#pls vote for my girl duck she deserves it

[whumpywhumper]

Home

Masterpost

Set sometime in the future

TW: graphic depiction of panic attack but mostly fluff

@misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo @fanmanga1357-blog

Special thanks to: @0idril0 @rosesareviolentlyread @walkingchemicalfire @quirkykayleetam

V***V 

Markus was walking down the street slowly. Trying for all he was worth to make it look like a stroll rather than a limping lurch.

It was hard with the way his hip and thigh were aching, but he’d been an okay actor in high school. His Hamlet was to die for, or so he’d been told. 

He huffed, hitching up his jeans as they tried to slide down his hips again. The thick denim was loose around his waist, the weight he’d lost while still with Lucien and in the hospital absent from his lean frame. He hadn’t had the time, or the inclination, to go shopping for more clothes, and Illyn had brought what she could fit into a duffle bag from his wardrobe in Salem. 

It had been weeks since he’d been dressed in anything other than sweats and loose basketball shorts, and he wasn’t going to let the pain in his leg interfere with going out with Ben and Kincaid. They’d invited him along, pulling him away from the files they’d reluctantly allowed him to have so that the could help with the case. Claimed that a stupid rom-com was just what he needed to gain some perspective. 

Markus wasn’t sure that was true, but he was happy to be out now. 

Kincaid bumped into his shoulder, and Markus looked up at the slightly taller man, Kinciad’s eyebrow raising as he cocked his head, a silent question in his hazel eyes. You okay? 

Of course, his answering smile said. Why wouldn’t I be? His shoulders asked. 

Kincaid didn’t look completely convinced, but he held the door open for Markus and Ben, entertaining Ben’s enthusiastic rant about an upcoming release of a new Marvel movie. Markus liked the classics, wasn’t a huge movie fan in the first place, but he couldn’t help but watch how Ben lit up as he discussed what he hoped the film included from the comics. His eyes sparkled behind his glasses, the shifting green/blue of his eyes dancing under the muted lights as he made sure to engage Markus and Kincaid equally, pulling indulgent smiles from Kincaid even as he held the conversation one-sided. It was, in a word, adorable. 

Markus followed Kincaid’s hand as he placed it on Ben’s back, guiding the distracted man through the crowd. They moved so well together, a decade of friendship and partnership that baffled Markus with its easy beauty. He shook his head, trying to keep abreast of them despite his hidden limp as they made their way toward the concessions. They’d purchased their tickets online, but a lively discussion about appropriate movie candy and fare had taken up the walk on the way over. 

Markus liked twizzlers. Kincaid and Ben both liked popcorn. But that’s where the agreement ended. 

Kincaid liked buttered popcorn, whereas Ben thought that was an abomination of fake chemicals that didn’t deserve the salt that was blessed upon it. He, instead, liked plain, salted popcorn mixed with M&M’s of all things. It was a bitter, contested, and well-loved argument that, apparently, Markus was going to be the deciding vote on. 

He was going to have to disappoint them both. 

He didn’t like popcorn at all. It got stuck in his teeth. Ruining that for them before they got to the theater, however, wasn’t even an option. Having both Ben and Kincaid eagerly explaining the merits of their preferred snack to him, including him, laughing and egging each other on. It let Markus feel like he was part of them, even if it was just a little part, and he couldn’t help but crave it.  

The first hint of unease started bubbling in Markus’s gut as they stood in the back of the line. His eyes darted around, taking in the people, the families and little kids screaming and running around to the arcade. The bright posters heralding blockbusters that he hadn’t been around to see advertised. The screens overhead flashing with even more advertisements and commercials. It was a little. . . overwhelming. 

Markus stiffened when a hand brushed against his back, snapping his head around from where he’d been scrutinizing a couple of girls getting drinks from the in theater bar, meeting Ben’s concerned, questioning gaze with an automatic smile. “Sorry, I think I missed that?”  

Ben smiled back, but the worry didn’t completely go away. “I asked if you were alright?” 

Markus made his smile even brighter and consciously unclenched his hands from around his biceps, uncertain of when he’d even crossed his arms. “Of course, yeah,” he laughed, hoping it didn’t sound as forced as it felt, “just wondering if my alcohol tolerance has gone down. I used to be able to drink Clint under the table, ya know?” 

Ben and Kincaid both chuckled at that, shaking their heads. Kincaid slung an arm around Ben’s shoulders, gesturing for them both to move up in line. “I’m sure that he tells a different story.” 

“Well yeah,” Markus answered, relieved that they seemed to be accepting his distraction, “he’s got to keep the big, bad werewolf reputation intact.” 

“Thaaat’s the reason, sure,” Ben snorted, pointing at the different drink options. 

Markus blinked as Ben’s attention wavered, eyes flitting to the people that sidled up in the line next to them, watching how they interacted, their laughter or phone calls washing over him in a wave of sound. He swallowed, throat feeling tight, not recognizing that his arms were crossing back over his chest again. He knew that there was anxiety building, but he couldn’t accept that that’s what was happening. Not over something so simple as a trip to the movie theater. 

He shook himself, blinking hard, mind scrambling to make sense of what was going on in his own head, and he forcibly settled his shoulders as he realized it was the first time he’d been around so many people since he’d gotten away from Lucien. It was supposed to help, recognizing the trigger, right? 

“Hey, Markus?” 

Jumping a little at Kincaid’s voice, Markus forced an automatic, quizzical expression, like he hadn’t been a million miles away, and met the other man’s gaze. “Hmmm?” 

Kincaid’s mouth tilted in a knowing smile. “Can you go grab some straws?” he asked, eyebrows lifting meaningfully at the darker section of the atrium where the napkins, straws, and fake, powdered cheese lived. 

Markus nodded, smiling back, concealing his gratefulness and moved away from the crowded concession lines. 

But the further he got from Ben and Kincaid, the more his fear seemed to build. He stumbled as a little girl with two huge pig tails tripped in front of him, catching himself hard on his bad leg, barely hearing her high pitched apology as his heartbeat roared in his ears—the memory of being thrown, of being held down and stabbed—flashing in front of his eyes. He gasped raggedly, stumbling into the corner, eyes lowered to avoid the gaze of the other people there. Fuck, he thought, gasping tightly in the back of his throat, fuck. 

Markus’s heart was a rustling bird in his chest, thumping away at his breastbone in an effort to escape. The roar of air in his ears was deafening, the farther he plummeted downward, the harder the desperate flapping of the trapped bird became, his lungs expanding like fluttering wings, unable to collect enough air to keep him from crashing. Fuck, fuck, I can’t breathe. He grabbed ahold of the counter. Trying to keep from going to his knees in the middle of a goddamn movie theater. 

He was in a movie theater, right? His blinked, eyelids fluttering, gaze roving across the room, not quite seeing the garish posters, the advertisements for next year’s blockbusters. The milling crowd and arcade games turned into a bright blur, arching across his vision with a kaleidoscope of color. Like he was high, his pupils unfocused and dilated with the overhead lights. 

“Hey, are you okay?”  

Markus jerked, sucking in a short gasp as his muscles clamped down, not letting him move. Freezing him in place. He ducked his head, his shoulders drawing up around his ears, protecting the sides of his neck. 

A strong hand encircling his bicep made him choke down a whimper, and his gaze jerked to the person touching him, his breath completely stopping in his chest. Blond hair. Tall. Pale. 

No. Nononofuck. 

He tried to back away, shaking legs threatening to buckle as he tried to put more weight on his aching leg. Markus stumbled again, thudding into the counter, and his hand left its white knuckled grip on the counter to grab at the hot fury in his hip. 

“No need to be so jumpy there,” the other man laughed, his hand tightening as he steadied Markus. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost? Did you see that new Annabelle movie or something?” 

Markus shook his head, numb to what his expression was, eyes wide as he tried to pull himself from the panic. “N-no,” his mouth wouldn’t cooperate, lungs starving for oxygen even as he prepared himself to beg, “pl-ease.” 

Suddenly, Ben was there, shoving the other man’s hand away, pushing the blond back. “Back off.” The words were hollow, pounding drum notes, the echo wrong in Markus’s ears as his brain tried to keep up with the wild thud of his heartbeat. 

Ben, Ben don’t— He tried to reach for him, his hand leaving his hip with a flutter as he tried to get it to move past the electric, flashing pain in the joint. The fear Markus felt at the other human facing the Elder was instinctive, terrifying. He wouldn’t have a chance. Ben would die. Ben, please, not Ben. 

But then Kincaid was there too, his broad shoulders crowding in front of him, blocking his view, enveloping Markus in his warmth. “Easy, Markus, shhhh,” he ducked his head, honey hazel eyes meeting Markus’s, weaving to keep in Markus’s eye line as he tried to see Ben. “No, sweet guy, c’mon, look at me.” That tell-tale tingle of magic travelled down his spine when Kincaid’s hand wrapped around the back of his neck, his thumb brushing through the short hairs at his nape. 

Markus shuddered, gasping, ribs starting to ache with weight of his shaking breaths. There were angry murmurs, and Ben’s raised voice. Ben shouldn’t be confronting Lucien, no. “I-I c-can’t—Ben, can’t—“ he still couldn’t breathe, “Lucien—“ 

“No, Markus, shhhh,” Kincaid’s other hand cupped his cheek, forcing his gaze to stay on him, “Lucien isn’t here, okay? Ben’s fine. Look at me, breathe with me, c’mon.” He started taking a slow breath through his nose, letting it out through his pursed lips, demonstrating for Markus, trying to calm him down. 

He heaved in a heavy breath, not hearing the unsteady, short moan humming through his throat. “Kin—“ he panted, “Kin’, please, I—“ 

“Alright, no, I know,” Kincaid released the hold he had on his cheek, pulling Markus’s hand from the counter and to his chest. “You’re alright, grab hold, just like we practiced.” Markus felt the dangling charms of his grahm brushing against his fingers, and latched onto it, his fumbling grasp tightening as much as he could. “Breathe in,” Kincaid murmured softly, “One, two, three, four, hold—“ 

Kincaid took him all the way through the breathing exercise, murmuring softly to him the whole time, keeping their eyes locked together. His thumb didn’t stop its slow caress, brushing back and forth, back and forth, through his hair. “Good job,” he whispered, once Markus’s breath started to actually match his own, “good job, sweet guy, shhhh.” He brought their foreheads together, and Markus swayed into him, releasing the death grip on his hip to clutch at Kincaid’s t-shirt, clinging to him as the panic left him empty and aching. They were breathing the same air, and Markus could smell the popcorn and Coke on the other man’s breath. 

Markus’s eyelashes fluttered closed, and he let out another shaking breath. “—Kin’,” he whispered, not sure what he was wanting to say. 

“I’m right here, baby, shhhh,” Kincaid wound his free hand around Markus’s back, trapping Markus’s grahm and his hand between them, pulling him as tightly into his embrace as he could. Surrounding him, protecting him. His frantic heartbeat slowed, settling in his chest, letting Markus take a full, deep breath. 

When they pulled apart, Markus felt punch drunk. He staggered slightly, still in the circle of Kincaid’s arms, eyelids heavy and half-lidded. Kincaid took some of his weight, palm bracing his lower back, face still so very close to Markus’s. 

He jumped when someone else touched him, head sluggishly snapping toward toward the newcomer. It was Ben, and Markus’s breath left him again with both a sense of relief that the other man was okay and with fear, realizing just how close he was to Ben’s partner, the way that they were curled into each other. “Ben . . . “ he breathed, voice faint. 

The answering smile he received didn’t hold any of the anger that he’d expected, none of the territorial hostility that should have been there with Markus ensconced in an intimate embrace with the love of Ben’s life. Ben’s hand pressed against his shoulder blades, fingers spread wide and possessive, encouraging Markus to stay right were he was in Kincaid’s arms. “It’s okay, Bambi,”  he said softly, warmly, “It’s okay.” Ben had foregone his glasses, and his dusky, blue eyes were were sparkling, lines evident as his lips stretched into a welcoming smile. “Let’s go home, yeah?” 

Markus swallowed, still feeling dazed as he turned toward Ben, not capable of leaving the warmth that surrounded Kincaid. “But. . . the movie?” he asked, words slightly slurred with the oncoming fatigue. Nothing sounded better than going ho—going to Ben and Kincaid’s—and falling into an early sleep, but he didn’t want to ruin their night out. He could make it through a movie. 

Kincaid shook a head, his nose brushing Markus’s temple. “It doesn’t matter, Markus,” the hand still on the back of Markus’s neck swept up to cradle the back of his head, Kincaid’s thick, calloused fingers woven through his hair, “do you want to go home?” 

He let the weight of Kincaid’s hand pull him forward, so that he was pressed into the crook of the bigger man’s neck, hiding his face from the curious gazes he could see in the periphery of his vision. He nodded, curling his shoulders in, making himself smaller. 

“Okay, then let’s go home,” Kincaid whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair. 

Ben sidled up to his other side, free hand under Markus’s elbow, and between them, they took some of Markus’s weight so that he could follow their lead through the crowd, not letting himself acknowledge the people they passed. If his limp was more prominent now, it didn’t matter. 

He was going home.