruder. He had not prepared himself for Inej laying listless on the floor in a puddle of her own blood. He cursed, and rushed forward, falling to his knees beside her. Inej did not react as he moved her onto her back. Her black shirt was soaked with blood, and he was careful not to touch her as he unbuttoned the bottom of it to reveal the wound. The precaution was as much for his sake as for her intimacy. 

The shirt gave way to skin and discovered a stab wound, still bleeding profusely and in great need of care. Kaz grabbed his cane from where he had let it fall on the floor, and hit the floor three times with it. Anika, whose room was just under his, would know to come immediately. 

In the meantime, Kaz took off his gloves, grabbed an old shirt he had left on his bed that morning, and pressed it to Inej’s wound. Inej’s brow furrowed from the pain the sudden pressure brought, but she did not wake and Kaz did not stop. Rapid footsteps came from the stairs, and a second later, Anika stopped on Kaz’s threshold. 

“Go get a medik,” he barked without looking at her. “Immediately.” Anika left without a word. 

“Come on, Inej,” Kaz whispered to no one as he pressed harder on her wound. “You can’t do that to me. That’s not fair. You always berate me about putting myself in danger, you can’t just do the same.” 

It was the second time already he had to make sure she survived a stab wound. It was a low number, all things considered, but it was still two times too many. He could not handle the thought of her being hurt. Worse, of her being dead. She deserved so much more than what she had been handed. She deserved to have time to make a life for herself, to reconnect with her family and make up for lost time, to travel the world and rid it of slavers. She did not deserve to die from a stab wound on the Slat’s floor. 

Anika came back with the Dreg’s medik in record time, both of them panting. The medik, a quiet but efficient girl, kneeled next to Inej and immediately set to work. Anika tried to coax Kaz away from Inej, but he refused, despite the blood staining his hands and the pain shooting from his leg. 

He stayed and watched as the medik disinfected the wound and stitched Inej back together. Later, he helped get Inej on the bed, and when the two women had left the room, he covered her with the warmest blanket he owned.

 Inej woke up warm and in pain. She recognized the room instantly, but Kaz was nowhere to be seen. The evening sun filtered in through the window and lit up the stained spot where she must have bled the day before. (If it was indeed the day before. She couldn’t be certain.)

The door opened, and Kaz entered the room, his limp more pronounced than usual. His eyes directly went to Inej, and they lit up when he saw she was awake—it was a faint thing, the light in his eyes, but Inej had become an expert at reading Kaz Brekker. 

“You gave me quite the scare,” he said as he stopped next to her. His voice was softer than he ever allowed himself to be with anyone else. 

“I didn’t mean to,” she replied. “I was investigating a slaver. It seems he was expecting me, for there was an assassin in their study.” 

“I’ll investigate him for you while you heal, if you want.” 

Inej smiled up at him. She loved that he had added ‘if you want’ at the end of his sentence. From him, who was so used to giving orders and not asking for things, it was as good as a love confession. 

“I’d love to,” she said. For her, who was still learning that being independent didn’t mean never accepting help, it was as good as a love confession.

@febuwhump

[griffonisms]

I’m pretty sure I spoke about it before somewhere here but? alas. I’m here to do so again. Duncan, as I’ve said in his bio, is generally written in Inquisition’s timeline as his main verse, and so, the explanation given for his being alive is no longer ‘because he is’, so much as it is, ‘because he is, but here’s maybe why?’ That maybe being: 1) he’s been brought back by some unknown force, no one knows who did it, why, or how, but here he is, no older and no different than he was when he died / disappeared.  He’s confused about it too, don’t expect a good answer from him.  or 2)  he’s actually a spirit who, in the fade, lingered among the old, powerful emotions and memories and echoes of events that passed at Ostagar (the fade’s mirror image of Ostagar anyway) and though found so many lost souls and echoes of emotions and whatnot, for some reason focused on Duncan’s ((as the echo of HIS emotions/memories/feelings goes through the events, what he’s felt, the betrayal, the sense of hopelessness, of anguish, of the fear, the anger, etc. Even going so far back as to remember his other life events, old emotions, old flashes of memories, etc, since it focused on him--)). And as many spirit and demons alike, found themselves floundering, stumbling and trying not to be sucked out into the mortal realm as the breach(es) broke holes into their world. This spirit was probably already on its way to ‘becoming’ Duncan [as it undoubtedly has done with others] - or the equivalent of him, spirit wise (though, less ‘’him’’ exactly as it IS simply a spirit, and more just.. the keeper of these things; memories, feelings, etc.... kind of like.. an echo of him, through learning and feeling all of these things he left behind).   And so, the breach happens. It gets pulled from the fade like many others had, but this spirit.... has something, something new and fresh in it’s mind and body. Pretty much... all that Duncan was, up until he died on that field. So, in a desperate attempt to latch on to the fade, or to not become corrupt, or driven mad, it.... becomes Duncan. Kind of like Cole, except.... much more human. It completely takes the role of the former Warden Commander of Fereldan, and when it ‘awakens’, it’s confused. For all intents and purposes.... this spirit that self actualized as this grey warden, IS him. It has his exact memories up until he died (though details may be hazy), his feelings, his experiences and wisdom and beliefs, it has every little thing he had... and should his true nature be revealed to him somehow, and the spirit (”him”) remembers what it is... potentially even more. His abilities very well may just grow, magic and fade stuff wise. But for now, Duncan is.... Duncan. He doesn’t remember how he got there, only that he was dying on the field of Ostagar, he’d just watched Cailan die a horrific death and was on the verge of dying himself, and his emotions-- raging, so powerful and overwhelming... and then he woke up, unharmed. Had a headache, felt woozy, confused, could barely walk at first... but... unharmed, and uninjured. Mostly just... confused. Wary, and uncertain. Somehow, he knew it wasn’t.... before. Something in him knew it had been some time after the blight. The world felt... different, and with the breach, he knew something was wrong, but the blight was over. he felt that in his bones. It takes him some time to get used to you know.... being here again, alive. And if asked, he won’t know how to answer any questions asking where he’s been, how he’s still alive, or why he’s suddenly reappeared, and. has not aged a day, since. He’ll be honest about it as well, if in company he thinks will not simply kill him on basis of suspicion alone. He doesn’t know what happened, but he’s here now.

[yesimwriting]

The Needs of Pain

A/n as promised,,, here is my gift to you bc I finished ap gov today :))

The darkling x heartrender!reader story based on the whole ‘no one but me can hurt you’ thing :))

Warnings: sexual innuendos,, attempts to sexualize pain if you squint, kinda lemon-y

I kinda want to write a smutty part 2 let’s see lol 

Summary: after a training injury, Kirigan reveals how he views the dynamic of your relationship and figures out how to best help you work through the pian 

--

In an odd way, the most painful part of my injury had been the wound on my pride, not my shoulder. Though the pain that begins beneath my collarbone and continues down my left shoulder is not exactly pleasant. I can’t bring myself to pity myself too much as I stare at the extent of my burns. There’s a war going on. People die, people lose loved ones, I have to tolerate pain for an hour or two before a healer can be sent to be. 

I told Genya I’d be fine in the medical wing, but she insisted that I wait for a healer to be sent to me. The people here look up to me, if news of my injury got out, especially considering it’s a training wound, morale would take a blow we can’t currently afford. Genya had looked relatively sympathetic when she told me that many healers were occupied considering how difficult training had been and I had told her I could bear the weight. 

Now, in my room, staring at the basin full of water, I’m starting to regret my desire to be self sacrificing. I dip the towel in the water, squeezing out the excess before daring to dab the fabric on the outer edge of the wound. The feeling is fire against my skin all over again. An instinctual curse leaves me as I drop the towel on the counter that surrounds the basin. 

Arthur hadn’t meant it. I can still hear the frantic apologies tumbling from his full lips. He should have been more focused on the task at hand, he should have never stopped to look at me, at the way I could control so many living things at once. In some odd sense, his distraction had been a compliment. Many of the girls here would sell anything to have Arthur’s attention, even if it resulted in such a careless mistake. 

I grimace, picking up the towel and preparing to start again. I should at least clean it before the healers have to deal with both a physical injury and an infection. The sound of my door flying open and then shutting angrily is enough of a distraction for me to accidentally dab the towel against my skin too harshly. I curse again, turning my head towards the bathroom door. Did Genya exaggerate the severity of my wound? Are the healers that desperate to get to me? 

I turn on my toes, towel forgotten by the basen full of water as I approach the door that connects my room with the bathroom. “I’m--” Words meant to calm a frantic healer stick to the back of my throat as soon as I register all the black in the room. General Kirigan. Great. He no doubt heard about my injury after prying it from Genya and now he’s here to scold me for the childishness of it all. To be injured because a boy and I just couldn’t help ‘make eyes at each other’. All he does is insult my refusal to become bitter just because I was born possessing power. 

“You’re what?” His words are a different level of callous, darker than the shadows he creates with the will of his mind alone. “An idiot that let herself be sent back to her room instead of demanding to see a healer?” 

That’s an odd thing for him to focus his anger on. At least it’s not fully directed at me. On instinct, I half turn, attempting to hide my injury from his piercing eyes. My instinct tells me he should never see me so mortal. “Genya recommended it,” my words are determined yet calm, “It’s such a small injury it isn’t worth risking everyone’s morale. A healer will come here when one is available.” 

His face tightens in what must be some kind of disgusted disbelief. “Foolish girl--have you no instinct for preservation?” 

Every decision I’ve made since being injured made sense before he spoke to me. The fierceness of his voice leaves my face warmer than it was a moment ago and reminds me of the stem of my dislike for him. General Kirigan speaks and I am left a clumsy child. “Some things are more important than one’s self.” I expect he’ll turn that into something else to mock or belittle about me. “And it’s not a grave injury it’s barely--” 

The distance between us seemed so great less than a second ago, but he’s closed it so quickly, grabbing my left wrist and extending my arm forward so that I can’t hide anything from him. “You’re burned.” There’s the slightest bit of surprise coloring his words along with something else I can’t interpret. “How did you get burned?” 

Kirigan doesn’t know. My stomach knots, anticipating embarrassment. “Training incident--I was standing too close to an Inferni.” 

His grip on my arm tightens. I grimace as he pulls me forward with no regard for my injury. “Who?” The voracious way he says the word leaves my thoughts trembling. He is a void of darkness, starving for a victim to snuff the light out of.  

When my thoughts settle, I cannot bring myself to tell him the truth. “I didn’t see, I was distracted by the burning.” I exhale slowly, desperate to escape the flames behind his eyes the way I could not escape the fire of earlier. “It doesn’t matter, I’ve been injured worse in training.” His hold on my arm doesn’t loosen, I glance down at his hand, his firm grip on me somehow worse than the burn. “You’ve injured me worse in training.” 

“I may push you, exhaust you, and leave you mad--but I have never done anything that comes close to--that!” The last of his words carry themselves louder than the rest. 

If the skin of my shoulder wasn’t so sensitive I’d try fighting his tightening grasp. The accusation on my part had been a little much, but it was meant to serve as a reminder that he’s not one to care about my comfort or well being. “Why does it matter?” I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze. “You’ve never cared about any of my injuries before.” 

Kirigan releases my arm in a stiff trance, raising his hand to brush his thumb down my cheek. The contact is reminiscent of an extremely different moment. “The first night here you only let a few tears escape you when you were convinced that no one could see them. Do you remember how I turned and wordlessly wiped them away?” His gesture had not been comforting then and it isn’t comforting now. He never wanted to comfort me, he wanted to assert some strange power over me. “I let those tears fall because they were because of me and I knew it was for the best.” I say nothing, letting his thumb ghost tears that will not come. “The moment I discovered you, what you could be, you became mine.” 

“I am no one’s.” The reaction is instinctual, a pride my mother instilled in me. My voice is too loud, too brash. “I am my own.” 

I brace myself for his anger, but all I receive is the slight relaxation of his lips. “It’s things like that give you so much potential in other ways.” His voice is a jagged rock caressing my skin, not minding the scrapes it leaves behind. “You’re a fair plaything, as well as useful.”  

He’s speaking so gently his voice borders on vulnerable. Something in me warms, but I can’t tell why. I know that Kirigan finds joy in my discomfort--why else would he belittle me so often? “The healer will be here soon.” 

“Yes,” he makes no move to leave, instead Kirigan grabs my wrist again, forcing me to turn so that he can analyze the extent of my burn, “Which is why I will ask you again…” I try to catch his gaze, but his stone stare is focused on my burned shoulder entirely. “Who did this?” 

“I told you.” He can never know. “It was a training accident.” 

“And someone is responsible.” 

I let out a breath, tired of feeling so incomplete. I just want to be healed and go to sleep. “Why does it matter?” His fingers trail up my arm patiently, my body betrays me by shivering. “Accidents happen, you’ve put me in more risk than--” 

“I’ve always intended to break you one way or another,” his voice is more supple than it’s ever been before, “Your goodness is too tempting to not tarnish.” He turns my wrist over easily, ignoring my slight wince. “But if someone else were to do it…” Kirigan trails off, expression tightening in a way I can’t read, “I don’t let others break my play things.” 

Some strange resolve in my chest cracks at that. “Kirigan--” 

“Who are you protecting?” He moves his free hand, placing it without reservation on my shoulder. “Not telling me will only make it worse.” 

Thoughts of Arthur paying for such a small mistake leaves my stomach rolling in guilt. “Make what worse?” 

His expression tightens again. I wait for some kind of rebuke. Kirigan’s lips part as if he expects to criticize my naivety, but instead of speaking he turns sharply. He doesn't release his grip on my wrist as he leads me into my bathroom. 

“What are you doing?” 

Kirigan ignores my surprise, releasing me to pick up the towel I was so quick to abandon. “If you’re too good to take a healer from someone, you should at least avoid infection.” 

“I’m not an idiot, I was cleaning it.” The sharpness of my tone is ignored, Kirigan simply places one hand on my forearm to keep me in place. “Wha--”

 He brushes his thumb over my pulse gently in an effective attempt to silence me. I part my lips in hopes of protesting, but something odd reflects across his eyes. It must be some trick of the light because his expression seems...hesitant. Maybe even concerned. And then cool fabric is pressed into my burn. I bite my tongue so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t bleed. 

“Saints.” 

His expression shifts to that of almost amusement. “I think I’d like to hear you curse in a,” he exhales softly, fingertips trailing up my forearm, “Slightly different scenario.” 

The shock of such a bold innuendo clears my mind from thoughts of pain. But the most startling thing is that the innuendo isn’t entirely unwanted. In the wake of my surprise, he presses the wet towel into my wound again. I fight against a grimace, but that doesn’t go unnoticed by Kirigan. Instead of mentioning it, his free arm touches my uninjured shoulder. For the first time since he’s come here I’m aware of how improper my attire is. I changed out of my starched kefta and into a silk nightgown in order to leave my shoulder unbothered. Genya had helped me change, bearing all of my grimacing and pained curses. 

I should push him off of me. Kirigan can get away with a lot because of his status, but I by no means have to allow something like this. I should not feel shy, I should not be embarrassed. He’s the one that’s out of line. I look up into his eyes, prepared to yell at him for being so out of line. But when I meet his eyes, I see something so un-monstrous I am left breathless. There’s a gentleness to the way he tilts his head downwards, eyes never leaving mine. Is he asking for permission? Permission to--to what? I stay frozen as his lips brush against the unmarred side of my collarbone. His touch is almost enough to make me forget pain ever existed. He pulls away enough that I can feel his breath against the base of my neck. Thoughts I’d never dare speak are banished as the towel presses against my skin again. My face cringes immediately, but he’s quick to press his lips to the base of my neck, lingering kisses melting into my skin. 

“I thought you said you were fine.” His chiding is half-hearted, whispered between two brief kisses against my bare ski. 

He dabs the towel on the burn again, but before I can think to complain, his lips are against my skin again. This time, his lips part slightly allowing his teeth to graze over my pulse. Kirigan pulls away slightly, expression hardening, “I’m almost sorry about this part.” His words leave him in a whisper as influential as sin. 

“What part?” My voice feels foreign in my throat. 

Kirigan doesn’t reply, but then I feel the sharpest pain yet. The towel is cleaning the worst of the burn, the ruined patch of skin that will never recover without supernatural intervention. The gasp I let out is that of a bird with shattered wings. A cry forms in the base of my throat, but before it can leave me, Kirigan’s teeth bite into the skin above my pulse. The pained sound is reduced by my shock, twisting in an odd combination of some kind of pained sound and something dangerously close to a moan. 

He releases me with one last soft brush of his lips, straightening his back and retracting the towel. “There.” Kirigan drops the towel onto the bathroom counter. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

I can still feel the ghost of his lips, tongue, and teeth against my skin. I understand now. Each kiss had been a way to distract me, to lessen the pain. Something odd swells in my chest as I try to will my eyes to stop watering in pain. 

Kirigan presses his lips together, pressing his hand against my cheek again. His thumb brushes the few stray tears that escape me. “Don’t cry,” his tone is pure velvet, “I won’t tolerate tears in your eyes caused by anyone else.” He tilts his head oddly, hand sliding down my cheek before gripping my jaw, “I can provide reason for your tears if you’d like.” 

Inhaling deeply, I continue to stare at him. Today has been so sudden. He’s flirted with me through strangely sexual insults and threats before, but never has he been so forward about it. 

“I’m fine,” I force my voice to remain clear. He nods once. A soft rap at my door has me turning away from him. “The healer--I shoul--” 

“Come in,” he calls, voice clear and leaving no room for argument. 

My eyes widen. To be caught with him here could be detrimental for my reputation. Kirigan pulls away, something sharp playing at his features, something almost humorous. 

He leaves the bathroom like this is his own room. “Her wound is clean, work quickly.” I walk out of the bathroom in a strange trance. Kirigan’s gaze lands on me as I enter the main part of my room, “I need her at her full strength for what I have planned.” 

There’s a heaviness to his words, a weight that tells me he means more than what his words imply. Goosebumps erupt across my skin as I try to banish the thoughts of his mouth against my skin between inflictions of pain, blending together to create the most intense sense of fight or flight I’ve ever experienced. 

Kirigan begins to approach the door to my room. “I’ll be checking on her later.”

--

People that asked to be tagged in this/expressed interest:

@luminous-99 @voyevoda-thejoy @voidmalfoy @i-padfootblack-things @all-art-is-quite-useless @buckverse @mandowh0re @uhanddreag  

@we-love-our-bandz 

[jynrso]

are you carrying your burden like a badge of honor now?

read it on ao3!

“Psfassk!” 

The curse slips out of her mouth as the hydrospanner slides over her skin and slices deep into the meat of her palm, right through her glove. Before the blood can spill over onto the ground, she snatches up a rag off of the ground and wraps it around her right hand, clenching her teeth against the pain. The hydrospanner clatters to the ground, now forgotten.

“Kriffing hell,” she mutters to herself as she presses the cloth hard against the wound, watches as the white fabric slowly changes to scarlet. Once it slows, she peels back her make-shift bandage to check the cut; one look at it tells her that she’s going to need something to close it, and she’s got a needle and thread back in her quarters. Her hand isn’t the only thing that needs repairs –– and she’d just purchased these gloves, too. 

She exhales sharply, her hand throbbing in time with her heartbeat. As soon as she’s sure she’s not going to bleed all over her work, she’ll come back and finish up the repairs. 

That’s the plan, of course, until she sees Cassian. As much as she enjoys his presence, as much as she wants to spend time with him, she knows he’ll –– 

“Where are you going?” 

–– notice something is wrong. 

“Forgot something in our quarters,” she shrugs nonchalantly, shifting so her injured hand is behind her back, the blood-covered rag hidden behind her thigh holster. “Gotta go back to grab it.” 

He searches her face for a few seconds as if he doesn’t believe her, then nods. “All right. You finish with the droid?” 

“Almost.” 

“What’s wrong with it?” 

The rag against her hand slips slightly, the cold air of Hoth sharp against the open wound, but she schools her face into indifference. “The little wheels,“ she raises her good hand, makes a spinning motion with it to demonstrate, “ –– they keep getting stuck.” 

“Okay,” he says, craning his head to look at her workspace. She winces slightly, hoping he doesn’t see the –– “I can –– is that blood ?” 

“No,” she lies blatantly. “That’s grease.” 

“It’s red.” 

“It’s red grease.” 

“Jyn,” he says, eyes flashing warningly. He scans her body up and down, looking for any sign of injury, then pauses at seeing how carefully she holds her arm behind her back. His eyes narrow in on it, brows furrowing. “What happened?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Jyn.” 

“Cassian,” she says with just as much gravity. 

“Show me,” he nearly growls, no room for argument in his tone. He holds out his hand, waiting. 

With a heavy sigh, she places her hand into his, containing her flinch when he pulls the rag away to see the cut. “It’s really not that bad,” she reassures him weakly after he doesn’t say anything for a long time. “Really. I was just going to stitch it up quickly and come back.” 

“You were going to stitch up your dominant, shooting hand with your non-dominant one?” His voice, though seemingly calm, has a layer of tension underneath it. She can see how cranked tight he is by the wrinkles on his forehead and the furrow of his brows. 

“Yes,” she says slowly, not quite understanding where his animosity is coming from. It’s really not that bad of a wound; sure, it hurts, but her hands are covered in old injuries. In a few weeks, this will just be another scar to add to her collection. “I’ve done it before.” 

(but she’s not on her own anymore. she shouldn’t have to –– but old habits die hard.)

“Jyn –– “ he runs his hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, then grabs her bicep, tugging her forward. She stumbles slightly, his longer strides catching her off-balance, but she’s quick to steady. “We’re going to the medbay. Now.” 

Immediately, Jyn digs her heels into the ground. Panic makes her stomach clench, gut churning and bile rising in her throat. Her voice is strangled when she interrupts him, “No.” 

Cassian knows how much she dislikes going there, has seen the way she avoids it unless otherwise necessary. At the underlying tension in her voice, he pauses, turning his head to look back at her. Though he keeps hold of her arm, his fingers flex slightly against her bicep. “Do you really want to risk destroying your hand?” 

“If it means not going to the medbay.” 

Her life has given her many opportunities to practice suturing wounds. While it will be difficult to fix up her palm and might take more time than usual, she has no doubts that she’ll be able to do it correctly. She doesn’t want to mess up her hand, so she’s not going to. Simple as that.

He’s silent for a couple of seconds, studying her. “Let’s make a deal, then.” 

She eyes him warily. Whatever he proposes will likely end up with her in the medbay but she’s interested in hearing what he has to offer her in response. “. . .Go on.” 

“You go to the medbay and let them fix your hand, and –– “ she opens her mouth to protest, but he holds up a finger, continuing, “ –– and you go whenever you injure yourself after this. In return, I’ll –– “ a sigh, mouth twisting as if he swallowed a Roonan lemon, “ –– I’ll start going to those physical therapy sessions.” 

Her mouth parts in disbelief. For a few seconds, she doesn’t speak, instead searching his face for any hint of a lie. She’s been trying to get him to take proper care of his back for months and this is all it takes? “Seriously?” 

“I’m serious,” he tells her, mouth twitching. “I’m not excited about it, but if it forces you to start taking care of yourself, then I’ll start going, too.” 

“And you’ll go regularly? At least once a week?” 

His eyes dance with amusement. “Only if you hold up your end of the bargain.” 

There’s no denying that she’ll do anything for him. Even putting aside her hatred for the medbay so he finally agrees to get the care he needs. 

She nods once. “Okay.” 

He raises a brow, looking slightly wary and clearly expecting more bargaining on her end. “That’s it?” 

“Come on,” she tells him, now being the one to lead him in the direction of the medbay. “The quicker I get this fixed, the quicker you can start therapy.” 

“Don’t make me regret this deal,” he groans softly but follows her anyway. There’s no heat in his voice; she suspects he wants to get better as much as she wants him to. Even walking this short distance, the cold makes his muscles stiff, his gait not as fluid as it used to be. And, ever since Scarif, he’s been on much lighter duty than he’s ever been. 

Still, she understands how difficult this will be for him. Captain Cassian Andor, Rebel Intelligence, does not have any visible weaknesses. Going to physical therapy will expose a number of vulnerabilities in front of others he doesn’t trust. Therefore, she will do anything in her power to make it easier for him.

“I’ll come with you,” she offers. It’s not as if she escaped Scarif entirely unscathed –– her hip sometimes gives her hell when she’s on her feet for too long –– but she’s been medically cleared for missions of any nature. It might help but it won’t do as much for her as it will for him. “We can do it together, yeah?” 

His gaze softens, looking down at her with a little less trepidation now. “And I’ll hold your hand when the 2-1B stitches up your palm.” 

In her enthusiasm, she’d forgotten about her half of the bargain. She scowls at the reminder, the wound pulsing painfully now that her attention refocuses on it. 

“Fine,” she mutters, squeezing his hand in her own. “Let’s get this over with.” 

He leans down, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “You’re being very brave right now,” he informs her gravely, mouth twitching. 

“I’ll show you brave,” she mutters. “Come on. You’re signing up for therapy right after we’re done, Captain Andor.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of going back on our bargain,” he says mildly. A second later, his gaze lights back up with worry. “And you’re bleeding all over the floor again.” 

She curses again –– but doesn’t complain when he tugs her forward in the direction of the medbay. The thought of going to the medbay willingly by herself sets off alarm bells throughout her brain. But having Cassian at her side eases the panic, if only a little.

[schrijverr]

Vampire Venom Confession

To save an injured Alucard, Trevor lets him drink his blood. When he’s all loopy on the vampire venom in his system after, he lets it slip how much Sypha and Alucard mean to him and gets cuddles.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none, but tell me if I missed any!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Alucard was injured.

He was often injured as were they all on their track through Wallachia to wipe out the last of what was left of Dracula’s forces, but he wasn’t healing. And that was cause for concern, because both Trevor and Sypha had seen him heal from much worse, much quicker.

So Trevor was trying to stop the bleeding while Sypha was looking for bandages and anything to clean the wound with.

“We’re out of bandages,” she called out, voice laced with panic. “Do you have clean cloth we could cut up?”

“No!” Trevor yelled back, of course he didn’t. They had just been attacked, their cart was mostly destroyed and all he had was night creature gut soaked clothes. “Come on, Alucard. Stay with me here. Can’t have the only good vampire in history die on me. Open those eyes.”

It was obviously a struggle, but Alucard did as he was told, groaning loudly.

“Yeah, that’s it. Focus on me,” Trevor told him. “You’re gonna be fine, just stay with me now. We’re going to need to burn this closed, okay? We don’t have any other means.”

Alucard’s eyes went wide and he shook his head no, trying to wordlessly protest Trevor’s suggestion.

“What? Why not?” Trevor asked, shaking Alucard when it looked like he wanted to slip into darkness again. Sypha was now sitting next to him, her brown also knitted in concern as she held up her hand, ready to summon fire.

“Don’t- don’t have the energy to fight it,” Alucard wheezed. “I will burn.”

“FUCK.”

The loud exclamation by Trevor was felt through them all. It was frustrating that after all this Alucard should bleed out here, just because he spend too much of himself. He had fought Dracula and lived, he shouldn’t perish from lack of resources. It was just wrong.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Sypha asked. “Don’t think of morality here.”

Alucard swallowed, guilt in his eyes as he looked away. Another wave of pain washed over him and he made up his mind as he groaned: “Blood. Need – ugh – blood.”

“Okay, then,” Trevor nodded, “that’s settled then,” before pulling off his tunic and hoisting Alucard up to his neck.

“No, I- I can’t,” Alucard protested weakly.

“You can and you will, you fucking dick,” Trevor snapped. “Now bite, asshole. You’re not kneeling over, not on my watch.”

There must have been something in his voice that made Alucard trust his judgment and convinced him that Trevor knew what he was getting into, because Sypha watched how relief flitted through his eyes before he sank his fangs into the tender meat of Trevor’s neck. And the moment blood started to flow, he drank greedily.

The effect was immediate, the flesh stitchingitself together and color returningto his skin, to the extend his skin held color that was of course.

He also got increasingly steady and soon it was him holding up Trevor instead of the other way around, while the hunter hang limply in his arms. The only reaction he gave to having fangs in his neck was softly gasping here and there that let Sypha know he was still conscious.

She wondered if Alucard knew when to stop or if the blood was too tempting now that he was drinking. She bit her lip, before tentatively asking: “Alucard? Alucard, how much do you need? Is he okay?”

Alucard hummed that he had heard her, but stayed attached to Trevor’s neck for a few more seconds, before licking the puncture wounds until they had stopped bleeding. Then he leaned back, sitting upright by himself as if he had not been on deaths door moments ago.

Sypha was incredibly relieved to see him okay, but with the confirmation that Alucard was okay, she moved her attention to Trevor, who had not moved from where he was half sitting in Alucard’s lap, head now leaning on Alucard’s shoulder, his eyes far away.

“Is he okay?” she asked, then snapped her fingers in front of Trevor’s eyes, getting little to no response. “Hey, Trevor. Trevor. Can you hear me? Please say something.”

“He is fine, Sypha. Do not worry,” Alucard assured her. “He is just under the influence of the venom in my fangs, which is meant to relax its victims. He will be tired and he’s probably dizzy right now, but nothing he won’t recover from. The venom should be easing out of his system soon. He should drink and eat something when he gets back to us.”

Not completely convinced, but at least put at ease by Alucard’s words, she opted to quickly grab some water and a bit of bread. Then she kept a close eye on Trevor, while Alucard kept him cradled to his chest. At least the puncture wounds were healing more rapidly than normal.

When Trevor first started to stir again, a few minutes later, she perked up with relief.

Trevor groaned loudly, blinking heavily as the world spun in front of his eyes, before Alucard and Sypha came back into focus. Blearily he looked at Alucard, then he frowned in confusion, before he smiled. “You’re alive. That’s- that’s good.”

He moved to pat Alucard on the chest, against which he was resting with his torso and arms, but the movement seemed too much work and he gave up. “I’m tired,” he told them.

“I can imagine,” Sypha smiled. “Here drink this.”

She offered him the water and he didn’t even protest as she held the watersack for him. It was slightly unnerving to see him try and fail to drink properly, with half of the water spilling over his chin and down his chest.

When he had drank enough she offered him small bites of bread and he seemed okay enough to slowly munch on them, which was a relief. As he ate his last piece of bread he asked: “What happened again?”

“I was injured,” Alucard said. “You saved me by letting me drink your blood. I haven’t taken too much, but you will definitely feel the effects. Can you describe how you’re feeling to us?”

“Me?” Trevor asked surprised, then seemingly delighted that he was even asked. “Me, well, I feel great.”

“Define great,” Alucard deadpanned and Sypha couldn't help but snort at them. It was a strange sight to see Trevor, usually so closed off and guarded, act silly with his emotions just there, yet still managing to annoy Alucard.

“That’s a big ask,” Trevor told him, almost philosophically. “But, I am floating. Are we floating? You can float right?”

“Yes, I can float, but we are not floating,” Alucard said. “Do you mean that you feel dizzy by any chance?”

“Ah, yes, dizzy,” Trevor lit up when the word came to him. “I feel dizzy. But also warm and soft. Am I on a pillow?”

“No, you’re leaning against Alucard,” Sypha told him with a small grin.

“Wow, this is almost a hug,” Trevor said, completely oblivious to what impact his words might have both on himself and the others. “God, I don’t remember the last time anyone hugged me. Must have been my mother before she was killed.”

Immediately the lighthearted mood at Trevor’s antics fell and Alucard couldn't help but clutch the hunter closer to his chest, making him sigh in content. He shared a look with Sypha over that and both nodded, determined to give Trevor affection now that he was susceptible for it.

“Why am I not wearing a shirt?” The moment was broken by Trevor, who had finally discovered he was no longer wearing a shirt.

“You took it off to give Alucard access to your neck, Trevor,” Sypha answered.

“That seems slightly unnecessary,” frowned Trevor, making them both laugh at his commentary on his own actions. He looked confused. “What? What’s so funny.”

“Nothing, Trevor, nothing,” Sypha assured him. “Why don’t we get you back into a shirt, how does that sound?”

“Good,” Trevor smiled, completely okay with letting his earlier question go. “Though, I do feel a bit heavy and- hmm, un- un…movable, yes. Unmovable. Like a baby.” His eyes went wide, “Oh my God, am I a baby?”

“No, Trevor, not in that sense at least,” Alucard laughed.

Both were glad that Trevor had forgotten about his earlier comment about the hug. Even though it hadn’t left their minds yet, it was nice to not see their friend sad anymore. This was ruined when Sypha held up his tunic and Alucard had to rearrange Trevor to help him into it. The moment he had done so, Trevor had whimpered.

“What’s wrong?” Sypha immediatelyasked, jumping to all sorts of horrible conclusions. Yet nothing could have prepared her heart for Trevor softly saying: “Don’t leave me here.”

“We will never leave you, Trevor,” she promised. “We just want to help you back in your shirt.”

“You promise?” Trevor asked.

“We promise,” Alucard answered for them, quickly hugging Trevor close before helping him into his tunic in record speed so that he could pull Trevor back into his arms again.

While Alucard held Trevor tightly, Sypha started a quick fire and spread out Trevor’s cloak for them to lie on. With him in this condition they wouldn’t be traveling anyway. She also got the covering of whatever was left of the cart to use as blanket, before making her way back to the two men.

Alucard had positioned them in such a way that Trevor was now completely in his lap. Their chests were against one another and Trevor’s face was hidden in the crook of Alucard’s neck, while the vampire rubbed his back and whisper soft comforts in his ear.

When their eyes met Sypha gestured to the blankets and raised a questioning brow. Alucard nodded then turned to Trevor. “Hey, I’m going to move you now, is that okay? We’re not going far, just lying down with Sypha.”

“Still dizzy,” Trevor mumbled.

“I’ll be gentle okay?” Alucard waited until Trevor had nodded against his neck, then he slipped his hands under Trevor’s thighs and stood up slowly, using his supernatural strength to keep Trevor still as he did so.

He lowered Trevor into Sypha’s waiting arms, who cradled his head against her chest as Alucard took the blanket to spread out over them all.

Trevor ended up with his head pillowed on Sypha and Alucard curled up against his back protectively, spooning him closely. He seemed content to just lie there, sighing into Sypha as she carded her hand through his hair.

Right when they thought he had fallen asleep, he said: “This is nice. Almost like I have a family again.” Then he truly drifted off, leaving them with both fondness and an innate sadness piercing their chests as they hugged him tighter.

The next morning Trevor woke last, but still warm, pressed tightly between two bodies as they conversed about magic above his head.

“What are you two doing?” he asked. While it wasn’t uncommon for them to share body heat during the colder nights, they usually didn’t keep laying there in the morning and it was usually Sypha in the middle. He also didn’t usually wake up with a massive headache and he was sure that if he had been drinking, they wouldn’t have been sharing a bed with him.

“Keeping you company,” Sypha smiled as if it was all completely normal.

“Huh? Why?” The moment he asked the happenings of yesterday returned to him and he felt himself flush scarlet at how he had just said the most depressingly lonely things to them, before begging them to stay. “Oh God.”

He tried to curl into himself as if that would make him disappear, but that was quite impossible with how close the others were and he hated how nice it was.

“Ahw, there’s no need for that,” Sypha assured him, again carding a hand through his hair like she had done the night before.

“Yes, we really don’t mind,” Alucard assured him, squeezing him tight in that same comforting manner.

“It really does, actually,” he shot back, embarrassed. “I turned into a huge baby. You had to fucking feed me for fucks sake. And I acted like an idiot, that was so unnecessary and massively pathetic. I mean, seriously, you carried me and I nearly cried when you let go for a moment.”

Both sighed sadly.

They had predicted that Trevor in the morning would not be so open to affection and would try to rebuilt the walls he had around his heart, but they couldn't just pretend he hadn’t bared his soul to them and shown them how touch-starved he was.

“Trevor,” Sypha said, coaxing him to look at her, which he did with small pout-y and squint-y, yet unsure eyes. “We both made a promise to you yesterday. We didn’t just do that because you had lost a lot of blood and needed reassurance. We meant that.”

“You- you did?” There was the same vulnerable edge in his voice that had been there yesterday and both Sypha and Alucard could feel this was a big turning point in their lives that could be vastly different if they said something wrong.

“Yes, Trevor,” Alucard spoke up. “You’re our family too.”

The embarrassed flush came back and he hid his face in Sypha’s stomach again, unwilling to look at them just yet. Sypha couldn't help but coo slightly at the action: “Ahw, you’re so cute, Trevor. Why did you hide such a sweet sight from us?”

“‘M not cute,” came the muffled reply.

“No,” Alucard agreed, for a moment letting Trevor think he was on his side, before adding, “you’re adorable.”

Trevor turned to glare at them both, flush still prominent on his face along with a pout that did not help his argument. He sniffed: “I hate you both.”

“No you don’t,” Sypha said, digging her fingers into his sensitive sides and making him squeak, before protesting that it was cheating, but there was a smile on his face and after a brutal team up attack, he admitted: “Okay, okay, I don’t. You two don’t suck.”

Alucard and Sypha grinned, victory.

It wouldn’t solve everything in one night, but both were determined to keep their promise and if Trevor sought out hugs a bit more after and if sleeping in a cuddle pile became common place, then that was only a good thing.

~~

A/N:

This was actually sillier and less angsty than I had imagined it to be, which is a surprise because so far Trevor always makes my writing needlessly sad, but good for him.

[bouncyirwin]

So after reading Knock Knock, Let the Devil in again (I can’t praise you enough with how good that story is ♥️) and I’m so invested in the the dynamic between Shikamaru, Sakura, and Kakashi!

And because I have a question (and I hope I’m not bothering you by asking this 😭) how do you think Kakashi and Shikamaru would react if Sakura either came back from a mission seriously injured or if they found her seriously injured from a mission?

Hiii, thank you so much for this ask, I’m always so ready to gush about these three!

When I read this ask, inspiration quite literally slammed into me and I churned this out in a sprint session. Oops.

Word Count: 2,126 words

I present to you a one-shot in the knock knock-verse.

It was too early in the day to function, yet Shikamaru was in the Hokage’s office bustling about, feeling only half-human as he guzzled on his third coffee. “Fuckin’ paperwork,” he muttered disdainfully at the sight of an ungodly pile marked with his name.

That had to violate some natural law. How this became Shikamaru’s routine was beyond him.

Once upon a time, he professed that his deepest wish was to lead a mediocre life. And here he was.

Tsunade showed up ten minutes late, visibly drunk and doing very little to conceal it. “Morning,” she tossed over her shoulder and made a beeline for the coffee machine.

“Hokage-sama,” Shikamaru said, studying the dark circles under her eyes and her ashen pallor. “You look …”

He clamped his mouth shut. Was it worth getting assigned a D-rank to let her know she looked like shit? Probably not.

“Save it kid, I know,” she waved a casual hand and slumped in her chair. “Couldn’t care less with the night I pulled.”

“Drinking again, Hokage-sama?” he inquired with polite interest.

“Ha,” she said. “I wish.”

When he raised an eyebrow, she elaborated, slumping even further in her chair. “Sakura,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “They brought her back yesterday.”

Shikamaru’s heart sank. “Brought her back?”

“Yes, there was an ambush and she was badly injured—cracked every one of her ribs, that idiot. And the hospital was out of B-positive blood so Shizune had to sit the healing session out to donate blood. Nearly ran myself dry trying to keep her breathing…” Tsunade was scrubbing at her face but Shikamaru wasn’t listening anymore—he could barely hear her over the deafening roar of his heartbeat.

“Is she alive?” he demanded once he found his voice. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Yes, but she’s going to need plenty of rest—” the rest of her sentence remained a mystery for Shikamaru tore out of the room with a single-minded focus.

In the space between heartbeats, rationality was tossed out of the window. It left behind a desperate and half-crazed person—he needed to see her, to hear her heartbeat, to see the lively green of her eyes and he wasn’t going to rest until it happened.

He burst through the hospital doors undoubtedly looking like he’d escaped an asylum. The nurse he cornered shot him a bewildered look. “Sir, are you—” she began to say when he cut her off.

“Haruno Sakura,” he demanded breathlessly. “Her room. Where can I find her?”

“Sir,” she attempted again, sounding a little exasperated. “Haruno-san just underwent extensive surgery, she’s not allowed visitors, only family members can see her.”

Shikamaru pinned her with a no-nonsense look. “Akane-san,” he read off her name tag. “By order of the Hokage, I’m here to see Haruno Sakura.”

Akane shuffled nervously. “Do you have an official slip?”

He arched an eyebrow at her, as if to say ‘really?’.

“I-I might get in trouble,” her eyes shifted unsurely. “I need to put you down as a relative and you’re… what would I mark you down as, sir?”

It occurred to him a second later that he was being a total ass. But rationality had already fled. He was now a mess of frayed nerves.

The toddler bawling in the background wasn’t helping his case, and neither was the frantic husband demanding to see his wife at the reception, babbling about … oh.

Shikamaru turned back to the nurse, and before he realised what he was saying, he blurted. “Her husband. Mark me down as her husband.”

Akane blinked. “Oh.”

Shikamaru stared her down, daring her to argue with him. But she simply nodded and scribbled something on her chart. “Right. Of course. Follow me.”

As they stalked through clinical hallways, Shikamaru’s heart rose in a crescendo, worry and nervousness swirling in his chest in a toxic mix. What would he see upon reaching her room? Was she in pain? Was she even lucid? Gods, what if she was in a coma? What if she’d hurt herself so irreparably that it cost her career?

His mind raced with sickly thoughts until his stomach roiled and his face tinged green.

Akane stopped at room 217 and there she was.

“Oh gods,” Shikamaru whispered.

She was hooked to so many wires. Oxygen tubes and an IV and a heart monitor and tubes he didn’t even recognise. She looked frail and broken, too small amidst white sheets and beeping monitors.

He heard Akane quietly slip out of the room and was glad for it because his knees nearly buckled.

Sakura wasn’t awake. Hell, she didn’t even look alive, her face so pale where it wasn’t bruised blue and purple.

Numbly, his feet carried him to her side, his breath a short and rapid thing that barely saturated his lungs.

There was blood caked beneath her fingernails and in the cracks of her lips. His eyes stung faintly as they slid over to the heart monitor.

It was too slow.

“Oh god,” he said again, every cell in his body congested with fear.

He was afraid to even reach out and touch her, lest she broke apart under his fingertips. Delicately, ever so delicately and with trembling fingers, he ghosted a light stroke across the apple of her cheek.

“Sakura…” he said feebly, wishing her eyes would just open.

Except they didn’t. And her heart monitor droned on sluggishly in the background, crawling heartbeats that served more in adding to his anxiety than diminishing it.

It was beating. But it wasn't beating enough. What if it stopped beating?

Shikamaru wasn’t prepared. She wasn’t allowed to die. Not yet. Not ever. He didn’t care what laws governed this cursed world, this was Sakura, she was spring incarnated, and she wasn’t allowed to die.

His fingers curled around her hand, and he wished for the first time in his life that he could heal. That he could bleed strength into her the way she did to him.

It was getting difficult to breathe. What if she died?

What then?

Fuck, he hadn’t even told her he loved her.

His vision swam, rendering the room a splash of colours and pink. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t breathe.

In the muddled daze of anxieties and fears, Shikamaru wished he had the foresight to grab Kakashi.

He’d never needed an anchor more than he did in that second.

*

Kakashi was having an incredibly shitty day.

His coffee machine broke down, he spilled tea over his mission report and he mixed a black shirt with his coloured laundry and now half of his clothes were beyond repair.

“Dammit,” he sighed, tossing his book aside. He couldn’t even read, busy as he was dwelling on his ruined laundry.

He took one dispassionate look at his soggy report and groaned. “What a mess,” he’d actually attempted to do this one on time. Served him right for breaking his routine.

Kakashi grabbed his weapons holster and stepped out for some much needed air. Maybe he should just turn in a tea-flavoured report—perhaps if he offered Tsuande a bottle of sake she’d make an exception and accept it.

He made a beeline to her office, remembering he was due for a debrief. But what he found upon his arrival wasn’t what he expected.

Tsunade was shouting to Shizune, clearly exasperated: “—and he just upped and left! I’m his Hokage, and he upped and left!”

“Maah…” Kakashi began unsurely.

Tsunade’s gaze cut to him. “Hatake, there you are,” she huffed. “I’m too fucking hungover for this. We’re one man down, I need someone to look over these reports.”

Kakashi frowned, finally noticing how empty her office looked. “Where’s Shikamaru…?”

“The idiot left,” Tsunade growled, raising goosebumps on his arms. “I told him I spent all night healing her, what did he think, that I’d leave her to die? Fucking hell.”

“Leave who to die?” Kakashi said, confused. “What happened?”

“Sakura happened,” Tsunade ranted tiredly. “They brought her back almost half dead, I’ve been patching her up for the better part of eight hours and this is how I’m rewarded.”

But Kakashi had stopped listening after ‘half dead’. Half dead? “Half … dead?” he echoed, his mouth dry.

No. This wasn’t happening.

This wasn’t happening.

“Yes,” Tsunade sighed. “But I operated on her and she’s going to be fine.”

Kakashi barely heard the words. His brain was a string of very adamant denial. No, no, no, no.

He didn’t want it to be true—all those years he had been certain, was so sure that it was him, that he was the reason the people he loved always died. That he was a curse to those he cared about.

Every person he loved came back in a body bag.

Fuck.

Kakashi turned tail, a sudden manic urge to see her rising unbearably in his chest. What if Tsunade was lying, what if Sakura wasn’t fine? What if she was fine, but she died anyway?

Fear pumped through his veins, rendering him dizzy. This was his worst nightmare come to life—how could he have forgotten that people, even those that could mend bones and heal what was broken, were so damn breakable?

His legs couldn’t carry him quickly enough.

He didn’t waste time interrogating the nurses for her whereabouts, he knew her scent like she was a part of him. It led him to her now, her unique sweetness tainted with blood and antiseptic.

Gods, he was going to be sick.

He nearly ripped the door off its hinges in his haste to get to her.

Shikamaru was already there, looking wrecked, looking worse than Kakashi had ever seen him. “Is she—”

He couldn’t even say it.

“They … they said they don’t know when she’ll wake up,” Shikamaru whispered hollowly.

Kakashi felt the ground crumbling beneath his feet. “No,” he whispered, leaning back against the wall when he teetered off balance.

His hip jarred against the doorknob but Kakashi barely registered the sting. Barely anything registered beyond the fear-terror-fear coursing through his veins like poison. “Please, no,” he said.

This couldn’t be happening again.

His father and Obito and Rin and Minato-sensei—hadn’t they been enough? Was Sakura going to be another name on the too long list of losses that haunted him?

He really was going to be sick. He clenched his jaw against the reflex, forcing his brain out of the dizzying tornado of anxieties. His gaze focused on Shikamaru, the only other person that mattered as much.

He didn’t look good at all, pale and shaking and appearing ready to fall apart.

The sight of him was strangely grounding.

Kakashi found his elusive strength, located his knees under him and was at his side in the next second.

“Shikamaru,” he rasped, clutching the other man’s arm.

“She looks dead,” Shikamaru whispered. “I … I …”

Words eluded him.

Kakashi tugged at his arm, drawing Shikamaru against him. He went without a fight, slumping against Kakashi’s chest like a puppet whose strings were cut.

“It’s going to be okay,” Kakashi lied, surprised by how much conviction he could bleed into it when it was for someone else’s benefit. “She’s going to be fine.”

Shikamaru shook in his hold, his shoulders minutely trembling. But just as suddenly, his body calmed down and he gripped tightly onto Kakashi’s middle. “What if she isn’t?”

“She will be,” Kakashi stressed because … anything else was not an option. “It’s Sakura. She punched a goddess in the face.”

Shikamaru let out a short, pained laugh against him. “Gods, don’t remind me; what a reckless idiot.”

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Kakashi confessed in a soft murmur against Shikamaru’s hair. He tightened his hold on him, drawing strength from the warmth of his body. “As beautiful as the two of you together.”

Lean fingers dug in his back. “I’m glad you’re here,” Shikamaru said sincerely. “I’m glad you came. Fuck, I think I’m gonna cry.”

“You can cry,” Kakashi soothed, sinking his fingers in lush, dark hair. “Hell, I might cry.”

Shikamaru let out a wet chuckle. “Yeah.”

Kakashi’s face bowed, nuzzling the side of his head as he took a shuddering breath. He clutched Shikamaru closely, his breath shallow and his heart a warbling mess in his chest.

He couldn’t think about if she died. He would die, then, if not from sorrow then from a broken psyche. It was easier to focus on the beeping machines and Shikamaru’s sure, thudding heart. Kakashi tuned in on every shuddering breath, his palm mapping his expanding ribs.

His focus narrowed down to his senses, to Shikamaru, to Sakura’s fighting, beating heart and prayed like he never had before.

She was going to be alright.

She had to be.

[sebgender]

this is a diluc and kaeya angst fic! i would like to point out that their bond is 100% familial and platonic! (i Do Not support kae!uc whatsoever)

i posted this on wattpad and ao3 (@sebgender) and if you would like, you can follow me on twitter (@sebgender) as well!

i did not have anyone read this over so i apologize if there are any spelling or grammatical errors. i hope you enjoy!

—————————

gods.

kaeya has never had a strong belief in the gods. despite growing up in mondstadt, where they worshipped barbatos, he couldn't help but feel out of place. but who could he blame? born in khaenri'ah, a place without any deities who watched over the people, of course he would be skeptical of these so-called seven archons.

.................

it was the day aether and all the acquaintances he made while traveling teyvat would confront his sister and the rest of the abyss order. it had been gloomy since the morning, dark clouds looming in the sky.

aether had gone off to confront lumine personally, while the rest of them stayed back to fend off the mages and its subordinates. the knights of favonius were present as well. the acting grandmaster and captains leading groups out to fight, barbara and the other sisters on the side, healing and tending to the injured.

rain started to fall and things quickly became chaotic. the stream of enemies seemed never ending. more and more knights running out of energy and getting injured. kaeya's ears rang as he fought, becoming less and less aware of his surroundings. kneeling by one of the trees, a voice called out to him.

"big brother kaeya!! kaeyaaa!!!"

he whipped his head around to see klee sprinting towards him. even klee, the effervescent spark knight, seemed to lack her usual upbeat smile. her small legs carried her as fast as they could. his breath hitched. this was the first time he'd ever seen the girl so...shaken up? he couldn't tell if it was tears or rain that streamed down her face.

"klee? what's wrong? are you alright?"

she was crying. as she got closer, her sobs became more audible.

"we have to go!! he needs help!! he's hurt!"

she tugged at him, urging him to get up quickly. grabbing hold of his hands, she ran, pulling him back towards the direction she came from.

"klee, who's hurt? you have to tell me so i know"

she started crying harder, her grip on his hand tightening.

"aether's sister hurt him."

his eye widened before taking klee into his arms and taking off.

"klee, where is he?!"

"he's near the winery! master jean told me to go look for you."

"is jean with him?"

"master jean had to go get healed by barbara."

kaeya's patience was running thin. he was about to question her again but was cut off by a loud clap of thunder. running as fast as he could, he could make out three standing figures in front of the winery. there were knights scattered around. kaeya couldn't tell whether they were injured or dead. klee started to squirm in his arms as she tried to release herself.

klee let out a blood curdling scream and kaeya watched as the blonde figure sunk her blade straight through the shoulder of a read head.

"DON'T HURT HIM!!!!!"

klee sprinted towards them. aether limped, almost falling, and grabbed the girl and pushed her head into the crook of his neck. klee has been assigned to fend off hilichurls but now has witnessed diluc being injured. she should have never been put on the field today.

"KLEE YOU HAVE TO CALM DOWN!!" aether yelled.

"THAT LADY IS HURTING HIM!! MAMA SAID I HAVE TO PROTECT THE PEOPLE I LOVE. I HAVE TO HELP LIKE MAMA SAID!!"

klee was having a full on breakdown now; she sobbed and screamed while lashing around in aether's hold trying to get him to let go. diluc didn't as much as let out a wince before trying to raise his claymore again. it seemed that diluc had gotten to aether before kaeya and klee did. lumine was quick to pull out her sword, blood splattering on the ground. kaeya was stuck in his place.

move.

move!

WHY AREN'T YOU MOVING?! HELP HIM!!

his mind cleared as he saw klee rip from aether's grasp and run towards lumine.

"KLEE NO!!! LUMINE DON'T HURT HER!!!!" screamed aether.

kaeya sprinted after her and managed to grab her before she was in range of lumine's blade.

"klee, let big brother kaeya take care of this, okay? i need you to take aether to barbara. can you do that for me?"

she sniffled before nodding and running back towards the traveler. turning back towards lumine, his face dropped, not an ounce of emotion could be seen.

"kaeya. i'm surprised that you'd go to such lengths to protect the ones against you. have you forgotten who you are?"

"i could ask you the same. who do you think you are swinging your blade at a child?!"

"i wasn't going to hurt her. i was going to use the butt of my blade to knock her out at most. i still have morals."

"it sure doesn't seem like it. i told you that i no longer associate myself with the likes of you or khaenri'ah, for a mater of fact. i grew up here and i will protect it."

"kaeya, i thought we could work this out. we could have gotten revenge together. don't you want that? or would you rather stay stuck in a place, surrounded by the people who worship the same gods who never cared about you!?"

"if they didn't care about me, they wouldn't have saved me!! this is not a matter of my faith in the gods but me wanting to protect the place and people i love!"

"fine. then i'll just end you now."

lumine charged at him, kaeya quick to dodge. the two went at it for sometime, diluc long forgotten about by lumine. the pyro wielder kneeled, holding his wound as he watched the two fight. it was obvious that both were running out of stamina. at some point, kaeya's eyepatch has fallen off as well. his eyes were unfocused as he tried to play offense, but it wasn't enough.

time had suddenly slowed as kaeya watched her blade come closer and closer towards his heart. had he been quicker on his feet, maybe he could've helped more people. but of course, it no longer mattered. he was about to die. his eyes subconsciously closed, his body inviting the blade to end him — yet it never came.

seconds passed before he opened his eyes. diluc stood in front of him and as kaeya looked down, he saw the sword come out the other end.

"di...luc?"

as if on que, the man fell to his knees. his hands still firmly held the blade where he grabbed as lumine changed directions and stabbed him through his abdomen. the rain poured harder and lumine started making her retreat.

it was all making sense as he gripped his sword and started to charge towards the girl but a hand wrapped around his ankle, preventing him from going further.

"...it's not worth it. you'll get hurt."

"diluc, lay down, quick. we have to stop the bleeding. you'll be fine."

kaeya stumbled over his words as he layed diluc down on the wet grass. he took off his cape and pressed it against his wound.

"i'm sorry."

kaeya eyes snapped up to diluc's face.

"what are you apologizing for, you idiot...?just....shut up and save your breath. i don't know what nonsense you're spewing but now is not the time."

"there's no need for all the effort. i won't make it."

kaeya ignored the redhead and continued applying pressure to the wound while looking around for anyone who could possibly heal diluc. both his shoulder and abdomen were causing him to loose blood at a rapid pace. the grass he laid on was dyed a dark crimson.

diluc shook his head. it was futile, his efforts would be in vain. in around 5 to 10 minutes, he would die from blood loss. no words were exchanged, both men too scared to break the seemingly fragile silence.

"......why would you do that?"

diluc grunted in response rather than replying with words. kaeya gripped the fabric he held to diluc's abdomen even harder.

"...you fucking saved me. why?"

"because."

"because what?! what are doing protecting the same person who betrayed you, diluc?!"

"kaeya, i don't care about that anymore!! i haven't cared for years. i saved you because you are worthy of being saved!!"

silence again. it was deafening.

"you can't."

"huh?"

"you're not allowed to leave again. he said you have to stay with me, no matter what.."

at that moment, the red head laughed a genuine laugh. kaeya looked at him like he was crazy.

"you know, i never left in the first place. i've always been here. whether you wanted to take advantage of that, was up to you."

"don't give me that bullshit!! you left mondstadt for 3 years without your goddamned vision and we had no contact! i had no idea if you would even come back."

"but i did, didn't i?"

"it doesn't matter! you were surviving off the same delusion that killed your father! you could've been next!"

"our."

kaeya was dumbfounded. was diluc listening to a word he said? his answers were short, not making any sort of sense to blue haired man.

"he was our father, not just mine."

"is this really our biggest problem at hand?!"

"yes. you know how much he loved you. he cared for you as much as he cared for me. he is our father, it doesn't matter if you acknowledge it or not."

before kaeya could retort, diluc spoke again.

"he loved when you referred to him as your father. i remember the first day you showed up at the winery, looking confused as ever. he crouched down in front of me and asked me if i wanted a brother. he was willing to take you in from the very start."

kaeya had nothing to say as diluc's breathing became increasingly labored. yet, instead of taking it easy, he insisted on continuing his story.

"even when he saw you standing there, watching as he took his last breath, he didn't hate you. he never could. he told me to stay with you. selfishly, i left for three years but i came back....because i knew that's what he would have wanted."

"....why are you telling me this now?"

diluc's face had gone even more pale, sweat dripping down his face despite the cold rain. he wheezed and coughed as he spoke.

"to remind you that even though you're witnessing this exact scene again, you are not to blame. dad doesn't blame you, and neither do i."

"blame me for what? what scene? diluc, you're gonna make it. you aren't gonna die in the same place as crepus." kaeya laughed nervously.

surely it wasn't happening right? surely barbara would come running down here any second and heal diluc and they would go back to their daily bantering at the tavern. everything would go back to normal!

"no matter what you decide to do, please don't sell the winery."

"stop...stop! what are you saying right now?!"

kaeya became frantic once again, shouting out for help, only halting as he felt a hand fall on top of his own. kaeya's body temperature is always lower than others due to his cryo vision, but even with his pyro vision, diluc's hand felt colder than kaeya's.

"you have to keep going, alright?"

kaeya looked down at diluc, eyes filling with tears that he has not shed in quite a few years.

"kae......"

diluc's eyes conveyed everything single thing he could've possibly wanted to say in his last moments. so even with his limited words, he wanted to at least say something. so, with a smile and his last breath, he repeated the same words he told kaeya all those years ago.

"even if you don't think so, you were — and always will be — the best older brother i could have ever wished for."

as diluc's eyes closed, kaeya could hear the footsteps of knights behind him and his name being called out.

kaeya!

kaeya!

"KAEYA!!"

kaeya shook his head and rapidly blinked as he finally came back to reality.

"you were spacing out again and i still have some paperwork to do. i'm not trying to rush you but...."

"ah, so sorry jean. i...uh. i came to ask if i could change some of my info that is currently in the files?"

"oh? what would you like changed?"

kaeya's eyes dropped down to the now unlit pyro vision hanging next to his own.

"i think i want to change my last name... back to ragnvindr."

.................

but even with his little belief in the gods, kaeya found himself praying to them everyday — begging them to give him his little brother back. whispering apologies to the wind that he hoped barbatos would carry to diluc.

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 17, Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

———————————

I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 17 - The Demon King's Shadow (con’t)

Frelia's pegasus knight unit was continuing to desperately defend against an overwhelmingly large enemy army.

Their entire unit had already been nearly wiped out, and the remaining soldiers were putting all of their strength into defending the bridges. If they fell here, then the enemy could invade in one fell swoop, and the people of Narube would likely be massacred without resistance.

"Those who can move, take the citizens south!" Syrene, the leader of the pegasus knight unit, shouted as loudly as she could while swinging around her lance and fending off the enemy's onslaughts.

However, she hardly had any knights left that could follow that order. Even if the knights managed to get the children atop the pegasi, their wings were damaged, and they couldn’t fly. Even the citizens who had panicked and cried at first had already lost the energy to do that any longer, and exhaustedly slipped into utter silence.

They’d made a major miscalculation. The Grado Army had lost the capital, yet still had a large number of soldiers left.

If the knights thought only about themselves, then they had the possibility to take advantage of their pegasi’s mobility and retreat, but they couldn’t abandon the people of Narube just to escape.

“We’re at our limit, Lady Syrene! We’ll buy you some time! Please do whatever it takes to get out of here!” A knight wearing armor covered in blood yelled at her.

But Syrene shook her head.

She had no intention of running away until the very end. The bodies of the Frelian soldiers who’d exhausted all of their strength lay around her. She was ready to die here in battle herself as well.

Her only regret was that she couldn’t live up to Prince Innes’ hopes for her. She remembered the day that she’d officially become the leader of the pegasus knights as if it was yesterday. The prince had personally given her a beautiful whip and said that the pegasus knight unit was the pride and joy of Frelia, and he wanted them to fight for their homeland so long as they drew breath.

His words filled her chest with deep emotions. She swore to herself that she would devote herself to Frelia… and Prince Innes and Princess Tana.

The plan was to unite her forces with the prince’s at Narube River and fight together at full strength under his orders. However, before that could happen, she would probably see her end. Regret burned in her heart.

Her younger sister was together with the prince. That was her only consolation. If her sister could protect the prince when she couldn’t… then that was all she could ask for.

“Lady Syrene, that’s…!” One of the knights shouted.

Was it more enemy reinforcements? Just how much leftover strength could the Grado Army have at this point? 

The moment Syrene was about to succumb to her despair, she looked at where her soldier was pointing, and instinctively breathed a sigh of belief.

A large army was nearing from the south. They were still a considerable distance away, so she couldn't clearly make out who they were, but the color of their armor was different from that of the Grado Army.

"Is that… the Renais Army…?" The moment Syrene whispered, a single pegasus knight appeared from the oncoming crowd, and flew straight in her direction. 

Syrene knew who it was before her eyes could even confirm the rider’s face, as she could distinguish the slight but distinct strong wing movements and neck shaking of individual pegasi.

She smiled without even thinking about it, and felt a weight be lifted off her shoulders that had been with her since the beginning of the war.

“Commander Syrene, are you alright?!” The knight riding the pegasus shouted, and swiftly threw a javelin at a Grado soldier coming at her while avoiding his own attack.

She effortlessly hit her target, showing her strength. ‘She’s gotten so much stronger in such a short amount of time.’ Syrene thought.

“Vanessa, you’re here! Meaning…”

“Yes, Prince Innes and Princess Tana are with me! They are safe as well!”

“Thank goodness…” Relief warmed her heart. 

Vanessa continued in a commanding tone, “Please stand down, Commander! We’ll take it from here.”

“No, I...”

‘...am not severely injured,’ she started to say, but thought twice about it.

Both her and her unit were already at the limits of their stamina. Even if she continued to be stubborn and fight on the front line, she would do the exact opposite of help, and get in her allies’ way. It was wiser for her to retreat for the moment, recuperate, and then pick up her weapon again.

“Understood! I will stand down for now, and let your commander take over from here. Please tell them I said so.”

“Yes Ma’am!”

“And Vanessa.”

Vanessa tried to guide her pegasus higher into the sky, but Syrene called out to her again.

Vanessa turned back around and no longer had her previous tense expression on her face, perhaps because she had finally relaxed. 

Syrene responded in a casual tone, “It looks like you’ve been playing a very big role as a soldier of Princess Eirika’s guard. I was really worried when I heard that you’d been betrayed in Carcino, but… I finally feel at ease.”

“Thank you Ma’am…!”

"Your spearmanship has improved greatly since we parted as well. And you've become a bit more beautiful too."

Vanessa’s eyes widened at suddenly being teased, and her cheeks turned red. “S-Sister…!”

No matter how good their relationship was as sisters, on the battlefield, they were commander and subordinate. To Vanessa, who was so serious it made her formal and strict, keeping that distinction was of vital importance. But right now, even she had forgotten herself.

Syrene laughed out loud and guided her pegasus to softly spread her wings.

Her pegasus had taken an enemy attack, which seriously injured her wing. She wanted her beloved pegasus to be healed as quickly as possible. To a pegasus knight, her pegasus was more than just a simple mount. They were invaluable partners whose fates were linked to each other.

“I’ll see you again later, Vanessa.” Syrene parted ways with her sister for the time being, and her pegasus flew off, leading her exhausted unit.

The Renais Army had crossed the bridge and was coming closer. Syrene stopped her pegasus and landed on the ground.

Everyone was injured and bleeding. Their uniforms had been beautiful and stunning when they left home, but now, they looked like they never could have been such dazzling garments. However, each and every one of their faces were lit up like the sun.

Syrene knelt down on one knee before Eirika and bowed her head. “Reporting, Princess Eirika of Renais! The Frelian Army was surprise attacked by the Grado Army, and we regrettably lost most of our soldiers. But only a few of the people of Narube have been killed since the beginning of the attack, and the rest are safe.”

“Good work. All of you please take whatever time you need to recuperate.” 

Eirika’s voice was soft and kind. Just her words alone healed Syrene of her exhaustion.

“Are you alright, Syrene?”

She recognized Prince Innes’ voice, and looked up.

He was standing next to Eirika. Among his dirt-covered army, he stood out as the one refined person. He of course should be tired since he had traveled on a long journey together with the soldiers, but he didn’t show it in the slightest. His clothing looked as if a tailor had just dressed him.

“Lord Innes… I am sorry. The Frelian Army is unable to merge with Renais’ Army. We’ve suffered too much damage, and…”

"Never mind that. None of you have anything you need to worry about. We’ll take it from here.”

His words were reassuring. ‘It appears that Vanessa is not the only one who’s grown up while we were apart.’ She felt that Prince Innes had also become even stronger since the last time they’d seen each other.

‘Perhaps…’ Syrene thought. ‘Vanessa has become more beautiful because of Prince Innes?’ It was difficult for her to imagine Vanessa falling in love with any ordinary man. If he wasn’t a partner that she could respect with all of her heart, then he likely wouldn’t be able to steal it. And If there was any man that Vanessa could respect, it was of course...

“Syrene, do you know any information about the enemy commander?”

Innes asked her in a harsh tone.

Syrene shook her head. “There is a fort on the other side of the river. The enemy commander is using it as a base. I heard that it appears to be Prince Lyon leading the army. I have not been able to confirm that myself, but that is what my subordinates reported.”

“Hmm… Do you know anything about Prince Lyon? ...No wait, nevermind.” In a move that was entirely unlike him, Innes hesitated and changed his words. “Asking won’t change anything. For now, Syrene, please get healed, and return quickly to the battlefront. We still need your power.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

He seemed worried about Prince Lyon for some reason, but knowing that she and her soldiers were living up to the prince’s expectations made Syrene happy. The pegasus knights had survived their long, grueling fight, retreated for the time being, and were healed by Natasha and the other healers.

“Leave the front line to us. We’ll defend the northern bridge.” Ephraim said and charged his horse straight north. 

His loyal knights Forde and Kyle led his other soldiers and followed after him.

Eirika went with Seth and the others to save the citizens. The group totaled a few dozen men and women huddling together and shaking. Eirika talked to each of them individually to encourage them, helped the injured atop her horse, and led them to a safe place.

Eirika worked as hard as she could, trying not to think about anything she did not need to. But every so often, she would remember that wicked voice. Whenever she thought about Lyon and the pain the Demon King had caused him, she couldn’t stand the feeling she felt. 

‘I ate his heart.’ Or so the Demon King said. If she accepted his words literally, then Lyon’s heart was already gone, and his body entirely controlled by the Demon King. She did not want to believe that such a terrifying thing could be reality.

It had been for only just a moment, but she'd heard Lyon scream. “Run away…” He’d pleaded with all his might. “I’ll destroy you…” There was no way that could have been the Demon King’s voice.

Lyon’s heart had yet to be completely consumed. He'd nearly suppressed the Demon King’s consciousness, and was continuing to just barely manage to fight. He was struggling as hard as he could to remain in control. And that was why they had to press forward. They had to defeat the Demon King and restore his heart.

But on the other hand of that thought, the Demon King's last words weighed heavily on her heart. Ephraim told her not to worry about them, yet she couldn't help but think about them.

Kill Prince Ephraim, and claim Princess Eirika. The Demon King said that was Lyon's desire. A kind man like Lyon shouldn't have such a twisted and ambitious desire… or so she wanted to think, but her heart was no longer sure.

As Lyon was a sickly person, Ephraim had always been the object of his admiration. In situations like when Ephraim was praised by Duessel, or he won a match against a senior knight, Lyon would cheerfully say "You really are amazing, Ephraim!" Those were words of wonder and amazement.

At the time, Eirika didn't think much of it, and just took his words at face value. ...There hadn’t been any warped feelings hiding underneath that adoration, right? He thought Ephraim was amazing… and wanted to be Ephraim… but he couldn’t. Those feelings of inferiority hadn’t turned into jealousy, had they?

“Lady Eirika, we have finished leading the people to safety.” Seth reported.

The pegasus knights had also finished receiving their treatment, and were awaiting Eirika’s orders. Now was not the time to be guessing what was within Lyon’s heart. She had orders to give as her army’s commander.

“Let’s go! We will take the fort across the river and capture Prince Lyon!” Eirika hesitated for a moment, then added, “You must not kill him! We still have a lot of questions for him.”

Syrene and her pegasus knights immediately accepted the order and all flew up into the sky at once. The pegasi had all been healed alongside their riders, and their energy was restored. They flapped their white wings at full strength.

Seth looked up at the pegasus knights and said, “Lady Eirika, I understand how you feel, but Prince Lyon is already…”

“...I know.” She cut off the rest of his sentence, not wanting to hear it.

He looked straight at her. "Our enemy introduced himself as the Demon King. We still do not know whether he truly is or not, but if he is, then this is very serious. Even if we fight him at full strength, we still might not win.”

“...You're right.”

“It’s a shame that his heart is in chaos on the outside, but…”

“I know. I’ll be fine, Seth. I’m prepared to fight him.” Eirika nodded with conviction.

She couldn’t make Seth worry, and so she spoke those words to him immediately. In truth, she still didn’t know. Would she be able to turn her sword against him?

Eirika maneuvered her horse to the front line, where Ephraim's group was fighting. She shook off her hesitation and gradually picked up speed.

A harsh battle was unfolding on the northern bridge. Grado dragon knights attacked from the sky, making the fight difficult for Ephraim and his soldiers, but the pegasus knight unit rushed to their side, and started to change their situation bit by bit.

Pegasi were of a smaller build than dragons, but were utterly fearless. They flew bravely at the enemies' chests, and threw them into confusion. Once the dragon unit's movements had broken out into a panic, Innes and Neimi shot arrows straight at them. The arrows flew through the dragon's wings. Their cries pierced the sky, and their riders lost their balance and fell into the river.

Once Eirika's army finally captured the bridge, they used that momentum to continue moving east. They could now see the fort the enemy was using as their base.

"He's in there, right?!" Ephraim asked when Eirika rode up next to him.

Eirika noticed that her brother refused to refer to Lyon by name.

Perhaps Ephraim felt just as lost as Eirika, and that was why he was purposely avoiding referring to Lyon by name. If he said it aloud, it might dull his resolve to fight, no matter what else he did.

The enemy was waiting for them outside of the fort. Eirika's army shifted into a fan formation and surrounded the Demon King.

He had a cruel smile on his face, and waited calmly for them. He no longer seemed to have any interest in pretending to be human. His facial features were clearly Lyon's, but his expressions did not feel human at all.

'That's not Lyon… such a wicked, cold stare could never be Lyon's.' Eirika told herself. But she still could not rid herself of her hesitation, rather, she tried to find if Lyon was left anywhere in his face.

"...So you intend to challenge me?" The Demon King asked. 

The chilling sound of his voice made Eirika's horse tremble so hard she could not calm her.

"You are all so lucky to not yet know my true terror…”

"Get out of Lyon's body!!" Ephraim roared.

Eirika jumped. His voice was filled with an intense anger that she had never once heard come from him in her entire life.

Ephraim did not fear the Demon King, although perhaps it was more accurate to say that he was so infuriated by someone hurting Lyon that he forgot how afraid he was. 

Ephraim's powerful voice boosted the morale of Eirika's army, but the Demon King met Ephraim's anger by laughing at him.

"It's not healthy to make your blood boil, prince of Renais. Don't you get it? Prince Lyon and everything about him is no more. I ate him. This body is no longer his.”

"Damn you…!" Ephraim raised his lance, and his soldiers each readied their own weapons. The archers and mages behind them also prepared themselves to support them.

But the Demon King’s spell was faster. Its waves rippled through the air, and a split second after, a horse collapsed.

Eirika looked over at them and felt fear send a chill down her spine. The neck of the fallen horse was turning in unnatural directions as if a huge, invisible hand was twisting it.

“Nosferatu…?!” Lute gasped. As someone so confident, it was entirely unlike her, but even she was panicking. “Please be careful! That is an extremely powerful dark magic. If you take a direct hit, then…!”

The army’s movements fell into chaos. The terrified horses burst out into a full gallop and tried to shake off their riders. Only Seth, Forde, and a few others managed to keep control of their horses, while the other knights all clung desperately to their horses’ necks.

The Demon King cast another spell. Another horse fell down. 

The army was in a panic trying to rush outside of the spell’s range, but among them, Eirika was doing the opposite, and pushing ahead. 

Seth and Ephraim noticed her and rushed over to her, flustered. They stood behind her, ready to protect her, as she faced the Demon King.

His expression changed, sharp eyes narrowing in satisfaction.

Eirika tightened her grip around her horse's reins. Her horse stopped shaking, the strength of her resolve seeming to communicate with her mount.

"Can you hear me, Lyon?" Eirika said and stared straight into the Demon King's eyes. 

"It's useless!!" Ephraim shouted and tried to stop her, but she paid him no mind and continued.

"You're in there, aren't you, Lyon? Please do not abandon hope. We will defeat the Demon King and save you… so please, don't give in…"

The Demon King's expression shook ever so slightly. He furrowed his brow and glared at Eirika. "Pitiful girl… You still believe that there is any of Lyon's heart within this body? How fascinating. Then come here. I will tear you apart limb from limb with these very hands…"

"Get away from him, Eirika!" Ephraim shouted and kicked his horse's side. Seth followed after him a second later.

Ephraim thrust his lance with a sharp battle cry. The Demon King narrowly dodged a fatal blow, but blood sprayed out from his shoulder. Seth followed up without a moment's delay, thrusting his own lance. 

The Demon King flailed his arm around wildly, but there was no power in his movements.

"Support Ephraim! Archers, step forward!" Innes ordered, and swiftly shot an arrow of his own. 

His silver arrow pierced deep into the Demon King's chest.

'Stop!' Eirika tried to scream. 'If you kill him, then Lyon's heart will die, too!!'

The Demon King staggered, but his eyes did not lose the intensity within them. "This little is too much…? The human body is so frail." He muttered in annoyance and pulled the arrow out of his chest. Blood flowed from the wound. 

He glared at Eirika with eyes burning like a blazing fire. "I have learned the extent of your power. In this case… I will hasten my resurrection. I will abandon this frail body and return to my true flesh. That is the day when this continent will once again be shrouded in darkness. There is no longer a single place any of you can run to!” He said in a tone not unlike that of one giving a curse, and disappeared.

Ephraim yelled at him, “You’re running away?! Do you really think I’ll let you desecrate Lyon’s body ever again…?!”

Ephraim ordered the soldiers to search the area and turned back towards Eirika. “Are you alright, Eirika?”

“Yes…”

"Don't do anything reckless. You know he's not Lyon. The Lyon we were friends with is already…"

"Brother, I want to believe him. The Demon King says what he does, but Lyon's heart is still alive… he's suffering and waiting for us to save him. I can feel it." Ephraim furrowed his brow. His blue eyes clouded over with hesitation.

He was still suffering, too. Just like she was.

He sighed deeply. "...I understand. Right now, finding him comes first. Eirika, you rest for a bit."

"No, I'm going to search too…"

"Your face is terribly pale. You've pushed yourself past your limit. L'Arachel, could you please take care of her?"

L'Arachel was standing near him, so he called her over. 

Eirika went into a tent with L'Arachel, deciding that she would take a short rest.

ー

[charming-2d-boys]

Hi, I just want to say that I really love your writings and they actually really help me relax after a hard day!😊But today i just wanted to feel pain, so can I please have a dying! reader headcannon with Chrollo. If you do write for these, Im really sorry if you dont.

Oh, anon, who hurt you? I'll make myself cry, most probably 😭

Anyway, thank you and I'm glad to hear that! 😄 And thank you for the request as well! I hope you'll enjoy this! 🙇

A/N: the idea sorta came while listening to A Grave Mistake by Ice Nine Kills (I love the live version from SiriusXM, like please 😭💞). And I was so close to writing a scenario and then I read headcanons and I just kinds stopped like oh, yeah 😂

Warning: very long, angsty, description of injuries and death

you’d never thought it could hurt so badly

or that there’d be so much blood

but, alas, that was the unfortunate situation you found yourself in

the several gashes you’d acquired during your fight were making you dizzy from blood loss

your attacker had died a few seconds before, blood still flowing from the stomach wound you gave him

that was also the only serious hit you managed to land on him

unfortunately, you just knew that it only saved you for a bit more time

you had barely managed to get out your phone, only to see the screen cracked

and you were honestly scared it wouldn't work, but you felt relief when the screen lit up

you called Chrollo, but you had to put the phone on the ground, next to your ear

you had never felt happier to hear his voice

if only you could see him one last time as well...

Hello, love! And Happy Anniversary! Where are you? I hope you're on your way because I wouldn't want dinner to get cold-

Chrollo...

he suddenly went quiet as he heard you and you could hear shuffling in the background

(Y/N), where are you?

you told him, wheezing when you felt a sharp pain in your side as you tried to breathe in more air

you heard more shuffling before the city noise filled the background on the other end

Stay on the phone with me. Tell me what happened.

it hurt so badly to talk

your throat felt as dry as bone and also wet and the taste of blood was prominent

but you tried to talk, telling him about the one who attacked you while on your way home and how you tried to defend yourself, but their Nen far surpassed yours

apparently, your attacker had friends who wanted to destroy the Spider as well

and they would cling to anything that would hurt them or get them closer to the Phantom Troupe

you’d rather tell your boyfriend about this face to face, though

you did laugh and you heard his chuckle when you told Chrollo about the fatal hit you inflicted on your attacker

but when he asked you how bad your injuries were, you couldn’t answer

what were you supposed to say?

that you’d never seen so much blood in your entire life?

or that you could feel yourself slipping away?

(Y/N)? Talk to me, darling. I’m almost there. Just keep talking.

you told Chrollo about the cake you had bought and how you wanted to go on a date the next day or just sleep in and spend the entire day celebrating at home

he only hummed, hurrying over to you as fast as he could

good thing Shalnark installed an app on your phone that allowed Chrollo to pinpoint your location with accuracy

he swore he’d only use it in case of emergency and he’d kept his word

Chrollo felt his heart drop into his stomach when he saw your figure and all the blood surrounding you and the figure a few meters away from you

(Y/N)? I’m here now. Everything’s going to be fine, okay?

his hand caressed your cheek while the other hovered over your waist, where most of the blood seemed to come from

you leaned into his touch, smiling at him despite all the pain you felt and the numbness that started to overtake your limbs

Chrollo had already called Machi to heal you and Feitan, more for reinforcement than anything

and a few seconds later you could both hear them rapidly approaching you

Machi, please.

she only nodded and got to work, with Feitan going over to your attacker and inspecting him closely

Chrollo held your hand the entire time, smiling down at you and kissing your knuckles, hoping that you’d be saved and coming back with him injured, but alive

Machi managed to stitch most of your wounds and the bleeding stopped, but you were still pale and trembling from all the blood loss

How are you feeling, love? Better?

you wanted to say yes, just to keep that hopeful sparkle in his eyes

but you couldn’t

No... It hurts a lot... I don’t think I’ll-

Stop. Don’t say it.

Machi had gotten up and taken a few steps away from the two of you, still hearing you, but giving you some privacy

she’d done her best and you were thankful for that

you had felt her hands tremble slightly

you were friends and her boss’ lover

the idea of someone else she grew close to dying was making her sick

and Chrollo felt the same way

despite being around death so often and for his entire life, he still hated the idea of someone he cared about leaving his side like this

it was too soon

he still had so many things he wanted to experience with you and show you

he couldn’t lose you just like that

it wasn’t fair

there were tears forming in his eyes and you felt your heart clench in pain and pity when they started descending down his cheeks

your fingers wiped them away, the dry blood on your fingertips leaving faint marks where they got the blood wet again

Shhh... Don’t worry, we’ll meet again one day. Okay? And I’ll watch over you. So don’t cry anymore, please.

you were no better since you were crying as well

it really wasn’t fair

you didn’t want to die

you didn’t want to leave Chrollo

and seeing him actually react like this really moved you

as cool and charming as he always acted, even with you for the most part

you really didn’t think that he felt so strongly about you

you kissed the top of his head lightly as his face rested over your neck, lips pressing over the still warm skin and moving as if he was mumbling

or praying

Chrollo, sweetheart, please, look at me.

his eyes were teary and a little bloodshot as his hands were holding tightly onto yours

you looked so pale, but you still smiled at him

and Chrollo felt his heart crack

because it was his fault

he should’ve kept you safe

he was still trying not to be loud

and only you could see his face and feel his trembling hands

It’s not your fault. Understood? Don’t blame yourself. I want you to promise me this.

he couldn’t do that and you knew it

he’d always feel some guilt because this could’ve been avoided

if only he’d been with you, he could’ve protected you

just like he promised you

and he broke it

I promise.

he knew how stubborn you were sometimes

you wouldn’t take no or I can’t for an answer

not this time

I love you, (Y/N). I’ll always do.

his voice was anything but loud

this was only for you to hear and no one else

not even Machi or Feitan

So will I, Chrollo. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, alright?

you smirked playfully, though even you felt like it was a pitiful attempt at making everything more light-hearted

he cracked a broken smile and kissed your forehead, arms slowly lifting you up so he could hug you properly

you hugged him back tightly, hand going through his hair as his hands clung to your torn clothes, feeling the dry blood that had soaked through

it honestly hurt to stay like this

but it didn’t matter anymore

even now, you felt safe in his arms

his cologne always brought you this feeling of familiarity and home

and his skin was so warm that you never wanted to part with him

but you slowly started feeling even more sluggish

there were black spots gradually growing in size and numbers and you closed your eyes, letting your other senses heighten

his breathing was ragged but still quiet

his fingers were digging into your skin only a little

his grip tightened just as yours started to weaken

you could only press a kiss to his shoulder before you felt a few more tears fall onto your skin

if only you could apologise for making him cry, you would’ve done it

but you could barely open your mouth to utter a whimpered sorry

and the last thing you heard was Chrollo, thanking you for loving him

as he got up, with your lifeless body in his arms, cradling you protectively

Chrollo looked down at your face

you looked as if you were sleeping

just like that time when you went to an amusement park and he had to carry you home because of how tired you were

if only there wasn’t so much blood and your body was warmer

Machi and Feitan were looking at the both of you without saying a word

Machi’s eyes were shining with unshed tears

while Feitan grimaced behind his mask

things would never be the same now that you were gone

he could already sense the change in Chrollo

Feitan, do you know who he is?

Yes, seen him before. Yakuza from the northern side of the city. Had a clash a few months ago.

Chrollo only nodded and his fingers tightened their grip a little over your skin that was growing colder

Let’s head back. After all, we should forgive our enemies. But not before they are hanged.

Chrollo and the other two Spiders walked away from the scene in silence

every memory the two of you had built over time, good or bad, was burnt into his mind and kept replaying

he glanced at you again

you would never be forgotten

you would always be loved

Chrollo swore this

and swore to get even and kill them all

revenge is a confession of pain

and he had never felt so much of it before

[voiceless-terror]

I have been seeing those posts about ep 40 jon being injured and sleep deprived in the archives interviewing the others. Jon probably hasn’t come down from that getting wormed fear/adrenaline.. maybe he’s about to have a breakdown.. but tims there. Or martin or both. Also thank you for all the good content this year :)

Thank you for the lovely message! Had fun with this one, though I think I made it a tad more angsty than I planned to. Hope you enjoy otherwise, and happy holidays!

“...It’s just pain.”

Pain. That’s all. He can work through that, he’s done it before. The pills are wearing off, his entire body throbbing and wrestling with the feeling of hundreds of frantic, wriggling worms burrowing in and feasting- no, best not to think about that. He’s got to stay in control.

Control. Control is standing in his own office, leaning against his file cabinet surrounded by the corpses of worms with his boss sitting in front of him. His boss who is currently giving him an unimpressed stare, demanding that he go home. But it’s alright, he can do this.

It’s just pain.

Elias recounts what happened when Sasha came up to his office, alerting him to Prentiss’s attack. His voice is measured and controlled, but his face betrays a level of disgust that they all feel, the living reminder of which sits in front of him, bleeding and fidgeting as he tries to stay upright, squirming not unlike the-no. Stop.

He wishes he had the tape, but Sasha lost it in the confusion. This second-hand retelling is stale and hard to swallow. Elias sounds perfectly reasonable, as always, apologizing to Jon for taking too long with the CO2 to which Jon only replies “It’s fine. We’re alive.”

Just barely.

But then he talks about the scream. And Jon hears it all over again, that impossible sound of agony and rage that sung out as his world faded to black. And then Elias talks about how he stumbled upon them, compared them to fucking swiss cheese and he’s got to stop him, raising a trembling, still-bleeding hand. He doesn’t need to be reminded of that. No, Prentiss is gone. What he needs to focus on now is Gertrude- how she died, who killed her. If the person who did it was sitting in this very room. If he’s going to be next.

He imagines his body, lying forgotten in the tunnels as Gertrude’s did all those months. No one looking for him, no one caring. He’ll never get his answers, he’ll just lie there and rot like all those worms-

Elias gives no more useful information, repeating the story as if Jon’s being irrational and urges him to go home. You can barely stand. It’s true. But if he sits, he’ll have to look Elias in the eye instead of standing over him, grasping what little high ground he can. 

“Martin finding her body in the tunnels is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”

Is it? 

He sighs, succumbing to exhaustion and sinking to his seat.

“Can you send in Tim?”

________

Tim’s voice is strange and detached. He sounds...traumatized, which is of course to be expected. 

He’s probably still high, too. 

It’s odd, how these things affect them. It’s sharpened all of Jon’s edges to an untenable degree, every movement a sharp agony of tangled nerves that sends his mind spiraling. But it dulled Tim, left him foggy and so unlike himself. He stares blankly somewhere to the left of Jon, as if meeting his eyes and seeing his own injuries laid out before him like a warped funhouse mirror would be too much, would undo this strange facsimile of a workday that Jon’s tried to conjure. Just the two of them in his office, discussing a case. Pay no mind to the dead worms or the blood coating the ground and the desk and his arm and his leg and-

“...I mean, I went full Gas-Rambo.” Tim. That sounds like Tim. His voice may be wrong but the words are there, teasing and familiar. He comes back, clears his throat and nods. But then Tim keeps going, slides back into his memories and makes them lucid for Jon.

“You know that worm smell? That earthy, rotten smell?”

Oh, yes. 

It’s still there, cloying and wretched reminder that it is. Elias told him to leave the basement, told him that he and Tim needed fresh air. But Jon wouldn’t listen, he never listens. And that’s why they’re in this mess.

But the why is bigger than that, too. He needs to know why Gertrude was in the tunnels, why she was killed, why these statements disturb him so and why the Archives feel wrong, like an intruder’s in their midst. He thinks he knows where he can find the answers. 

“Could you...describe the tunnels?” Tim sighs, but Jon presses on. Perhaps through someone else’s eyes he’ll find the one detail he missed, the one thing that explains it all and gives him peace of mind.

It’s quite the opposite. 

Because the worms down there, in that room Tim found, weren’t trying to attack anyone. They were crawling, wrapping around each other to form a ring- no, a doorway. Jon’s mind fixates on the word and Tim stares resolutely ahead, looking weary and drained. He has to hold it together, just two more interviews and he can go home and rest (and think and weep and scream). He clears his throat, lowers his voice to the register he finds most authoritative and tells Tim to go home and get some sleep. Tim rolls his eyes at the action, but gets to his feet, slow and pained.

“Yeah. Sure.”

He starts to shuffle towards the door but something twitches out of the corner of Jon’s eye, a tiny, jumping movement like...like a worm. He lets out a whimper as his mind shuts down, starts tearing at his arms, ripping at the bandages because something’s still there, burrowing deeper into his skin and soon it’s going to hit bone and where’s the corkscrew, where’s Martin’s steady hands and strong grip, he needs help-

“Whoa, there!” Tim’s coming back but he shouldn’t be, not when there’s worms all over his desk, crawling and jumping and devouring.

“She’s- she’s still here, can’t you see?” Jon’s tripping over words, stumbling out of his seat as he tries to avoid the writhing mass he sees below him. “Get h-help, we need- Martin! Martin, are you there?” It’s hard to walk, hard to move but he does it anyway, grabbing at the wall for balance as Tim backs away- good, go, get out, get help-

 Rapid footsteps sound and Martin appears in the doorway, his eyebrows knit in concern. “What’s- oh Jon, you’ve ripped your bandages, let me-”

Jon doesn’t care about that right now. Not when he can hear their song, not when Gertrude was rotting in the walls for so long and he didn’t know, he didn’t know. She became a mystery and he will too, it’s just a matter of time. He grabs onto Martin’s arm, clawing at his jumper with desperate hands.

“She’s-she’s-”

“There’s no one here, Jon. She’s gone. The ECDC took care of it,” Martin’s just trying to placate him, he can see the pity in his eyes. Maybe he needs it. But if Prentiss is gone, that doesn’t mean the danger is. Even if he can tell himself there are no worms, it’s all in his mind, there’s still that nagging voice in the back of his head- you’re next. 

So he holds on tighter, dragging Martin down to his level with a movement that makes him flush. “You- you saw her, Martin. Gertrude. How did she die?”

“Jon, please, just sit down-”

He pulls harder, raises his voice. “How did she die?”

“Jon-”

“How?” 

“She was shot! Three times to the chest. Th-That’s what I saw.” Martin’s eyes widen, as if the words were torn from him involuntarily.

Shot. Shot. The words echo somehow in this small, cluttered room and Jon can’t wrap his mind around them. She wasn’t attacked by Prentiss, killed by some unknowable enemy. She was shot. With a gun. A gun wielded by someone who had a reason to take the Archivist out. Someone who might still have that reason. 

He staggers back, releasing Martin and collapsing with what might be a sigh or a wail- he can’t hear what’s coming out of his mouth. He dimly registers a hand on his shoulder, gentle and warm but it feels like a threat because something’s wrong here, something’s after him and maybe it’s Martin, who found the corpse. Maybe it’s Tim, collapsed silently in the chair. Maybe it’s Elias, telling him to go home where he’s alone and vulnerable and easy to get. So he scrambles back against his desk, breathing heavily with his arms thrown out in front of him.

Martin was right, there are no worms here. Prentiss is gone. And something worse, and perhaps much more human is waiting in the shadows.

“..just needs sleep and some painkillers. I can take him back, call us a cab-”

“-both full of holes, for Christ’s sake. Jon’s scratching at himself! I’m not going to leave you on your own.”

“This isn’t some fun archives sleepover, Martin, you aren’t missing out on anything, I promise-”

“Shut up!” Martin’s voice breaks through the fog, loud and commanding in a way it usually isn’t. Jon hazards a glance up to see him standing at full height and even Tim looks shocked, leaning back in his chair as much as it allows. Martin goes red, taking a deep breath and lowering his voice. “That’s not what this is about, just...just let me do this. Let me make sure you’re alright. Please.”

Tim pauses, but gives in with a sigh. “Fine. I drove in, bad day for it. You fine with driving us back, or should we take a cab? I need to sleep.”

Jon raises his voice, tired of being talked about as if he weren’t in the room and can’t make decisions for himself. “N-No. I’m not going back with either of you-”

“Quit it, Jon.” Tim gingerly rises to his feet, shooting a tired look at his hunched form. “Nobody’s out to get you, you just need to get some fucking sleep and you’ll feel better. Now get up, or we’re leaving without you.” He clearly doesn’t mean it, because he pauses and waits for them in the doorway, watching as Martin bends down to offer his hand.

Jon’s hand automatically reaches out to grab his, but he stops himself. Maybe it’s his best shot- if it’s one of them, they may not make a move if the other one’s present. If it’s someone outside of their group, their odds are better for fighting them off. But if it’s Tim and Martin, well.

Jon takes his hand. because what other choice does he have? Only bad ones, it would seem. Martin helps him to his feet. “Are you sure you can walk? I can-”

“I’m fine.” If he’s going to die, he’d rather do it on his two feet and spare himself the indignity of holding onto his killer. He lets Martin keep a hand on his back, though- he can’t walk without it.

Every slow step is agony; he ignores Sasha smirk on the way out and eventually finds himself bundled in the backseat of Tim’s beat up silver sedan. He considers asking for the passenger seat as his nausea might get the best of him back here, but thinks better of it. Better to be back here and alone.

But then he isn’t alone, because Tim hesitates and moves to the back, wincing as he sits beside him. Why would he do that? What does he want? Jon wraps his arms around himself and scoots as far as he can to the side, trying to focus on Martin fiddling with the car and not the presence beside him. The radio blasts as soon as the engine roars to life and Jon flinches back, fingers burrowing deeper into his arms.

Martin begins to drive, not saying a word as he pulls out into traffic; he knows where they’re going, but Jon doesn’t. Tim must see his confusion.

“Were you not listening? We’re going back to mine.”

Jon casts his eyes to the floor. “I-I don’t want to-”

“Do you have unexpired food at your flat, Jon?” His face heats up- he’d been living on leftovers in the Archives, so that’s a no. “Will you actually rest if you go back on your own? Will you-” There’s a hand on Jon’s own, gentle but firm as Tim pulls it away from his arm and forces it down to the seat. “-stop picking.”

“Sorry,” he whispers, but Tim doesn’t let go, just holds his hand in his and leans his head against the window, staring out at the road. Jon doesn’t pull back, no matter how much he wants to. He just looks down, staring at the larger hand on his own and wonders how easy it would be for Tim to break it. Just one good, hard squeeze and a crush of bone but no, Tim just absentmindedly runs his thumb over Jon’s knuckles and somehow this hurts more.

They must make an odd couple, he and Tim bandaged like mummies staggering up the steps with Martin at the helm. He’s been here a few times and he has to fight against the instinctive ease he feels upon walking through the threshold. Martin’s talking and Tim’s barking out short answers, dropping his belongings as he limps towards the bedroom and makes a dismissive gesture at Martin. Jon feels strangely outside of his body, looking in on a bastardized scene of domesticity through a foggy haze of pain and unreality. With a start he comes back to himself, and suddenly he’s on Tim’s couch; time must have passed for he’s wrapped in a blanket with a steaming cup of tea in his hands and a lump in his throat. And he’s talking, watching as Martin fixes his bandage with a careful hand. 

“...tapes are gone, Martin. Sasha said she lost them but I don’t understand-”

“Prentiss practically destroyed the Archives, Jon, I’m surprised more aren’t missing. Look, Tim’s already asleep, you should do the same-”

Sleep? How can I sleep when- “Someone killed Gertrude,” he whispers and his hands shake, tea dripping down the side of his mug and scalding his skin. “And they’re going to get me next. Can’t you see?”

Two hands wrap around his own- big, like Tim’s but softer and unscarred. Kind, but still capable. Of what, Jon doesn’t know. He lifts his eyes towards Martin and sees it- Martin’s scared too, doesn’t know what to do with Jon’s ramblings and doesn’t know how to comfort him or make it better.

“Drink your tea.” There’s an edge of hysteria in his voice, a naked plea that Jon finds unnerving. “And I’ll keep watch. You’ve- you’ve got us, Jon.” It’s so sincere. 

Jon wants to believe it. “I do?”

“Yes.”

He drinks his tea and feels the fogginess from painkillers he doesn’t remember taking slip over him, quieting the voice in his head to a barely audible whisper. The pain’s gone but the memory of it doesn’t fade; he stifles a manic giggle as a childish tune pops into his head. The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out!

His eyes drift shut as the cup is pried out of his grip, a gentle hand pushing him to lay down on the sofa. He hears the dull murmur of comforting words and a sniffle- he’s going to go to sleep soon, Martin will be the only one awake, and Jon doesn’t know what he’ll do or what he’s capable of. But he’s so, so tired. And he may not trust Martin, but he wants him to stay.

He wakes only once during the night to see the outline of Martin sitting in a chair, scribbling something in a notebook. It’s so innocuous he can’t help the tiny noise of relief that slips out of his mouth. 

Martin doesn’t even look over, just quietly tells him to go back to sleep as if he’s hushed him a few times already. Maybe he has. The normalcy of it is like a peek into some universe he’s not yet privy to; Jon knows he shouldn’t trust the comfort of it. And yet. 

He goes back to sleep.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28252950

[troublesometrollhunters]

uh,,maybe draal and bular(or anyone else you can choose)with someone who always brushes off pain? like, they get stabbed or something, and just very bluntly say "ow" and/or make a joke about it. theyre always covered in bandages nd shit too. like, they just dont care about thenselves at all. thank you for your time, and feel free to ignore me if you dont wanna do it.

 Bular

~ Bular finds it amusing at first. He’s worries about you at the beginning of the relationship but now he just thinks its funny. Someone stabbed you? Oh cool a new knife!

~ He’s not much a healer but when you became partners he learned fast because you bleed a lot when your injured. Trolls lick each other after they’ve been wounded in battle so be prepared for hours of him grooming and licking your wounds before he carefully bandages them.

~ Bular now carries an excessive amount of bandages in his kilt pouch to battle and knows more about medicine then he should know, but its all for you so he doesn’t care. As long as your alive he allows you to get as hurt as you want.

~ When he learns that you allow yourself to be hurt in battle not because of strength but because you just don’t care that’s when he becomes angry. Warriors who chase battle is one thing, warriors who chase death is another. He watches you more closely in battle and waits for a time to discuss his concerns with you.

~ Eventually it’s brought up and a small fight ensues but eventually he’s calmed down with horn scratches and gentle pets. He nuzzles into you admitting he doesn’t want to loose you and that he truly loves you.

~ The wounds go down slightly and your more careful in battle but you still get hurt. A L O T.

~ The troll knows you can handle yourself. You may always be hurt or suffering from some sort of injury but your always inflicting twice the amount of pain that's inflicted on yourself. He cares about you and over time you two teach each other how to love each other and take care of your bodies.

Draal

~ A warriors kindred spirit! Yes!

~ He’s always complimenting your new battle scars and smiling as you show him any new wounds you’ve received. He loves to lay next to you listening to you tell him stories of your adventures as you pet his scruff.

~ However when Draal learns its not a warriors spirit that drives you in battle but the fact you just don’t care about yourself or your body, he gets worried. You’re his love, his life and he cares about you. He doesn’t like that your letting yourself get hurt because you don’t care enough to take care o yourself in battle.

~ Draal begins watching you much closer and learns some things from the local healer. He’s worried that your being to harsh against your body and that their will be serious repercussions. He starts lecturing you and taking you to the Forge to learn proper blocking skills and dodging maneuvers.

 ~ It gets to a point Draal thinks your going to die and bans you from trollhunting until you promise to be more careful and learn better coping skills. Warriors are renowned and remembered fools who die in war are forgotten.

~ You still make mistakes and get pretty badly injured but it isn’t as bad as it used to be. He’s happy with the progress and you two work on pushing each other without hurting one another.

[crystalirises]

Even Gods Bleed

Hello! So this is a prompt given to me by chaoticbandito in ao3 and I have their permission to post it on Tumblr :)

Also, slight explanation Quackity still has some beef with Techno here but Fundy is not part of the Butcher Gang and instead lives with the SBI (why? Because I said so.).

Tommy is rescued from exile instead because Phil can be a good dad in this prompt XD. Lastly, the differently formatted one lines (bold or italics) are meant to be the voices.

Did I forget Ranboo? No. He's sleeping, I swear!

Yes, I forgot about Ranboo because I am a fool ;-;

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

Techno let out a tired breath of air, glancing down at his younger brother who was busy tending to their sheep companion. Ghostbur glanced over at him, a toothy grin on his face as he gave Techno a little wave. A trail of blood was left in their wake as they stumbled towards the cabin they're entire family lived in. Techno wondered when Quackity would finally realize that attacking him was fruitless… and to think the duck hybrid had tried to drag Ghostbur into it. Techno growled under his breath, wishing that Quackity would just get the message and leave them all alone.

"Are you sure Quackity will be alright? I think you killed him with too much force this time." Techno grunted at the question, slightly irritated that Ghostbur had completely forgotten what had just occurred a moment prior. He casted his blood red eyes at his transparent younger brother, feeling all sense of annoyance disappear as he looked into those warm brown eyes. Ghostbur needed to forget, best not let him remember Quackity threatening to kill Friend in front of them. Techno would give up a life if it meant Ghostbur could never remember his trauma. "Friend says thank you, by the way. I don't know what for but I'm so glad you two are getting along. You and Sally used to fight a lot when she…"

Ghostbur stuttered to a pause, an eerie silence following, only interrupted by the occasional loud gust of wind. A blizzard was in the air, he could sense it. Techno simply sighed, knowing what came next. "Oh. Hi, Techno!"

"Hello, Ghostbur." Techno winced, gritting his teeth as though speaking took too much of an effort. He shrugged it off, too focused on getting his younger brother home before any other nuisance decided to show their face. The sun was beginning to set in the distance, the harsh chill of snow biting at the tips of his ears as he took in another deep breath. He'd never thought he'd hate the cold as much as he did right then. "We're headed home."

"Oh? Where did we go before?" Ghostbur's airy voice barely registered, his mind stuttering to a stop as he strained to remember what his brother just said. Ghostbur floated into his view, his eyebrows drawn together. "Techno?"

'Uh oh…'

'Do we tell him?'

'Duck's fault'

'TechnoPain'

'awwww concerned Ghostbur…'

'snow is cold'

'DO WE TELL HIM???'

'no, you nerd'

'Blood…'

'let him find out—'

"Techno?" The voices ceased their chatter, their whispers disappearing into the back of his mind as he simply gave Ghostbur a small nod. Ghostbur placed a hand on his shoulder, eyes narrowing as he searched for something. Techno patted the ghost's hand before trekking back towards the cabin. The sooner they get home, the sooner Techno could retire to sleep. Although why he felt the need to sleep was beyond him. After a few minutes, the pair stopped a few paces near the entrance. Ghostbur still hovered behind him, gaze strangely fixated on Techno's side. Techno gave him a short glance before reaching out towards the nearly frozen doorknob. Darkness had begun to seep into their surroundings, the brutal tundra air beating at his exposed skin. Techno shivered, clutching his blue coat with his free hand. "Techno, why didn't you—"

He threw the door open, cutting off the ghost's sentence as he stumbled his way into their warm home. He waited as Ghostbur and Friend made their way inside, closing the door with a soft thump behind them. Techno didn't stay behind to listen to whatever it was Ghostbur had wanted to say. Quickly draping his coat on the coat hanger, Techno walked deeper into the cabin, intent on making his way to bed. He wanted to sleep. His body ached for it.

"Hold on a second, mate." A familiar chuckle reached his ears as a pair of injured white wings blocked his path. Phil emerged from one of the rooms, a soft smile on his face. "Dinner should be ready soon, would you like—"

'potato soup again?'

'hmmmm no dinner tonight…'

'this should be fun'

'oh whoops'

'potatoes have ruined our lives'

'Phil'

'Tell Phil'

'Philza'

'Dadza'

'DADZA—'

Phil was not a man who was scared easily, having spent nearly half of his waking days nursing his one remaining life. No, he was not a faint hearted man. Once, he was a king. An angel whose very presence struck fear into all those who heard the flap of his wings. He was Philza Minecraft, after all. Yet, as he watched his eldest son topple to the ground, his breathe stuttered to a stop. He stood there frozen for a moment, heart beating madly in his chest until he finally found it in himself to move. He crouched down beside Techno, his hands hovering above his son's all too still form. A metallic scent reached his nose, his eyes flickering about until he saw crimson seeping out of Techno's side. He heard the crack of feathers, his wings morphing into sharp steel at the thought of anyone daring to even hurt one of his sons. Phil tried to keep himself calm, revenge could wait. He had a son to take care of, "Fundy! Tommy! I require a bit of assistance here, please!"

He hears the rush of footsteps from above as he tried to press his shaking hands against the wound. Ghostbur floated into view, his pale ghostly face turning nearly transparent as he took in his brother's unmoving form. Phil wished he could comfort his son but he couldn't, not when he himself was too busy trying to bite down the panic and rage that threatened to spill from his chest. How dare… how dare they try to take away another one of his sons? Phil bit down the bottom of his lip, forcing his mind to concentrate on Techno. His poor son who looked too peaceful, felt too cold to the touch. Phil was going to rip into whoever had the fucking gall to come to their territory and attack one of his sons. He gritted his teeth, nearly cracking them as he tried to quell his fury and horror.

'Killza…'

'Killza…'

'Killza…'

His blood was wet with blood, reminding him of a time where he had been in this situation, where had to watch one of his sons die by his blade. Phil held back his sorrow. Techno wasn't going to die. Phil won't be losing another son anytime soon. It was a deep cut on the side, but Techno will survive it. He will survive it. Techno wasn't going to lose one of his lives like this. Not if Phil had anything to say about it.

Tommy and Fundy finally reached him, their faces stricken with surprise as they saw the limp form of Technoblade. Phil bit back his dry chuckle. Of course they were surprised, no one had ever seen Techno so vulnerable before, but Phil had… once. They quickly snapped out of it, reaching out to help Phil as they all made their way towards Techno's room. They struggled to place the pig hybrid onto the bed, but after a while, they finally did it.

"Tommy, can you get me some bandages and a healing potion." Phil's voice was but a whisper, yet he heard Tommy leave the room anyway. Phil placed a hand on top of Techno's head, petting his son's soft pink hair.

"He'll be okay, right? He isn't…"

"He'll be fine, Fundy."

"... Technoblade never dies…?"

"That's right." Phil smiled at his grandson's words, that old phrase bringing a bit of comfort to him as he glanced over at Fundy. He placed a hand over Techno's, his fingers cold to the touch. Fundy didn't need to wait before grabbing the folded blanket, placing it over Techno to keep him warm as they waited for Tommy to come back. Fundy twitched, picking at the sleeve of his shirt, his gaze never leaving his uncle's form. Phil knew how sensitive Fundy could be at the sight of… probable death. "Thank you. You should probably go check on Ghostbur, I'll handle it from here."

Fundy gave him a small nod before rushing out of the room, nearly bumping into Tommy who had brought more bandages and healing potions than necessary. The blonde tried to mask his fear, but Phil knew his sons, knew their small gestures and what they meant. Tommy's bright blue eyes were blown wide open, his fingers twitching as he made his way to Phil's side. Phil gently took everything from his son's hands, holding onto one of the healing potions as reached out towards Techno. As he slowly helped Techno drink the potion, he could hear Tommy pacing behind him, his sneakers scuffing against the wooden floor. "I'm going to kill the son of a bitch who did this. Ohhhh, when I get my fucking hands on them— I mean, h-how dare they come in here and hurt Techno? What fucking—"

"Tommy, I'm going to need you to calm down. We'll talk to Techno in the morning and strategize, but for now you can help Fundy with Ghostbur." Phil slowly sat back down, empty bottle in hand as he turned to face his youngest son. Tommy looked like he wanted to argue, his hands curled into fists as he glared at the wall. If there wasn't an impending blizzard, he had no doubt Tommy would be rushing to fight whoever had done this. "Tommy, please."

"Is Techie going to be okay?" Tommy turned to him, the shine of tears in his eyes as he rubbed a hand at his mouth. His poor son… they'd recently just saved him from exile. "He's going to be okay, right dad? He's Technoblade!"

"He'll be fine, Tommy."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Now, go ahead. I'll stay here."

Tommy hesitated for a minute, his brows creasing together before he finally stomped off into the hallway, screaming profanity at an invisible enemy. Phil shook his head, taking one of the bandages as he focused his entire attention to Techno. The wound was beginning to heal, the potion's effects fixing the damage done against his son. A scar would remain but he knew Techno wouldn't mind it, scars already littered most of the piglin hybrid's skin, what was one more to him? Phil began to dress the wound, knowing that Techno would still feel sore tomorrow regardless of the potion. He nearly cursed as he dropped the bandage, his hands still shaking from the sudden scare he had just gotten.

New L'Manburg was dangerous, far too risky and too paranoid than any nation he's visited. To come to their home under the pretense of hurting one of their own was an unofficial declaration of war. Phil reached for another roll of bandages, wrapping up the wound the best way he knew how. A part of him thought of how he shouldn't be so well-practiced in dressing wounds, thoughts of the times where he's had to help his own sons flashing through his head. Though he knew quite well that at least two of his son's were grown adults, he couldn't stop the undeniable guilt of knowing that they'd been exposed so badly to the cruelties of the world. He'd lost one son to death, and yet it felt as though he'd lost all three.

Techno was plagued by voices.

Wilbur was dead . His poor son is gone .

Tommy was haunted by his exile.

Phil laid his head against the mattress, a hand still holding on to Techno's. He was going to keep his family safe. He'd let them heal here… in their cabin. Phil wasn't going to let them break. Never again. He was here, and he'll die before anyone dared try to hurt them.

He stayed and fell asleep by Techno's side, his hand's hold never wavering even as he woke the next day. As he glanced up, a pair of warm, blood red eyes greeted him. A smile found its way to Phil's lips.

"Good morning, Techno."

"Good morning, dad."

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

;-; I've never even written Phil or Techno ;-;

[johaerys-writes]

Where Blood Roses Bloom

Fandom: Castlevania Pairing: Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades

Summary:

After Trevor gets grievously injured by a night creature, he and Sypha return to Dracula's castle to seek Alucard's help. The man they find there, however, is but a shadow of the friend they left behind.

Meanwhile, in far Styria, Hector does his best to survive in the vampires' court, a lamb amidst wolves. Little do the wolves know, the lamb has fangs of its own.

Chapter 2: Friends is up! Alucard POV, and a fair bit of introspection as he tries to come to terms with Sypha and Trevor returning after being gone for so long, and what that could mean for their (once) friendship.

Read here or on AO3! Read Chapter 1

Adrian’s footsteps ring hollowly along the empty corridor. He walks without thinking, with swift and purposeful strides that take him as far away from the room where Belmont is lying already half dead, and Sypha is wringing her hands in worry.

There is a stream of light pouring in from one of the windows along the dark hallway. Motes of dust bob and dance, shimmering iridescent in the early morning sun. Adrian walks towards it, presses his palm to the smooth, cold stone of the windowsill. His hand, he notices absently, is shaking.

What on earth just happened? What is he doing? What was he thinking, opening that damned door?

After that night —that dark mark in the series of dark marks that seem to be making up his life now— he swore he would not open that door for anyone ever again, unless it was to end them, swiftly and decisively. While sharpening the stakes that would hold Sumi and Taka’s lifeless bodies, he swore that those two would be the last to ever cross the threshold of this God-forsaken place alive. That he would remain in eternal solitude, feared and reviled, a prisoner in his own home, but at least he would be left in peace.

Barely two weeks later, and not only has he let Sypha and Belmont in, he practically carried them in himself.

Sypha’s frantic banging on the door caught him unawares. He never intended to open, not even when he realised it was them, but her desperate pleas called to him in a visceral, instinctual way. When he saw her red, tired eyes, her haggard appearance; when his eyes fell on Belmont —a miserable pile of blood-stained clothes and hair matted with feverish sweat, bleeding on his doorstep — his mind froze for a moment. There were no thoughts, not really, just shock, worry, and that deep, gut-twisting fear: please don't let him die, not him, not him, too.

And all this for Belmont. Trevor fucking Belmont, who can’t go two seconds without insulting and pushing and prodding him, even when he’s one foot in the grave already.

“Mad,” Adrian whispers under his breath. He had his doubts before, but now he is sure: he is utterly, undeniably mad. He has finally lost whatever is left of his mind.

He shakes his head as he pushes himself upright. For a moment, he wonders what in the seven Hells he’s supposed to do with them, with the mess that has been thrust in his hands. Belmont’s condition is worse than he thought. The wound is deep and ugly and festering, and unlike anything he’s seen before. It’s a miracle how the man is still on his feet; if he weren’t built like a tree Adrian is sure he would have been dead long before.

His feet take him straight to the upper floors, where he had been before Sypha and Belmont showed up. The large, dusty room with the tall floor-to-ceiling windows that his mother once used as her study is the only place he seems to be able to find any sort of peace these days. He has taken to sorting through her old medical journals; a long, painstaking process, but oddly comforting. There are still piles upon piles of leather bound books, notebooks and scrolls that she never took with her to that small cottage she had taken to living in and treating the peasants from the nearby villages during the last few years of her life. Adrian remembers thinking of taking them to her even then, mere months before she was taken, but he never did. Now he’s almost relieved, in a way, that he never did; at least he still has something of hers that the humans -those vultures- never managed to burn. As poor a consolation as that may be.

He walks to the tall cabinet made of elegantly carved dark wood that stands at the far end of the room. It is where his mother kept most of the ingredients for the medicine she used to make. It takes him a moment to find what he needs: dried wormwood and red dead nettle to alleviate pain and slow the course of infection, wild radish powder for the fever, a strange-looking mushroom that, when pounded into a paste, can stop the progression of even advanced gangrene, or so his mother told him once. Adrian takes them all to the work table that hasn’t been used in years, wipes the dust off the mortar and pestle and disinfects them with alcohol, and gets to work.

There is something soothing about mechanical tasks, about using his hands, he thinks, as he grinds the ingredients into a paste. He is so used to drifting aimlessly through the cold, dark corridors, to watching the days pass in a slow, never-ending stream, that moving with such purpose and urgency now is a welcome change, even if the cause for it is anything but.

He has something to do. The almost pleasant buzz of excitement in his stomach while he waits for the brew to boil over the old stove is a surprise.

~

“You’re back!” Sypha says, hardly a second before he has finished knocking on their door. The dark circles under her eyes still betray her weariness, but her smile is wide and relieved when she looks up at him. The fire that’s crackling in the hearth fills the room with pleasant warmth, and Sypha’s cheeks are flushed and rosy.

Adrian opens his mouth to respond, when a strained groan from the bed cuts him short. “Was about bloody time.”

Belmont is lying on his back, exactly where Adrian left him. He looks paler than death, his cheeks gaunt and sunken, the pillow and sheets drenched in his sweat already, yet he still manages a small, smug smile when he elicits an icy frown from him. “Thought you might have lost your way.”

“Fortunately, not all of us possess your embarrassing navigation skills, Belmont,” Adrian replies smoothly as he makes his way to the bed.

Belmont laughs hoarsely, “Excuse me? I have embarrassing navigation skills?”

“Yes. How would you call getting lost in an abandoned village of approximately ten houses, and ending up ankle deep in pig shit? That wasn’t too long ago now, was it?”

The other man groans and rolls his eyes. “Christ, it was one time. And I didn’t get lost, I was looking for booze.”

Adrian lifts a brow. “In a pig pen. Really. Even for you, that's a first.”

“What fault is it of mine that the storage room was right next to the pen? And part of the wall had collapsed, as you may remember, so I couldn’t get there any other way.” Belmont narrows his  blood-shot eyes. “I don’t remember you complaining any when you drank half the wine that night. After scoffing down most of that wheel of cheese I managed to bring back, of course.”

Leaning against the bedpost, Sypha lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Leave it to you two to start bickering about something that happened months ago, and everyone else has forgotten but you.” She shakes her head, but Adrian can see the small, fond smile that tugs at the corner of her lips. It startles him how much he has missed seeing it. The warmth that spreads through him at the sight startles him even more.

It feels odd to be around them. It is odd, certainly, how easy it is to slip back into that familiar rhythm, without even thinking about it. The paradox isn’t lost on him. There was a time, however brief, that he had thought of those people as friends. Or something very close to that, anyway.

What were they now? Could he afford to trust them, like he once had? Could he trust anyone?

He straightens, his amusement dying abruptly. They are both staring at him curiously, unnerved by his sudden silence. The grey light of morning that pours in through the windows highlights the sickly pallor of Belmont’s countenance, casts sharp shadows on the concerned frown that furrows Sypha’s brow.

Adrian hands Belmont the vial, then takes a step back. “Drink it now,” he says flatly, “while it’s warm. It won't be much use, after.” That should stop the man from talking for a while, he hopes. It does something strange to him, when Belmont talks. It makes him feel —almost— human.

Belmont takes the vial he is offered without a word. He tips it over his lips with trembling fingers, winces as he swallows. The medicine is quick to work. His features swiftly relax and he sinks back into the pillow.  

“Ah, that’s better,” he sighs. “Sweet, blessed oblivion.” He is fast asleep in seconds.

A tense, uncomfortable silence spreads between Sypha and Adrian after Belmont is asleep. He doesn’t really know what to say to her. He’s not sure whether he wants to say anything at all. Her bright blue eyes on him make him uneasy. They always have, a little. It is like they can see right through him.

“The wound should be cleaned and dressed again,” he says matter-of-factly. “As often as possible. The less chance of infection there is, the better. I’ll bring some fresh water and bandages, you get him out of the rest of his clothes. Can you do that?”

Sypha nods sharply, and pushes her sleeves back.

By the time Adrian returns, she has managed to remove most of Belmont’s travel stained clothes without disturbing his injury. They only exchange the briefest of words as Adrian cleans the wound and applies the antiseptic he brought, then they both dress him in clean clothes. The shirt is one of Adrian’s own, and it is a touch too snug around the shoulders and Belmont's thick arms, but anything other than what he was wearing is a significant improvement.

As he stands back to let Sypha do the rest of the work, he notices the certainty and familiarity with which she handles Belmont. It hasn’t been lost on Adrian that their relationship seems to have changed and grown since they both left the castle. When she pushes a stray lock of hair behind Belmont’s ear, and gently presses a cool, damp cloth on his fevered brow, it leaves Adrian with no doubt.

They are together.

The realisation shouldn’t have made his heart tighten like this. An ugly feeling, something akin to jealousy, something that is eerily close to despair, rises in his chest. Sypha and Belmont are together. He wonders how he didn’t notice straight away. Of course he knew upon first seeing them that, during the months they’ve been away, travelling together, their bond has grown stronger than it was before they left. It was only a natural consequence of their way of life. But this…

He stares without meaning to. He watches as Sypha tends to Belmont, as she wipes the grime and sweat away from his face with so much tenderness, and he knows that she not only cares for him: she loves him. The realisation drives those twisted feelings deeper in his heart, when he wants nothing to do with them. Before he knows it, he’s already trying to imagine what it must feel like, to have someone care about him, so much, so deeply. He imagines what it must feel like, to be with something like this, to sleep next to them every night. He pictures Belmont’s arms coming around her, pulling her against his broad chest; he pictures him smiling at her, kissing her full, rosy lips.

Adrian tries to imagine what it would be like, if it were him.

It is a quick thing, effortless. He can almost see her responding to his touch, leaning into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He imagines her laughing at his jokes, gazing at him with love and adoration, like he’s something precious, something good, and his heart aches with a sort of longing he has long thought he is incapable of feeling.

He swallows thickly and drags his gaze away. What is it to him, if Sypha and Belmont are together? Nothing. Neither of them means anything to him. As she takes her time tending to him, he only wonders idly how she has managed to stay so close to the man, let alone sleep next to him. On the best of days, Belmont smells as if he’s been dipped in stale, sour beer— among other, fouler things that Adrian doesn’t want to think about.

Certainly, the man is quite handsome in a somewhat —or incredibly— rugged sort of way. Adrian can see the appeal, if dimly. That still doesn’t change the fact that Belmont is a boor and an insufferable lout and, frankly, more stupid than mud.

“There,” Sypha says quietly, laying Belmont’s head carefully back on the pillow, as if she were cradling an injured bird in her hands. “That should do it.” She wipes her palms on a clean cloth nearby and turns to him. There is something bright gleaming in her eyes. Hope. Adrian knows that look. “Did you find a cure?”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that.” He busies himself with cleaning his hands and pushing his shirtsleeves down so that he doesn’t have to see the hope wither on her face. “I have not seen a wound like this before. I need more time to figure out what we’re dealing with.”

“Oh.” He might not be looking at her, but he still hears the wind go out of her sails just a little. “Well. The medicine you gave him buys us time. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes, a little.”

“Good.” She nods and straightens, her jaw set in determination. “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go.” Adrian blinks at her, and a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “Did you think I was going to leave you to look for the cure alone? I’m going to help you.”

“That… will not be necessary,” he says, a bit too quick. “I am perfectly capable of—”

“Nonsense.” She walks to the armchair by the window and picks up her cloak. It looks worn and the hems are mud-stained, but the way she throws it over her shoulders with so much grace and purpose makes her look fierce, almost… regal.

Her large, round eyes are on him now, and the intensity of her gaze leaves him breathless. She gestures towards the door.

“Shall we? We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

He finds himself complying readily, without wanting to, and it irks him.

~

They don’t speak much as they walk through the empty corridors. Sypha follows him quietly- her footfalls are light, probably soundless to anyone not possessing Adrian’s heightened senses. Only the whisper of the fabric of her robes around her ankles as she walks, and the sound of her breathing. It is smooth and calm, and only a little bit heavy. It is not difficult for Adrian to tell that she is keeping herself upright through sheer will and determination. It is admirable, really, and it makes him want to reach out to her, hold her hand perhaps, but he thinks better of it.

“There we are,” he says as the wide doors of his father’s library come into view. The hinges protest loudly when he pushes them open. Adrian hasn’t walked in that place in months— no, years. He has purposefully avoided it all the time he’s been there, yet he is left with little choice now. His father’s collection of books and magical scrolls is impressive; he always had a fascination with medicine. If there is information to be found on how to treat night creature wounds it has to be here, if it is not in the Belmont library. Adrian prepares himself mentally to visit both of the places he least enjoys visiting, if he has to.

He stands at the threshold for a breath, letting his gaze sweep over the expansive room. The neatly stacked shelves, the vials and the oddly shaped instruments his father used to collect are exactly as they used to be, not one of them out of place. There was once a time when Adrian would spend the majority of his spare time there, the countless books and scrolls his only company in that castle when he was growing up. It had been a comfort for him then, yet the sight of them now just makes him feel… hollow.

It was odd, how a man as transfixed with death and blood as his father went to so much trouble to keep the art of healing alive throughout the centuries. It seems like a farce now, a joke, a twisted image of reality that has no place in that world. Yet here it is before him, staring at him, laughing in his face. It is like looking at his reflection in a broken mirror.

Sypha’s shoulder brushes his own as she takes a step forward and into the room.

“This is amazing,” she says under her breath. She spins in a small circle, gazing around her in awe. “Look at all these things! There must be something here that we could use.” She walks swiftly to one of the low tables filled with the strange apparatuses his father liked to construct. She carefully pokes a brass, bell shaped instrument with the tip of her finger. “What is this?”

“A bloodletting cupping vessel, used by Ancient Roman healers. A long, long time ago.” Adrian drifts near her, coming to stand beside her. She straightens, and as she pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, he catches a hint of peach blossoms, of jasmine. Her soap, he assumes. He takes a deep breath, trying to discern the scents. Jasmine and peach blossoms, a hint of fresh hay, and is that sweet, slightly musky smell hers?

Before he knows it, he’s taken a small, perceptible step closer to her. Yes. That scent is definitely her. Jasmine and peaches, and that faint musk that is her, sweet and sharp like fresh cream—

He stops himself abruptly, drawing back as if stung. What on earth is he doing? He clears his throat discreetly and walks away. “And this is the funnel that goes with it,” he says, feigning disinterest, nodding at another apparatus nearby. “It is to collect blood for tests.”

“Tests?” Her eyes widen and focus. It unnerves him when she does that. Whenever she looks at him like this, it makes him feel like he is the only person in the world just then. “They used to run tests, back then?”

“In a way. Some of their methods are used to this day. Well. By those that don’t believe that sprinkling goat’s blood can cure a wandering eye, or that burning dried nettles can scare away the spirits that cause gout.” He clasps his hands behind his back and looks around. “So. I believe that what we’re dealing with is a sort of hex. We would need to remove that first, before attempting to heal the wound. Any idea where we should start?”

Sypha’s enthusiasm dims only slightly. “I’m… not sure. I can use healing magic, but my inventory of spells is quite small. I could devise a new spell, I suppose… but I would need the right books for that. That could take time. Or—” she glances up at him hopefully, “—we could look for a scroll. It seems your father has quite the collection. There must be something here, some sort of spell that can remove the curse. That was what I was hoping for, in fact.”

Adrian nods, humming in thought. “A scroll would be just what we need. My command of healing magic is rudimentary at best. I doubt I could even use it, but you could certainly try.” He turns around and walks to the far end of the room, towards the bookcases that line the walls. That was where his father kept his scrolls— hundreds, perhaps thousands of them, arranged in neat stacks in alphabetical order. His father was always very particular about the correct way to store books and scrolls.

“This is as good a place as any to start,” he told her, gesturing at the shelf with the scrolls written in Adamic. If there are powerful curse lifting and healing spells to be found anywhere, that is the place.

Sypha blinks, her eyes wide and sparkling as she takes in the sheer amount of carefully rolled up papyruses. She picks one up and opens it, swiftly reading the letters on the page.

“Fascinating,” she whispers under her breath. “This is… this must be at least two centuries old. This form here,” she points at the cluster of elegant shapes written in squid’s ink, “I don’t think it’s been used since the eleventh century. At least.” She walks up to him to show him. That faint, underlying scent tickles his nostrils again; he takes a discreet step to the side.

“Yes,” Adrian says, nodding absently even as his stomach twists in knots. “It is one of the more recent ones in my father’s collection.”

“Recent?” That gaze is on him again: bright, intent, clear like a midsummer’s day sky. Her lips widen in an enthusiastic smile. “There must— oh, there must be centuries worth of wisdom hidden in those shelves! There are scrolls from the ends of the world here. I wonder how your father came by it all.”

“Sacked the towns and villages that kept them. Killed and staked those who’d written them.” He shrugs as he examines elaborate glass vials on a nearby shelf. “Or so the tales go.”

Sypha stares, then looks away."Oh. Yes, I... I suppose you're right."

A cold, awkward silence falls between them. With slow, careful movements, she places the scroll back where it belongs and drifts slowly towards the far end of the bookcase.

They don’t speak much after that.

~

The hours fly by swiftly, one bleeding into the next in that sunless room, as Adrian and Sypha search through the scrolls. Were it not for the large, mechanical clocks on the wall, Adrian would never know whether it was day or night outside. It was probably late evening when Sypha falls asleep, with her cheek pressed to the desk. He brings her a blanket, some tea and a piece of pie he made the previous day, and continues to work. She barely stirs. Her hears her when she wakes up a few hours later; feels her gaze on his back, but says nothing.

His eyes are dangerously close to falling shut on their own as he reads through a scroll with annoyingly small letters, when an enthusiastic cry from the far side or the room jolts him bolt upright.

“I found it!” Sypha says, walking briskly up to him. She is grinning, her cheeks flushed, “I think I’ve found it. This must be it!”

Adrian blinks the weariness away from his eyes, examining the contents of the scroll that Sypha is holding under his nose. The forms are familiar, an incantation that must be hundreds of years old. It was first written by one Yin Chunhua in a province in Northern China almost three hundred years before, and was translated in Adamic by an Arabian scholar at the end of the twelfth century. Adrian takes it from her hands carefully, brushing the tip of his finger over the dried ink.

“Are you sure?” he asks, glancing up at her. “You think this will work?”

“I think so, yes. We can try.” Her face is glowing with enthusiasm, her eyes sparkling with determination. “If it doesn’t work, we try again. And again. And again. Until Trevor is healed. I know we can do it.”

Adrian holds her gaze for a long moment, a strange warmth creeping up inside him. ‘We’, she said. Them.

“Alright,” he nods. “Let’s do it. No reason to tarry.” He starts walking towards the door, when he is stopped short by Sypha’s hand on his elbow.

He turns around. Sypha’s touch is light, careful. She looks up at him, and, once again, it seems as if everything else has faded into the background, as if there's nothing else in the world but them, gazing at each other.

“Thank you, Alucard,” she says softly. Her blue eyes are earnest and crystal clear; it's like looking at the shimmering waters of a crystalline pool. “Your help means… everything. It really does."

Adrian’s breath grows shallow. The tenderness in her voice is unmistakable. It feels so strange, being directed at him. There is something stirring within him now, stronger the more he gazes at her; something that feels dangerously like hope. Could it be that she still considers him a friend? Could it be that the bond the three of them once had, however brief, is still there? Could it be that perhaps she could… love him?

The thought withers as soon as it blossoms. How foolish, how futile it all is. Sypha and Belmont left months ago to hunt monsters, they moved on with their lives, and he stayed behind, an empty shell of a man drifting endlessly through rooms and hallways that were emptier still, consumed by grief and loneliness. It was that same loneliness that Sumi and Taka had detected, and that they had pounced on, like hounds on blood. He let them. He paid for it, dearly, and so had they. And now, one kind word of thanks from the people that left him behind and he is ready to make the same mistakes all over again.

Adrian clenches his jaw as the familiar sting of shame and anger drives through him. They are not his friends anymore; he doubts they ever truly were. It was a matter of convenience from the start that they came together, and once his father was gone, so were they. What are friends, anyway?

What are friends? He’s never had any, and he never will.

Adrian takes a step back, slipping out of her gasp. His voice is flat and icy, his features schooled to an expressionless mask when he says, “This is wasting time. Let’s go.”

He turns towards the door, leaving her staring after him. The sooner Belmont’s injury is dealt with, the sooner they will both leave.

The sooner he will be on his own again, in peace.

~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, I’d love to hear thoughts! :)

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 4: Youth - Weeping Flesh And Bone Chap.1: Can’t Stop Those Feet From Sinking

Lancer has seen plenty of troubled youths over the years, but when it comes down to it? No one’s worried or concerned him like Daniel does. And no one’s left him feeling as helpless either.

Lancer’s used to worrying about Daniel, had worried about the boy all his young life. From the day he was born into a dangerous house and possibly negligent parents. He worried over Jasmine too, of course; but she had always done well for herself. Her future was to be a bright one.

He’d hoped the same for Daniel. And with Jasmine there, that hope felt founded. In the beginning, that hope seemed founded and actualised. The boy was bright and happy. He was bullied sure, but he had a strong future and the drive for it. The keyword there was ‘had’ though. Because Highschool came and Daniel just...

Collapsed.

If Lancer were to use the kind of terminology that would make the boy smile, he’d say that it was like Daniel was a star that just burned too bright and too hot only to suddenly die and annihilate everything nearby.

Where the boy was once happy and eager, he became paranoid and seemingly too tired to care about anything. Where there was once perfect attendance and near-flawless homework, changed to the worst attendance Lancer’s ever seen and it had been as if the word ‘homework’ wasn’t even a thing to the boy anymore. And that was without even getting started on all the destruction of school property or the injuries.

The injuries were when Lancer’s worry over Daniel truly made itself known again. Depression and abuse both crossed his mind. Or maybe the bullying was getting worse. But there weren’t any other signs really. And it wasn’t just him.

It was his friends too. Sure they never seemed as hurt or as tired or as tardy, but still. If this wasn’t Amity, he’d have worried that they’d gotten involved in gangs or even possibly drugs. Those were functionally nonexistent in Amity though.

How all three seemed to handle the injuries so well and clearly by themselves, hurt him inside a little, but could he really inquire about it? He tried. He tried many times. But he was always waved off. Always given an excuse or sympathetic look. Like Daniel felt bad for Lancer over him being worried. Lancer didn’t want to make Daniel feel bad and his talks with the boy never seemed to change anything.

So he dropped it. And instead just hoped the boy would be okay. He had close friends and a smart level-headed sister. Jasmine being close with him was what really made Lancer feel a bit better. She wouldn’t let anything truly bad happen to her baby brother. She would speak up if something was truly wrong. She’d come to Lancer or someone else qualified if Daniel needed it. In fact, she had done that once or twice.

Then she was gone. Left for university. And Lancer worried more. Sure he was so very proud of the girl, but Daniel honestly needed her to stay. Lancer needed her to stay just to sleep better at night. Because Lancer knew Samatha and Tucker wouldn’t reach out for anyone. Jasmine would get help if that was what was best and needed. But the trio would likely let one of them nearly die before seeking help, and even that was debatable. Lancer had hoped dearly that his increased worry was unnecessary when Daniel didn’t seem to get worse.

Until he did get worse. Lancer wouldn’t have even noticed if he didn’t watch the boy as closely as he did. Daniel was simply too good at hiding things and pretending. That honestly terrified Lancer. Just the same as catching the whiffs of alcohol or sight of hard pain meds had terrified him. And even worse, that seemingly coincided with the boy seeming less stable. He twitched often and that paranoia of his was near-constant. Lancer put it together quickly, Jasmine’s main focus was psychology. She wanted to be a therapist.

Well, it seemed she already had been a therapist. She had been giving him mental help. Which just made Lancer doubt that belief that she would take Daniel to get proper help if he needed it. Which just made him even more worried that something bad was happening. Yet still, Daniel wouldn’t talk to him. And trying just seemed to make the boy more tired every time. Lancer backed off again when Daniel started seemingly avoiding any classes with him.

He was silently happy when Daniel started actually showing to and choosing his classes again.

Because if Lancer couldn’t help, then at least he could keep a watchful eye. And he could do what he could and try to keep the trio all in the same classes, keep them together. At least then there was someone to take notes for him when he slept, skipped, or left.

But then they were gone too.

Lancer doesn’t know how it happened. Or why. All he knows is that between their junior year and senior year, Samantha’s and Tucker’s priorities changed. Sure he was happy to see them trying harder in school and doing better because of it. Their futures would arguably thank them. But the cost was Daniel.

Where the trio had once been inseparable and constantly there for each other, now Samantha and Tucker seemingly near forgot Daniel even existed. Like they were doing everything they could to have nothing to do with him. They would wave to him sometimes. Throw him smiles. But would physically and verbally avoid him. And the worst thing was...

Daniel seemed to just accept this. Seemed to understand. Like he thought this was for the best.

The boy didn’t try to chase after them, never engaged them first, went on like this was what was supposed to happen. Lancer had been too stunned to even ask what happened. To check-in with the boy. The pit in his stomach and the growing fear in the back of his head only grew when he noticed that Samantha and Tucker didn’t seem to get injuries anymore. How they seemed well-rested, happier, and arguably normal.

While if Daniel had been dancing on the edge of a cliff before, now he had seemingly plummeted off it. In the months it took for Lancer to put himself together enough to talk to the boy, he doesn’t think a single day went by were Daniel wasn’t noticeably injured. Listening to the gossip of teachers made it clear he was sleeping in nearly every single class, hadn’t touched any homework, and was effectively failing everything. Lancer’s breaking point had been running into him at the bottle recycle, with nothing but liquor bottles and energy drink cans.

“This looks worse than it is”.

Lancer had raised an eyebrow, “does it?”. He knew better than to push too much with the boy. Daniel had been shuffling and twitching enough as it was.

Daniel had shrugged while looking around and tapping his fingers, clearly wanting the worker to hurry up. “‘S not all mine”.

“Your parents’ don’t drink, Daniel”.

“Uh, it... doesn’t affect me as hard as other people?”.

Lancer had just sighed, had bitten back the retort of that just being what happens when people build up a tolerance by drinking too much too often. Instead had given the boy a sad look as he left with his depressingly large amount of cash.

That night he had had a hard time sleeping, seriously worrying over wondering if Daniel was in his room or off in the park, alone and curled up with a bottle. Or doing whatever it was that got him so seriously hurt. He was so terrified that he, and everyone else, would only find out when Daniel ended up in the morgue. When the teen was found bleeding out in an alley. Or unable to be woken up, wrapped in heavy blankets and a bottle on the floor. Or, everything forbid, at the end of a noose.

Lancer’s used to worrying about Daniel, but this was too much. Part of him had wanted to call Daniel’s parents, that idea had gotten him staring at his phone for well over an hour. But he already knew they had written Daniel off. He had tried to talk to them before, they just brushed his worry off. Even chastised Daniel for ‘making Mr. Lancer worry over a kid who’s just lazy’. And they either didn’t notice or didn’t care that Daniel had been shaking. Lancer had revisited the idea that Daniel was being abused that night. But there simply was no way Jasmine wouldn’t have spoken up about that. None.

So that worry, that he just simply couldn’t sit on anymore, was what finds him here now. Physically grabbing Daniel’s sweater sleeve to stop him from leaving class. Hating how the boy twitches violently and looks to Lancer like he was about to get attacked. Not for the first time Lancer finds himself wondering what kind of Hell the world has put this teen through.

“Yes?”.

Lancer knows he won’t get Daniel to open up to him. To be honest with him. So instead he’s blunt, “you’re not okay. And I wish you would tell me, or anyone, why. You’re always hurt and tired. You’re coping with liquor, Daniel. Something’s very wrong. And it doesn’t seem like anyone around you even cares. Your parents have seemingly written you off. Jasmine is away. And Samantha and Tucker seemed to have forgotten you even exist half the time”.

Daniel scratches almost harshly at his arm and flicks his eyes around, “it’s fine”.

Lancer tightens his grip on the boy’s sweater, noting how little of the sweater sleeve the boy’s arm was actually filling up. He wasn’t eating enough. “No it’s goddamn not”.

Daniel blinks at him owlishly and stills, Lancer thinks it actually looks a little bit creepy. “you... you just swore”.

Lancer flicks his eyes over Daniel’s face. Noticing the hollowed cheeks and eye-bags that could be mistaken for eyeliner. “Because I care, Daniel. I’m goddamn terrified for you. I’m scared you’re dying. That I’m going to wake up to the news saying you were found dead or committed suicide. You need some kind of help and you’re clearly not getting it”.

Daniel shrugs awkwardly, clearly trying to play things off, “uh, I’m, uh, just bad at life?”. Lancer can’t help but glare at that, watching the boy's shoulders slump a little, “sorry. I don’t mean to worry you. Just, please, just ignore me? I promise the town won’t have to, um, bury me”. Daniel grabs at Lancer’s hand like he’s begging, “I’m still here, that’s not going to change. So please, just pretend I’m okay”, shrugging and looking away, “um, eventually you’ll convince yourself I am”.

Lancer blinks, is that what his friends were doing? Just pretending he was okay? That he didn’t need help? “I can’t do that, Daniel”.

Daniel looks back to him and snaps, though it’s clear to Lancer that it’s out of tiredness, “and why the Hell not”. Then looking to the ground and leaning away from him a bit, “sorry. It’s just... it would be better. You don’t belong here. Er, involved in me and my, um, stuff”, shrugging and maintaining his staring match with the floor, “‘s not like anything can change”, shrugging again, “save yourself by staying out of it. You’re more, um, breakable”.

Lancer bends down and moves his head to look Daniel in the eyes, “that doesn’t make sense, Daniel. You’re young-”

Daniel snaps again, glaring a little and cutting Lancer off, “yeah well the truth doesn’t have to make sense, does it”. Shrugging and glancing around, scratching at his arm some more, “sorry. Look, just, I’ll be gone after this year. And you can just, um, forget about me?”, shrugging and mumbling, “everyone else hopefully will”.

This is the most Lancer’s ever gotten out of the boy, he has to push this. He has to. “Why? And no, Daniel, I will not just forget about you”.

Daniel mumbles again, “just gonna get hurt”, then looks up at him, “‘cause, just ‘cause. It’s better. You got a life, they’ve got futures. Just, drop it please?”.

Lancer can tell he’s referring to his friends basically pushing him to the wayside. Lancer sighs slightly, it seems like Daniel had simply... given up hope for himself. “And you don’t?”.

Lancer’s stomach clenches when Daniel responds with a firm sure, “no”. Lancer physically sagging and drops his hand from Daniel’s sleeve at the sight of mist leaving the boy’s mouth. Daniel always ran off when that, whatever it was, happened. And sure enough, Daniel jerks and snaps his head around, “just, forget you ever met me. Forget I even exist. Please. And I, uh-”.

Lancer waves him off defeatedly, “go”. He can tell that Daniel feels bad when the boy winces before rushing off.

While Lancer just sits on the edge of his desk. It was pretty clear Daniel was effectively alone and had no intention of changing that. Even wanted that. He was a house that had all its support beams smashed out, barely holding itself up at all. And there was something, some awful dangerous thing, haunting that house. Chasing off anyone trying to install new support structures.

Lancer goes home that night feeling honestly worse than before. And worried that all he had achieved was making Daniel feel worse too.

[likesomekindofcheese]

The Nurse and the Skywalker (6 Undergound Oneshot)

Paring: Four/Billy x nurse! Reader

Word Count: 1847

From anon request:  Can you do one with Ben( as 4/Billy in underground 6) getting injured and you’re a no-nonsense nurse having to tend to his wounds and he flirts with you at first, but then he gets serious/tender and vulnerable with you and it makes your heart melt?

Warnings: Swearing, hospitals, mentions of blood, illness, surgery, and injuries.

A/N: Thanks for your patience! Much thanks to @rhapsodyrecs​ for suggesting a great line! As well as @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ and @joeneslee​ when writers block got me in this one!

The afternoon coffee you had been sipping was gulped in one hot swig when your co-worker ran in, yelling “Y/N! It’s an emergency! You need to hurry!”

The 12-hour shift and it’s exhaustion was forgotten at the words. Your shoes squeaked against the floor as you were led into the room.

“A young man-he has a bad injury-he’s been shot and his bones are broken too!” she cried.

Looking over, the patient was young. Not too far from your own age in fact. He was groaning in pain. His arm and leg were broken. But you noticed a few gashes here and there. Still bleeding. A lot. But he looked up and kept his eyes on you. As you reached over to see some charts the mysterious man left and what could be known, you felt his eyes, and saw him even crane his neck just to keep an eye out on you.

Maybe I spilled something on my scrubs you thought, dismissing the notion as they wheeled his bed out into the hallway.

“Quick, give me the anathesea- and a surgeon- we can get the bullet out, but we have to be swift!”

You were handed the pain medicine to give to the patient.

As you put the tube over his mouth, he glanced up at you. His eyes were as green as a field on a picnic day. And you noticed his hair as well-it was cut short but very blonde.

“I…I’m scared…please don’t…” he muttered lowly. 

You felt your guts stir at the sound. He was deeply hurt. If he didn’t have the bullet removed, he was a goner.

“What is your name…?” you asked.

“I…don’t…have…a name…” he croaked. 

He turned ghostly white and then pink.

“I…I’m sorry, I should have been stronger…thought I could make that jump…I couldn’t. I’m not that fucking strong…” he muttered.

“Who dropped him off?” you asked your co-worker.

She shrugged.

“This guy with a beard and this weird voice and then after we got the kid on a bed, he just vanished with all the bills paid already in cash! The guy was loaded!” she gossiped, tugging at her bright pink scrubs. 

Turning to the patient, you forced him to look right into your eyes.“Okay mister, you don’t have a choice. You got lucky someone paid all of your bills, so you better suck it up and be grateful, got it?” you scolded.

He looked at you blankly before you put it right to his mouth and wheeled him to the surgeon’s office.

Two hours later you got word that the boy got lucky. The bullet was found and removed. It wasn’t too deep and nowhere near any vital organs. But he seemed to be ill and needed to be checked up and have his limbs bandaged.

“Here he is…he’s still on the pain medicine some, so he might be a little loopy…” the surgeon warned, before leaving you alone in the room to do your work.

“Hello…I’m Y/N, I’m your nurse…hang in there, you’re gonna be fine…” you said, he seemed half asleep. Almost in another world. There was no reply.You were checking his blood pressure when his eyes fluttered open. Your head whipped around as you tied the black strap tightly around his arm.

“Hey there…” he croaked out.

“Checking your blood pressure, hold up…” you mumbled, making it tight as possible.

“I must be in a museum…” he said softly.

“Well, I don’t see any Da Vinci any…”

“Because you’re a piece of art.”

Your jaw dropped and your head whipped around to see him. Did that really come out of him? Moments after he was near death.

“Pardon?”

He gave you a half smile and you felt a blush creeping up on you and it made you mad. Of all places this was happening- at work!

Did a patient really just flirt with me? Maybe it’s just my imagination.

You undid the black strap and set it away without a word, writing down the numbers. He reached over and picked up the menu of food options to be ordered for patients.

“Do you know what’s on the menu?” he asked.

“Vegetables. You better order some with your dinner. Eat up, your body’s in bad enough condition…”

“Close, but it’s Me ‘n you.” He added with a devilish grin. 

Your ears heard it right alright. You felt them grow hot.

“You know what else is on the menu? This antiseptic,” you ordered. Walking over to the side and getting an orange bottle and some cotton balls, eyes on his wounds. As you began to apply some to the cuts, the cool guy façade dropped.

“NNNnnnnng, no! No! And I’m sorry! Won’t do it! Won’t do it!” he whined. His voice getting a little higher than what was considered manly.

“Just shut up and suck it up, Romeo,” you replied, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

The next day a woman arrived to check on the patient. A beautiful woman with tan skin and yellow hair with a white suit. You felt envy twinge in your stomach as her heels clicked on the tile floor.

She went into the room. If only you did not have duties currently. But no, scratch it, you weren’t interested. Not some cheeky patient that was trying to break all the medical oaths in the book. Passing by the room to put away your lunch box, you forced your ears shut at the quiet conversation they had.

As you returned, she left the door of the room. She looked up at you and pointed at you to come near. 

“You are nurse Y/N, right?” she asked in a European accent.

“Yes, I am.”

She glanced around to see if anyone was listening in. Then she leaned closer.

“How long have you worked here?” she asked.

You told her.

“Good, you know what you’re doing. We…we just need a bit of help. He’s on…on my company. He got hurt. Badly.” She said softly. 

Yeah, no shit you thought.

“What caused the wounds? I think he mentioned a jump…” you asked, folding your arms skeptically. What kind of sketchy company was this that was all hush and made gallons of money where people got shot?

Her pink lips tightened, she glanced to the left and then answered “It was a fall. Bad one. Just…an accident.”

“What’s your name? And what’s his name? Why did he get shot? Was there a shooting at your job?” you asked.

“We would prefer to be anonymous,” she answered coldly.

“What, why?”

“For protection. He’s here to get better, right?” she answered with a twinge of annoyed anger.

“Yes…”

“Don’t hurt him, then…or make him do anything to hurt himself more…”

She turned around and clicked away, but gave you one look, softened. As if to silently say thank you- even if you did ask questions about whatever this “company” was.

Hours later, you came into the room with the patient. Though you armed yourself to fight off like the black cat with Pepe le Pew, he looked at you and glanced down at his lap. His left arm and right foot was in a cast and he seemed red as a beet in his face. But the light in his eyes were glazed, but had dimmed. And he seemed in pain.

His forehead was like a furnace. Sticking a thermometer in his mouth, you watched the numbers rise above healthy at the end. Gently, you pulled it out to put it away.

A half-grin reappeared on his face.

“Is it hot in here or is it just you?” he said.

“No, you got a fever dumbass,” you replied.

You showed him the temperature and he huffed lightly.

“Well, you will have to stay here a bit longer. Injured and sick. It doesn’t seem bad, but it’s still a double whammy. Three or four days…” you said,

He pulled out his free hand to play with his phone, pouting in defeat. You stayed to type into the pad you used for work to keep track of patients charts.

“Bi-billy…”

“Hm, what?” you said, turning around.

“You wanted my name, I’m…I’m Billy…” he confessed.

“Okay, thank you! I can finally call you something other than Romeo,” you jested.

“That’s not a bad name, either though,” he said.

The doctor working on him informed you that his fever did have a chance of breaking in the night. You offered to stay.

“Why, Y/N…you’re worried about him?” the doctor asked, cocking her head.

You shook away the creeping blush and smile growing on you.

“I just want the extra hours for pay!” you insisted.

You stayed there, reading with him. You realized what he was doing on his phone- watching movies.

“American movies are the best, like, us on the Pond get all the boring, slow stuff- America is where the real movies are!” he commented when you glanced over.

“Hey- that one’s my favorite!” you cried, recognizing it at once.

Indulging it, you watched the rest of it. Talking about your favorite actors, quoting the lines, and smiling ear to ear by the time the credits rolled by on the tiny screen.

“I was so scared…I was gonna die…” Billy confessed, setting the phone down.

“It’s just medicine,” you scoffed.

“No…when I fell…” he said.

“Really?” you asked, leaving the sarcasm.

“I felt that was it. You see…I…no, I shouldn’t…” he mumbled, looking down.

“You can tell me…” you urged.

“I got a chance to…uh, do something important. It was risky, but it was better than what I had before but I…I thought I was dead for good because I slipped and fell…” he added on.

Recalling the first day, he had a bullet in his body as well. How did that get in there? There was no news you checked of a shooting anywhere.

“And you were shot…how did you get shot?” you questioned.

“I…I can’t tell you everything but I just feel…I can trust you…someone was in danger…and I was trying to get him out and some’ow…I got shot and I fell off…” Billy explained.

“Fell off? Of what?”

“The skyscraper downtown…” he confessed, eyes down to his lap again.

“What! No! That’s a hundred feet high! How in hell are you even alive?” you gasped.

He looked at you and laughed.

“That’s some bad fucking words for a medical professional!” he teased. “But that’s a good question, really…”

Outside the window, a bird sat in the darkness on the pane. Its feathers seemed to glean in the moonlight. It was a clear night, even a sky filled with stars could be seen despite the smoke of the city

“I…I’m glad you survived. I’m glad you didn’t die and so you could- you know- help whoever this person is you were trying to help,” you commented. And this time you smiled back.

“I…I’m glad you were there to help me…dunno what I’ll do next time I’ll fall…” he said.

“I should be there then…”

Taglist: @themarchoftherainbowqueen​ @rhapsodyrecs​ (thanks for the wonderful line!) @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @sgt-stardust-killer-queen @queenlover05​ @lady-ofmischief

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Winter Whumperland Day 7: Delirium

Summary: Written for Winter Whumperland Day 7. Set in a Modern AU, follows up on Day 6 'Mistakes'. Frozen and suffering from hypothermia, can Hiccup successfully escape from Viggo or was he a fool to think he could?

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Ryker, Viggo

Pairing: Vigcup, past-Hiccstrid

Words: 3 266

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Hallucinations”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: Here is Day 7 and I have absolutely no idea how to write hallucinations. Dream sequences? Sure! I have plenty of experience with those! Hallucinations, however? Eh, not so much.

Constructive criticism is appreciated! Including on the tags!

Enjoy!

@amonthofwhump

Ao3

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When Hiccup wakes up after his confrontation with Viggo and Ryker, it's with a splitting headache. Without a doubt, it's there because of his encounter with the frying pan and the kitchen counter, but he doesn't quite remember that. All he knows now is the pain inside his skull, foot, and the brand on his back.

It's agitated by something. Now that he thinks about it, his entire backside is cold and wet. Is he lying in the snow?

The darkness of the night is the only reason why he can open up his eyes. He sees nothing by the vague outline of treetops above him. So he is outside and this must be snow that he's lying in. The layer is thick, his fingers and ears are already freezing.

A whine leaves him at the pounding in his head and he brings a hand up. Gods, he wishes that would stop. It's centered mostly in the back, but his temple seems to be hurting as well.

What happened to put him in such a sorry state? Or rather, in even sorrier of a state than usual. What did he do?

He can hear the sound of shoveling.

Hiccup looks to the side, vision blurry and double what it's supposed to be, the pounding worsening with the slightest move. He can see Ryker, though there appears to be two of them, and he's shoveling dirt. Why would he be digging? He supposes it's the middle of the night.

He sits up without meaning to, like he doesn't realize that's what he decides to do until he's already upright. A wave of nausea overwhelms him, the world spinning all around, but somehow he manages to steady himself before he vomits.

No, he can't throw up, that's about the last thing he wants to do. Throwing up hurts.

Besides the groaning, he's quite silent and he doesn't feel like he's entirely there, like he might pass out again soon. He holds his head in both of his hands.

"Alive, are you? I'm not surprised, you do have a thick skull." Of course, Ryker notices that he's awake, speaking to him without even bothering to turn and face him. He figures the double blows to his head must be enough to keep him from picking a fight for now.

Gazing at what Ryker is digging, an uneven rectangular hole vaguely registers in his mind. It's not as deep as it's supposed to be, not at all, but it's just right for a person. And suddenly a memory sparks alive in his mind, this hole is meant to be his grave.

At this, Hiccup attempts to get up, his movements slow and sluggish, but the want to stand on his feet and run away is certainly there.

Unfortunately, he doesn't get very far before a wave of vertigo hits him and he all but crumples back down again. Ryker laughs at the sight, amused.

"You're not going anywhere, not with a concussion like that. I'm surprised you even woke up!" He informs him and continues digging. Did either of the two even bother to check whether he still had a pulse or not?

Unresponsive, Hiccup looks towards the cabin, which he can only just see through the trees.

"Viggo is still inside. You left a mess back there, head bleeding all over the place, you know he hates filth. So he's leaving the pleasure of getting rid of you to me." Ryker gleefully tells him, he's been waiting for this day for what felt like ages! Having Hiccup around was a torment!

But all Hiccup can do is wonder how much blood he could've lost if he's still bleeding and awake. He can feel his hair sticking to his scalp, can feel it running down his face, and stain the clothes on his back.

Gods, he needs a hospital and fast.

He brings a hand up again, attempts to will the dizziness and the fog away. He can't properly think while they're there.

"So you're going to kill me now?" Hiccup asks, blinking slowly. With every beating of his heart, he feels a new surge of pain inside his skull. Thought is nigh impossible.

"Yes, I am," Ryker responds with a smirk, finishing up the grave and throwing the shovel aside. He straightens, stretches his neck, shoulders, and back before facing the young man he intends to kill.

Hiccup tries again to get up when he approaches and he does get to his feet, but only because Ryker grabs him by the hoodie to pull him up. It's something that doesn't quite agree with him after that pan broke his toes.

"Oh no!" That seems to wake him up a little, Hiccup yelps as his foot isn't able to hold his weight at all. He'd wonder what it looks like now, feels the impending fear of his right foot suffering the same fate as his left. Broken bones can sometimes lead to amputations, too.

"And I've made sure your grave is shallow for when you're dead. They can't find a corpse if it's been torn apart by scavengers and spread all over the forest." Ryker lets him know, face once again uncomfortably close. Now it's not just the movement making him nauseous, but the thought of never being found even while dead is.

Of never properly being buried, of forever remaining the missing person until he's forgotten, an unsolved case without closure, his loved ones forever wondering and never knowing they die one by one, too.

He wants to be found, he doesn't want them to suffer like that for years and years just because some rich, arrogant ass couldn't keep it in his pants.

"No, I can't... I can't let that happen," He breathes out, head lolling to the side.

"Haha, I'd like to see you try and stop me!" Well, Ryker is about to.

Though his brain is pounding, Hiccup headbutts him in the face, forehead to nose, and he's promptly dropped.

"ARGH! Bastard!" Ryker lets out what can only be described as a yelp while Hiccup holds his head and regrets worsening the pounding inside his skull. At the very least, he manages to stay on his feet somewhat.

"Oh, why did I do that?" He asks himself, tongue looser than it's been all day.

Well, he's not broken, for one.

Ryker composes himself, nose bruised and bleeding, and lungs for Hiccup with murder in his eyes.

Hiccup is slow and can't respond in a timely manner because of the concussion possibly brewing, he can't quite fight the bigger man when he's grabbed and thrown back to the ground. Hands once again wrap themselves around his throat and this time they squeeze to kill.

"No!" Hiccup squeezes out before his airways are forced shut for the second time in two days. And unlike Viggo, Ryker isn't trying to control his temper enough to not accidentally murder him. Murder is exactly what's on his mind.

The pain in his body doesn't matter anymore as he grabs Ryker's hands to remove them from his throat, his splitting headache worsening with the lack of oxygen. His throat already sore, it undergoes another bout of torture and Hiccup fears his windpipe caving in underneath the pressure.

No... No! Against all odds, choked to unconsciousness once and two killing blows to the head, he's still alive. He can't lose his life now!

Sudden alertness returns to him and he takes a hand of Ryker's.

During all of these long months, they've been cheating. They've used every dirty strategy in and outside of the book to destroy him. The basement, their stronger physiques, the shock collar, his father, White Spot, Astrid, what if he gives them a taste of their own medicine and cheats at their own game?

Well, he's got long arms, and Ryker can't pin him down and choke him without making himself vulnerable. So Hiccup grabs his face and with a strangled noise pushes his thumb in Ryker's eye.

The man recoils instantly with surprise, natural reflex not allowing him to push onwards through that horrible sensation.

"You fucking brat!" He yells angrily, holding his eye. It's still there, his reflexes were quick, but that doesn't make the subsequent numb throbbing any less alarming.

Hiccup manages to crawl out from underneath him, kicking Ryker in the chest to get him away from him, and hurries to his feet again. The fog seems to have lifted enough, his response time is quickening.

He's grabbed by his painful foot and dragged back down to his knees. He turns and this time kicks Ryker in the face, further injuring his nose and a cry of pain leaves him.

But he doesn't have the time to enjoy it. He's managed to fight him off and Ryker is now on the ground. In a hurry, he struggles again to his feet and grabs the shovel.

What he does is purely on instinct to survive, not a single second or thought wasted on his choices.

Hiccup grabs the shovel as Ryker stands to finish what he started and with a wide swing whacks his head with it, hitting his temple dead on.

Turning on his axis, Ryker falls to the ground, eyes rolling back, and landing right in the grave meant for Hiccup.

Minutes go by in a blur. The fog in his head now entirely gone, Hiccup stands there, panting and frozen as he watches the blood pour out of an ugly wound and stain the dirt and redden the snow. Ryker's temple has caved in.

Just to make sure what just happened actually happened, Hiccup glances at the spade and sees both red and bits of... something.

Oh Gods, there comes the bile again.

But he's not getting back up from this, Hiccup's almost certain he's not even breathing anymore.

Even so, he checks. Forcing his frozen body to move, Hiccup limps over and kneels next to Ryker. Laying two fingers on his throat, he feels for a pulse and finds none. His hand quickly retreats.

He's really dead. That blow to the skull killed him.

that doesn't make him happy somehow.

"Oh no... Oh no!" Hiccup jumps back up, his own injuries and the freezing chill momentarily forgotten with the shock of what he's just done.

He killed a man, but for some reason, the first thing on his mind is how Viggo is going to react. Not whether or not this is going to hurt the remaining brother, but how he's going to punish Hiccup for it. And this after it's already been decided he should die for proving to be too much trouble in the end.

It's a twisted way he's been conditioned to think. He's done something wrong, what will his kidnapper think of this?

They've done many things to him, made him do many things, turned him into many things, and now he's a murderer, too.

He has to leave.

He can't breathe, his mind races through a million thoughts, and the pain from his injuries return to him. His heart's pounding reminds him that he's alive and he should run while he still can.

After one last glance towards the cabin in the distance, seeing the lights still on and no Viggo on the way, Hiccup tightens his hold on the bloodied shovel and turns in the opposite direction. Leaving a dead Ryker behind, he makes his escape.

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

So that is most of the story that's brought him to this point, alone in a forest covered by winter's snow, underdressed for the cold, and hurting.

It's been hours since he's left the cabin and the brothers behind him and hypothermia has without a doubt set in.

Struggling through the snow, Hiccup can't tell for how long it's been around. The fog resettled in his mind. For some strange reason, he's stopped shivering and he's too confused to realize that this might mean something troubling.

He's still holding onto the shovel, but this time not just for support. He clings to it like his life depends on it. Both hands on the long shaft, he clutches it to his chest as he inches forward. The blood on its edges has been mostly rubbed off because of the snow.

He's losing sight of his objective. Growing more confused as the minutes pass, he's gone from walking into a straight line to wandering aimlessly instead. He's forgetting that he's supposed to be heading for a road or the town at the shore.

Sometimes he stops, broken foot strangely not as painful, or maybe he's just not paying attention. He can't feel his fingers either, they've gone from red to a pale white.

Looking around, Hiccup wonders where he should go next. He's already switched directions so many times and even got turned around and walked right back to where he'd come from. Now, he's not sure which one to take.

There's another snowfall, the wind howling past his ears. A thin layer already blankets his hair and shoulders.

He feels like he's searching for something, but what? Is it Toothless? But why would Toothless be in a forest? Why is Hiccup in a forest? What's he doing here?

His feet drag him forwards again, he doesn't know in which direction. If he's going forward, backward, left, right, he just can't tell.

Trees pass and so do bushes and other plant life, whatever little that's still around in the cold, most of them are empty of their leaves.

The snow falls as Hiccup continues, sinking further away, and out of the corner of his eyes, he thinks he can see someone standing in the distance.

He comes to another halt, looking over, sucking air in through his teeth, eyes blinking slowly. There's nothing there.

But he could've sworn... Is it a figment of his imagination?

"Hel... Hello?" He calls out, voice soft and slurring. There is no answer, he must've imagined it.

Dragging himself forward, his energy saps faster and faster in this fruitless mission.

The figure reappears between the trees and Hiccup stops to look over, but it's not there.

"Oh, come on..." He groans and turns, taking another path without realizing it.

So now there are strange, pitch-black figures at the edge of his vision? He doesn't want to deal with those.

It's there again, popping up in the distance. So long as he doesn't look, it stays there.

Hiccup wants to ignore it, he doesn't like it, he hates it. But as he inches forward, he can see it coming closer and closer. Anxiety creeps up his spine and settles in his stomach. There it comes.

Whispers fill his ears. He can't understand what they're saying, the words barely register in his mind. In the penetrating cold, he's quickly becoming more delirious with time.

Hiccup doesn't trip a second time, but his foot does give out beneath him and a great jolt of pain breaks through the numbness plaguing his tingling extremities. The injured bones grind against one another.

And then, the figure is standing right next to him.

"Oh, Gods, no..." He whimpers, feeling it staring down at him with malice.

He dares to look up, finding nothing. Where has it gone? The snowfall is becoming thicker with time.

"No, you... How did you find me?" Hiccup asks no one, but he swears someone he knows is standing in front of him now.

That suit... It's Viggo's.

His face is blurry, but the expression he wears is one of disappointment.

"I've seen what you've done to my brother, Hiccup. You've murdered him."

He has? Hiccup looks at his hands and finds them stained.

"What? No!" He gasps and attempts to rub them clean with the snow, but it won't come off. He tries rubbing, he tries scratching, but the blood won't go away.

Hands grab his and he pulls them free sluggishly.

"No... No, go away." Without the shovel, he stands only to slump back down right after. He wants Viggo to leave him alone.

"I won't go away, Dear. I will never go away." His hands are on him. They're on him and they're touching him where he doesn't want to be touched, pulling him down into the snow, intent on pinning him. He hasn't felt anything in the past hours or so, even the cold has disappeared, but those hands he can still feel.

"No, please... Not... Viggo, not here!" He pleads, coming to believe himself somewhere other than the woods he's in.

His chin is grabbed and gently lifted and there he is. Viggo is staring into his blinking eyes with a malevolently arrogant face.

"Hello, my Dear."

Finding the shovel, Hiccup swings slowly, clumsily, but he's not there.

"What?" He wonders out loud, looking around himself. Where did he run off to?

Hiccup looks up, finding the sky clearing of the clouds, the snow falling less and less. He can see the stars. Are they real? Or will they disappear like Viggo just did?

They do, but not in a way he dislikes.

The shape that makes them disappear is familiar to him, it's that of a dragon in flight, a Night Fury to be more precise. Even in his delirium, he can recognize a Night Fury from anywhere. He's making the stares disappear and he loves seeing it in the sky.

His Bud.

The cold, the pain, his dirty hands, Viggo, everything is forgotten and all that exists is his best friend.

"Toothless," He breathes, smiling from ear to ear. His call echoes in the night, filling his ears with something pleasant.

His eyes are wet and then his face, skin too cold to notice. Though out in the snow for hours and hours already, he feels warm. So warm, he wants to take his hoodie off.

"TOOTHLESS!" He shouts at the top of his lungs, knowing that the shape in the sky couldn't possibly be anything else.

It disappears along with his hope and the stars reappear.

Eyes closing, he falls to the side and lands in the thick carpet of white.

Body sapped completely of everything, energy, strength, warmth, all that remains is his life and that is quickly draining as well.

Hiccup doesn't realize it. As his hypothermia grows more severe, he believes he's warm, he believes he's lying in a bed, and he's daydreaming of his Bud and him together in the sky.

If he falls asleep now, alone in the middle of nowhere, he won't wake up again.

"My Dear,"

So maybe it's not such a bad thing that he's found, that a pair of hands settle on him once more. He can numbly feel one on his shoulder and another on his back. He can't even tell Viggo to go away this time, too tired to.

"Hiccup!"

"I'm here, my Dear."

One of them runs through his hair and lips press themselves on the top of his head, minding the blood.

"No, Viggo, please... I just..." He just wants to... what? "I want to sleep... So tired.."

"What? No! No, you can't sleep!"

"Sleep? But there will be no sleeping tonight, Sweetheart."

Hiccup can't stop Viggo from turning him over onto his back, the hands warming his face.

He sinks further away, can briefly open his eyes to see many shadows surrounding him before they close. They're like an omen announcing his end.

Someone picks him up from the snow and he lets it happen. What's the point of fighting it? It would seem he can never truly escape and thinking that he could was just foolish.