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rainbowchristy · 2 years

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Let the Human In (Chapter Sixteen - Learning)

Summary: It’s just a regular workday for Phil. Doing rounds with his patients, helping out with the occasional emergency department case. The only difference? He has one new patient in the ED. One found unconscious on the street. One who starts throwing up from seemingly nothing. One, with a very dark backstory and no hope for the future.

Or, Dan is being sex trafficked and Phil’s a psych resident who just wants to help, even if everyone around him is telling him he’s too invested.

A/N: This fic is heavily inspired by the character Danny Jones from Chicago Med but you don’t need to know anything about the show to read this!

TW: Mention of panic attacks, heavily implied sexual content, mention of murder & talk of suicide.

Ao3 Link

Chapter 1 | Last Chapter

Phil doesn’t end up visiting Dan before his shift. A violent panic attack in the psychiatric ward results in sedation. After that, Phil’s tired. Holding down a thrashing patient hard enough to leave bruises – something necessary to keep them still for the injection – tends to do that.

When Kyle finds him sitting in Dr Forrest’s office, he’s typing on his laptop, perched on his knees because he’s sitting on the floor with his feet pulled up. His computer is at eye height; it’s not a good position to be in for an extended period of time, nor is it super productive, but, well, it’s what Phil felt like when he was deciding where to sit.

“Hey,” Kyle says. Phil looks up at him and sees him smirking sheepishly. He’s not sure how ‘sheepish’ and ‘smirk’ go together, but Kyle seems to make it work.

“Hey.”

“What are you up to?”

Phil looks back at his laptop, with the empty word document open, and back to Kyle. “Honestly, I think I’ve been staring into the void that is a blank white page.”

Kyle snorts. “Well, I’m here to save you from the void. Did you wanna go get dinner then go to Marcus’? I’ve had a day and a half too.”

Phil smiles. “That sounds great.” He puts his laptop away in its case and then into his book bag. He finds Dr Forrest and confirms with her that it’s okay if he leaves a half hour early – it is – and he says he’ll see her tomorrow.

As they’re walking for the elevator, Kyle takes and squeezes his hand before quickly dropping it again to press the elevator button.

They both order burgers because that’s what they’re in the mood for. Phil’s comes with a side of salad, even though he hates salad, while Kyle’s comes with fries.

“Why again did you order salad?” Kyle asks with an eye roll. Phil swallows the leafy greens in his mouth and shakes himself out to expel the unpleasantness.

“Because it’s healthy. With all the gore you see every day that is the indirect result of bad diets, you think you’d be a bit more cautious.”

“Yeah, but those people aren’t on their feet for twelve-hour shifts, running around for each new trauma that comes in.”

Phil shrugs. “Still.”

“You do you, Lester. I’m gonna enjoy my fries.”

Phil squints at Kyles before quickly reaching over and stealing a fry.

“Hey!” Kyle shouts, watching as Phil shoves the fry in his mouth. He looks defeated, making Phil grin at him in innocence.

“What?” Phil asks, tilting his head.

“You’re a fiend.”

“I think it’s pronounced ‘friend’.”

Kyle just shorts before picking up his burger.

~~~~

Marcus’ is busy tonight, but he always makes room for Phil and Kyle.

“What can I get you boys?” he asks as he wipes a glass dry and hangs it on the overhead rack.

“Usual?” Kyle asks, looking at Phil. He nods, so Kyle repeats the word, no longer a question, to Marcus. He gives a firm nod before reaching for the glass he just put away.

An hour later and they’ve had a little too much to drink. Phil’s not sure how they got so pissed so quickly. I mean, they were here on Sunday and didn’t get drunk. Though, to be fair, the atmosphere that night was nothing if not sobering.

Phil manages to order a cab for them while Kyle pays their tab. Phil loves that about their friendship. They don’t keep tabs on who’s spent more on the other; it’s just whoever happens to pay for it first.

As they’re walking out of the bar, Kyle swings his arm around Phil’s shoulders. At first, Phil thinks it’s to keep himself stable – Kyle is pretty drunk, after all – but he quickly realises that, no, Kyle – or, more specifically, drunk Kyle – has some other ideas.

“When we get home, I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he whispers into Phil’s ear, making him shiver. He’s always cringed at whispers. Hearing someone’s lips move, especially when the speaker is drunk and slurring, is absolutely horrific. But still, despite the unpleasant shiver, his body reacts to the words.

Right. They aren’t friends who don’t keep track of each time they spend money on each other. They’re boyfriends.

It’s still weird. And surely Kyle thinks it’s still weird, despite what he says. Phil can’t take it at face value – he’s pissed out of his mind, after all.

The cab arrives after a short time, and they clamber into the back seat, Phil somehow more graceful than Kyle. He’s not as drunk, but he is still naturally very clumsy. Kyle must be well drunk to be tripping over his feet more than Phil does on a daily basis.

They get home quickly, Phil unlocking the door to his apartment. Kyle’s lips are on his neck the second the door is closed. He’s pushed Phil up against the hallway wall, shoving his hands up under Phil’s shirt and rubbing at Phil’s barely-there abs. It only takes a few seconds for Phil’s body to react, and he can feel himself growing in his pants. They’re uncomfortably tight, so he reaches to undo his belt just to get a little release.

Kyle shoves his hands away, though. “None of that,” he says before taking over the job himself and quickly but clumsily undoing Phil’s belt, pulling it out from the loops in his jeans. “Bedroom,” Kyle says. Phil thinks it’s a question but the way Kyle says it makes it sound almost like a demand.

He’s not sure he should let this continue. No, scratch that. He knows he shouldn’t let this continue. Kyle’s unbelievably drunk, and Phil is, too. But, well, simply because of that, and because of the way Kyle is grinding against him, Phil can’t find it in himself to push him away.

~~~~

The sun is shining directly onto his face in the morning. As it always does when he forgets to close his blackout blinds. That’s why Phil got them in the first place – so he can sleep in after a late night at the hospital – but he barely ever remembers to close them when he gets back so late.

Maybe he should start closing them before he leaves when he knows it’ll be a long day. But then he feels that his room would get too musty. He chooses not to question how the sunlight, without any open windows, can prevent his room from getting musty. It makes sense in his brain, and that’s all that matters.

He rolls over and sees Kyle, still fast asleep, drooling onto the other pillow. Phil tips onto his back and drops his head back with a sigh. He’s sore from last night, and, honestly, he can’t even remember anything but the basic ‘they had sex’.

Deciding that a shower will help clear his head, he gets out of bed and focuses on the kitchen. Drugs first, then shower. He pops some extra tablets out of the blister pack for Kyle and fills a glass of water. After putting them on the bedside table, he wobbles back to the bathroom.

The water, despite being the usually-perfect temperature, is burning hot today. He has the hot water tap almost entirely off before it’s an acceptable temperature.

“Shit, this is freezing,” Kyle says, surprising Phil. He hadn’t heard him come into the bathroom, let alone the actual shower. Phil spares a second to think about how easy it’d have been to murder him had Kyle been someone wanting to hurt him. He’s facing the door, but it’s ineffective at stopping serial killers because his eyes are closed. Not to mention the cool water is rushing over his face and down his body, effectively deafening him to the outside world.

Phil jumps, utterly silent in his brief panic. He’d be easy to kill; he just stands there like a deer in the headlights. He’s not sure what he did to warrant being stabbed to death, but this is his fate. He hopes someone tells his patients. He hopes someone tells Dan.

“Sorry,” Kyle says, holding his hands up in surrender despite the not-at-all-guilty smile on his lips. “Morning.” Kyle leans in and pecks Phil on the lips.

“Morning,” Phil chokes out in reply. He’s not sure what’s going on. The day before yesterday, Kyle was hesitant and awkward in his actions with Phil. Now, Kyle’s smirking at him in the shower and dropping to his knees.

~~~~

“Good morning, Dr Lester,” Dr Forrest greets, waving him over.

“Morning. How are you?”

“I’m all well and good. How are you?”

Phil nods. “I’m good, thanks.”

“I was wondering how you were going with Will? I believe he’s the youngest you’ve looked after,” she says, but it’s partially a question.

Phil confirms, “Yeah. He was upset yesterday, but I think I’m getting a better idea of what’s going on for him. I’ll let you know more after today?”

Dr Forrest nods. “That sounds perfect.” Her pager goes off, and after a quick look, she points over her shoulder with her thumb. “Best be going.”

“Yep.” Phil watches as she rushes off before turning to unlock her office door.

He gets set up for the day, putting his coat on, pocketing his pager and sorting through his plans. It’s not long before he’s off to check on his first patient. He usually checks in with his in-patients first, as he talks to them twice daily, and their care is often more intensive. However, he missed checking in with Dan yesterday – not that Dan is his patient anymore.

Dan’s stoic when Phil comes in. It gives Phil déjà vu; it feels so much like when they first met. He’s unresponsive, despite being awake. Phil waves his hand in front of him, trying to get his attention, and there’s nothing; no indication that he’s in the present moment.

Phil sits and waits. He’s seen patients like this before – catatonic – and knows there isn’t much to do but wait it out. Sometimes, patients are lost in memories. Other times, they’re so deep in thought that they’re unaware of their surroundings. Some patients are aware of their surroundings, but no matter how hard they try, they can’t get their body to respond to the environment. They’re the patients that panic most afterwards. They can’t understand how they can be fully conscious but with a body that has shut down.

Phil cannot know what type of catatonia they’re experiencing until he talks to the individual. He can speculate – he thinks Dan may be trapped in memories – but that’s only a guess based on what he knows.

He stares out the window while he waits. There’s a children’s playground a ways away from the hospital; it’s part of the childcare facility on University College London’s campus.

There’s a sharp gasp that pulls him away from the window.

“Dan,” he says, observing that he is now awake. “How are you feeling?”

Dan’s eyes are zipping all over the room, another strong indicator that he was reliving the past; he needs to reorient himself in the present. Phil sees his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. His speeding eyes catch the cup of water on the table next to his bed, and he reaches for it, quickly drinking half of it.

He’s calmer after that. He’s still looking around, but it’s less panicked. It doesn’t take long for him to be looking at Phil.

“Hey,” Phil says. Dan blinks some more.

“Phil,” he ends up saying, breathy.

“How are you feeling?”

Dan looks around again before turning his head back to Phil. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital.”

Dan nods. “Yeah, yeah, I’m in the hospital. That makes sense.”

Phil’s concerned, an emotion that can be seen through his creased eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t– I don’t know. I– can’t remember.”

“Well, what can you remember?”

“You helped me. You– you were nice and didn’t treat me different.”

“Who treated you different, Dan?”

He looks to his lap. “No one.”

It’s a lie; Dan’s tone gives him away. “It’s okay. You can tell me. You’re safe here, remember?”

Dan blinks, looking at Phil again with watery eyes. “The lady you said would help me.”

“Cassie?” Phil asked, confused. She was a good doctor; surely, she wouldn’t have treated Dan differently. He’s seen her work, and she’s nothing if not compassionate.

He nods. “I’m sorry.” He folds in on himself when Phil slides his chair a little closer to the bed.

“No need to be sorry. If you don’t feel she’s the right fit, that’s perfectly fine. There are plenty of other doctors here who can help you.”

Dan shakes his head. “No.”

“‘No’?”

“I don’t– I can’t– it hurts.”

Phil’s brows furrow further as he stands up. “What hurts?” He’s got his hands hovering in front of him, ready to check wherever Dan says is hurting, but he just shakes his head more.

“She was asking me about it. She wouldn’t let it go.”

Phil stays silent. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say in this situation, so he just takes a seat again and waits for Dan to turn his thoughts into sentences.

“You never did that.”

“Asked you about it?” Phil asked for clarification after Dan didn’t continue. Phil has asked about it. Repeatedly. Sure, he’s never pushed too hard, only taking what Dan was willing to give, but he has asked about it and pushed a little.

“Like she did,” Dan corrects.

“And how did she ask you about it?”

“Asking. Again and again. Even when I said no.”

Phil nods. “And how do I ask you?”

“Stories,” Dan says as if the single word is a complete answer.

“I don’t understand,” Phil says because he really doesn’t.

“You tell stories, and I add bits.”

Phil initially believes Dan is talking about Phil suggesting events in Dan’s past, which he’s never done because it is entirely unscientific, immoral, and bordering on illegal. But it doesn’t take him long to realise what Dan is actually saying. Phil’s way of psychotherapy with reluctant patients is to make it into a conversation.

When Dan wouldn’t talk to Phil at first, he shared his own information based on context. Dan had an oversized jacket when he first came into the ED, and Phil used that to learn trivial, unrelated things about Dan. Like that he hates the cold. He learned that by telling Dan about how he’s from Manchester and even got a laugh out of Dan about liking snow but hating the cold. It was a chat, not a therapy session.

That must be how best to treat Dan. But he also knows from experience that his way of doing things isn’t particularly common nor preferred among his colleagues. It’s too indirect for them, too slow and inefficient. But to Phil, it’s effective, a quality that outweighs its slow pace. Slow and steady wins the race, or something like that.

“You like my stories?”

Dan smiles then. It’s small but noticeable. “Yeah,” he says. His voice is soft as he watches his hands smooth out the blanket on his lap.

“I’m glad. If you want to, I’d love to hear some of your stories.”

Dan looks at him then, eyebrows drawn in. “Maybe,” he says, without continuing.

Abruptly, Phil remembers that Dan is not his patient. He’s a friend now, and apparently, that distinction is going to be harder to remember than he thought it’d be.

Still, Phil nods at Dan’s words. “Whenever you’re ready.” Friends listen to each others’ stories; he can do that with Dan without crossing the boundary into patient and doctor. “Do you want to talk to Cassie?”

Dan shakes his head. “It’s okay. Just don’t like it.”

“Is that why you weren’t responsive when I first came in?”

Dan blinks. “Cassie was here. Next thing, she’s gone, and you’re here instead.”

“That’s okay,” Phil says, nodding to confirm what he’s saying.

They talk for a bit longer but eventually, Phil needs to go and see his own patients. After all, he is on the clock and isn’t paid to visit a friend.

He checks in on Will next because he’s the newest addition to the psych ward and because he’s young. He’s bound to be scared. So he heads for the children’s psychiatric ward, directly above the adult ward. All his current patients are there, sadly. Maybe he should talk to Dr Forrest about having some older patients so that he can get experience working with all age groups. He makes a mental note.

“Hey, Will,” Phil says, opening the door he’d just knocked on.

“Phil!”

Will’s not as nervous as Phil thought he’d be. In fact, he sounds rather excited. He’d have to ask the nurses if that’s been the whole time or if it was a unique emotion related to Phil’s presence. With how distressed he became earlier, Phil wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter.

“How are you going?”

Will shrugs. “Good, I guess.”

Phil nods. “You said you’re good, but you shrugged. Are you truly ‘good’, or was that answer automatic?”

He shrugs again. “At least there’s no arguing here.”

“And how’s that make you feel?”

“A little less shit than I usually do.”

Phil chuckles a little. “Well, that’s all we can really ask for right now, isn’t it.”

Will just shrugs again.

“I was hoping to get a bit better of an idea of what your experiences are.”

“Okay,” Will says, but he doesn’t continue. When Phil waits patiently, Will raises an eyebrow. “Well?” he asks. “What are you hoping for now?”

“Sorry?” Phil asks, confused.

“You said you were hoping, past tense. That means you have a different plan now.”

Phil blinks. “Oh. Um, I’m still hoping for the same thing. I’d like you to tell me more about your experiences,” Phil says, careful with his wording this time.

“Still not helpful,” Will says with a huff. “Ask me what you want to know specifically, or piss off and stop wasting both our times.”

Phil takes a second to reseat himself in the armchair. The sudden change in the atmosphere took him by surprise, and he needs a few seconds to reset his thoughts.

“Right, sorry,” he says, mainly out of habit. He’s constantly apologising – it’s a habit he thought he’d broken by now. “Well, I suppose as a starter, what would you be doing if I wasn’t wasting your time?” He makes sure his tone makes it obvious that he doesn’t agree that he’s wasting their time, that he’s just using Will’s own words.

“I don’t know.”

“You said you like engineering. Is there any particular project you’re working on at the moment?”

Will looks away. “No. I didn’t– After my last project– I didn’t want to leave a project unfinished.”

Phil understands the hidden message. He hadn’t felt there was a reason to start a new project, hadn’t thought he’d be alive to see it finished.

“That makes sense. Does that mean the attempt was planned in advance?” Phil asks, needing clarification. He assumed it was a spur-of-the-moment thing – most are, in the end.

Even after all his training, he’s still learning not to make those kinds of assumptions. Sure, expectations based on past knowledge help him do his job, but assumptions generally cause more harm than they’re worth.

Will stares at his lap. He’s picking at the skin around his nails, but Phil focuses on the conversation right now. Problematic behaviours can be targeted later, so long as they aren’t hindering his progress. “Yeah.”

Phil tilts and lowers his head, trying to catch Will’s eyes. “Can you tell me more about that plan?”

He shrugs. “I guess. I planned it probably a month ago, maybe two– no, definitely closer to one. Things went to plan, mostly. Other than the outcome, obviously. I kept the grocery bags mum got from shopping, and I had like five cause I wanted to be sure there would be no holes. But then I was reading about how slow suffocation is and how hanging is generally a better option cause you can’t chicken out.

“So I used my pocket-money to buy some rope and, well, yeah. Learned how to make a noose, set up and got started. But apparently, the world hates me because I accidentally kicked the chair into my bedside table, which made the whole thing fall over. I don’t remember much more than that.”

Phil nods slowly. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I know it mustn’t be easy to remember those events.”

Will just shrugs. “It’s whatever.”

“You are very brave, Will,” Phil insists. “Sure, you tried to end it all, but you’re still here. And being able to talk to me about it? That’s huge.”

Will just scoffs. “I’ve had enough questions. I’m tired now.”

Phil doesn’t mention how he only asked one question and then a follow-up one. He just nods. “I’ll come back in a bit and check-in. How does that sound?”

Will rolls over with a nod. It’s not a rude gesture – the rolling over – so Phil still thinks they’re on good terms, even with Will’s sarcastic comments.

Next, he’s got to check on Liz and Luke. He hopes they’re doing better than Will. And Dan. Not that he’s Phil’s patient anymore. Dan can do as good or as bad as he wants, and it really shouldn’t concern Phil. But, well, it does, and he can’t help that.

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #phandom #daniel howell #danisnotonfire #philip lester #phil lester #amazingphil #christy's writing #Let the Human In Fic

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whaliiwatching · 7 months

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no way!!! it's Other Characters!!!!!

#spider man: into the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #peni parker #margo kess #sp//drbyte #spdrbyte #peter porker #sp//dr #spider byte #spider ham #totally not for a potential fic of mine nooooooooo why would you say thaaaaaaaat #amusing to me that i have only drawn ham once and its been as a human #his outfit/style is based on 60s era hippies bc 1956-70 was the silver age of comics!!#im not a comic aficionado but that era seemed like the right vibe #other than he's just john mulaney w dwarfism. bc spiderham is just john mulaney as a superpowered pig #and then ofc cute stem girlfriends #90s emo x bubblegum femme happening right before ur eyes #theyre adorable together but dont let them deceive you #lyla is AFRAID of them #gamer gfs who trash everyone at mario kart!!!#and also trash miguel's surveillance tech!! and portal tracking!!!#theyre parked at lovers' point watching the stars from inside sp//dr right now. they told me so

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starry-bi-sky · 2 months

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more cfau miscellaneous things because Childhood Friends Danny and Jason have my head and heart always and I need to finish rewriting chapter two dammit (and redo the half-finished chapter 4 because its just Not The Vibes). i'm almost through I need to get through the graveyard scene. (i just stubbornly refuse to have it be shorter than the original chapter and thats the little death. that is the mind killer.)

Danny and jason’s ghost forms both smell faintly like burnt flesh and cigarettes. However, Jason has a more smokey smell while Danny’s smells almost,,, electrical? In a sense? Like he just straight up smells like burnt flesh and sulphur while Jason smells like someone put him in a smoker first.

It’s very much an unpleasant smell but Danny finds an odd comfort in it just as much as he finds a comfort in the smell of nicotine.

(Jason post-revival smells burnt flesh once and is immediately offput by the fact that it brings him an instinctive comfort. He doesn’t realize its because it reminds him of Danny, and is uncomfortable by it.)

In an au of an au, Danny’s altercation with Rath ends with Rath regaining enough of his sanity to snap out of the grieving state and ends with him breaking down. Instead of being souped and imprisoned, Rath, who is permanently 14, decides to Move On into the unknown. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and tired.

(Is this influenced heavily by the ParaNorman scene where he talks to Agatha and helps her move on? Yes. But it doesn’t fit with the Original Storyline so im shoving it into an Au of an Au.)

Rath tells Danny that Jason lied to them (which he genuinely believes), and that he’s tired of waiting/looking for him/grieving. Jason is gone. He isn’t coming back, he abandoned them. And he wants his mom and dad, and his sister, and his friends. And he’s ready to join them.

He leads Danny out to Gotham, which other than Amity Park might’ve been the only city left untouched due to Rath’s own mental block on the place. They go out to the park he and Jason used to frequent or up to one of crime alley’s rooftops, and there Rath lies down and goes to sleep. Only to never wake up again, materializing into nothing as his soul moves on.

Before Rath leaves, he forces Danny to promise him that he’ll only wait for Jason for ten years. After that if he doesn’t find him, or if Jason doesn’t show, then Danny has to move on. Whether that be like how Rath does, or if its inly mentally/emotionally, doesn’t matter. He has to move on. Don’t wait for him. Don’t waste his time any more.

(“Oh, and if you find him, kick his ass for me.”)

Danny reluctantly agrees, and Rath lies down. Danny sings to him as he falls asleep.

(Angsty points if the vigilantes including Red Hood caught wind of their presence and were silently watching from the shadows. Rath might know they’re there, but Danny’s too focused on Rath to notice.)

(If only so that Red Hood realizes that this is what happened to Danny, and that Danny is gone before he can make things right. The tragedy, folks. The angst. The initial realization that Danny was Rath, and then also that Danny was dead and has been dead for years, and that before he moved on, he moved on believing that Jason abandoned him.)

(like i said it doesn't fit in the original timeline/storyline hence why its an au of an au and isn't nearly a fleshed out, but i was largely just focusing on the tragedy of Rath moving on and Jason being alive to see it and realize just who Rath is.)

Just like how the Lazarus pits shot Jason's twiggy 4'6-5'4 (depending on what you find) feet tall and 86lb ass up like a tree an essentially fixed his malnutrition, the portal did the same thing for Danny.

(granted i forgot about malnutrition and danny's likely stunted growth at first -- his family lived in crime alley and despite both his parents working, I don't think they had enough food all the time. He probably wasn't as badly malnourished as Jason was, but he wasn't healthy either.)

Granted his ghost in its "natural" state (14) is short, and his growth spurts were slow at first, it did result in him reaching his dad's height. There were points where it just happened overnight, like a baby. He went to bed one night 5’6 and woke up the next day 5’10.

Jazz is shorter than him. Although I have't decided if she's even liminal at all (and if she is, it didn't cure everything because she would have also suffered childhood malnutrition, and since in au canon their parents didn't get their hands on physical ectoplasm until after they got to Amity Park. So the exposure is less.)

Danny's voice absolutely sounds like canon Dan's. It kinda just dropped one day when he was 16-17 and never went back up. Sam and Tucker sometimes ask him to just talk about anything because they find his voice soothing.

I'm not sure yet how Danny would feel about it at first considering Rath, but I imagine that Rath, when he did speak, would have had a quieter and scratchier/weaker voice considering he's spent the last decade shrieking and crying.

(and i suppose technically that shouldn't have any effect on his throat considering he's a ghost and idk if that would actually affect him, but i like the idea so im keeping it)

In the beginning you could hear him from a mile away by the sound of his loud, echoing wails, but ten years later you can only really hear him by the soft, shuddering sobs he makes. Like he's gasping for air that isn't there. The future is full of very quiet survivors.

And it's much easier to speak when you pitch your voice upwards (especially when whispering/speaking quietly) so he might've spoken in a higher, airy pitch in order to be heard. So Danny might actually find a comfort in having a lower voice.

#tw mentions of gore #cw gore #i suppose this counts as gore #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dpxdc crossover #childhood friends au #cfau #really leaning into the idea of rath just being a horror. the horrors! i am delighted in the horrors!#im having fun with it #i swear to god turning 19 turned a switch on in my brain because i am much more comfortable with gore and heavy injury now than i was l #literally a year ago. the urge to write about some of danny's most horrific injuries in his fights is STRONG #like the hORRORS folks. *th horrors*. i dont think i'll ever write a dissection fic because that icks me out but the idea that danny's had #to stitch up his own throat because it got slit in a fight nd he cant shift back to human until he's done because his ghost will survive bu #his body wont #the idea that he's been impaled multiple times before and it hurts each fucking time but he still gets up and hurls the hurt right back in #equal measure. because that's how you wanna play? okay. lets play. he's 14 and his best friend is dead. he can play.#and the idea that all ghosts have 'corpse' forms where their ghosts look exactly like how they died. and danny is utterly unrecognizable #jazz being liminal or not just isnt important to me because she's barely gonna show up in the story anyways #same reason why i hardly use the headcanon that ellie becomes danny's daughter because what use is she to me like that? she'll hardly have #an impact on the story and i refuse to treat characters like props. if they can't help progress the story then they aren't included

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zukosdualdao · 2 months

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another thing about the crystal catacombs is that it seems clear to me that katara and zuko MUST talk a little more in between what we actually see, because when zuko says, “i’m sorry, that’s something we have in common”, they are both sitting-slash-kneeling, and in the next scene (after a switch to other plotty events) they’re both standing, and katara is apologizing for yelling at him. i don’t think it was a particularly LONG addition to the conversation (i imagine katara asking what he means, zuko wanting to connect but not really knowing how to talk about it further due to The Abuse Trauma, katara apologizing for yelling because she thinks that’s why he’s not opening up, etc.) but what i AM trying to figure out (for fic-writing purposes) is what caused them both to stand back up?

#zutara #i think katara might bolt back up at the implication that the fire lord hurt is wife in some way #so i guess maybe now that they’re not being completely antagonistic zuko stands to be at eye level with her. hmmmm #the trials of destiny fic #anyway. i love them #trying to figure out how to balance this conversation in fic #bc the first draft has way more information than i think either of them might actually share at this point #then what we actually see in the show is. enemies putting aside their differences for a minute #and seeing a glimpse of humanity in the other #and the possibility for trust and growth #but it can’t just be like ‘let me tell you my life story now actually’#atla #zuko #katara #abuse //

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delimeful · 3 months

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let my mind reset (6)

warnings: angst, brainwashing, torture, psychological conditioning, references to injury/gore/death, harmful surgical implants, they are really going through it now, lmk if i missed any

Where the hours had passed slowly before, now they seemed to slip by all too fast. Every spare moment Roman had was spent in anxious anticipation of the next session and all that came with it.

He had never seen something like the haze used on a person before. Crav’n were invulnerable to it, and he’d only ever witnessed his aunt use it briefly on one of the local fauna once, a harmless and finicky tree-dwelling species about the size of his hand.

(Roman remembered the way Marta had compelled the little creature to pace back and forth, from place to place, wearing its will away until there wasn’t any hesitation between order and action. Then, she’d sent it walking into the nearby pond.

He remembered the way its survival instinct had set in late, the way it began to thrash, and still Marta didn’t call it back. He remembered feeling relieved when his mother stepped in and put a stop to the demonstration, scooping the poor beast from its fate with disapproval etched firmly in the set of her shoulders.

He didn’t remember if the creature had lived through the withdrawal, afterwards.)

Virgil was far from a simple animal, though, and despite Roman’s half-formed nightmares, he didn’t mindlessly succumb to the influence of the drug the first time it was forced on him, nor the second or the third.

In fact, every time the other Humans entered his cell with that unsettling green canister, he seemed just as panicked as Roman, if not more, putting up as much of a fight as he could with a battered body and a wrung out mind. No matter how they tutted or scolded, the other Humans still couldn’t get the mask on him until Roux had him forcibly subdued, which was a tiny victory in itself.

That didn’t stop the drug from taking its toll each and every time.

As horrible as it sounded, the worst part was that the effects weren't painful or malicious in nature. At least that would have been easier to fight against; a logical, instinctive response to being hurt.

No, it was far more insidious than that. The haze dulled pain. First, the physical: it eased away the stiffness of sore muscles and the burning of shocked nerves, leaving only a pleasant numbness behind. Then, the mental: it stalled the production of stressful chemical compounds, replacing them with whatever was needed to trick the victim’s mind into believing they were happy, relaxed, pliable.

Roman had never seen Virgil so unwound, so carefree, and he hated how unnatural the behavior seemed on the Human. It was a miserable experience, finally seeing him without the hunted slant to his posture, and feeling sickened by the sight.

What was worse was watching it wear off.

As though a switch had been thrown in reverse, Virgil would be plagued by a creeping, unrelenting sense of panic and dread, pacing around his cell frantically until a sudden hypersensitivity to touch left him crumpled in one spot, breathing harsh and pained.

Time after time, he was shown exactly how painful withdrawal from even a few doses was, until he was left bracing for it well before the next session had even begun.

“The last guys who had me would have killed for something like this,” Virgil said, nearly panting as he laid out on his back. He had his fingers pressed against his neck, feeling his pulse. His heart was racing so hard that Roman could see the veins pulsing eerily under the skin. A heavy spike of adrenaline, unprompted by anything tangible. “Bet she has at least a few people stashed away just to drain for easy cash.”

He spoke more, like this. Out of turn, about topics that were morbid and pessimistic, as though the thoughts were tumbling free of his mind without his permission. Roman never let his negative reactions to the more grim topics go beyond his ears flickering back; it wasn’t like he had the room or right to judge. They didn’t have very many reasons to be optimistic. Besides, he’d realized early on that the more worked up Roman got, the worse Virgil got in turn.

He still didn’t know the exact details of how Dren harvesting worked, and he was fairly sure he was better off for it. The very idea of setting an entire person aside for something like that was reprehensible, and therefore entirely possible for Marta.

“She said she… she gets rid of Humans that don’t break,” he replied after a moment, the words tumbling freely from him for once. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to turn a profit from it.”

He’d been trying to match the distant, dry tone Virgil had used, but he must have missed the mark, because the Human stiffened, and drew his hand back from Roman’s grasp to press it harshly against his eyes.

Belatedly, Roman realized what he’d just implied. Virgil was one of those Humans trying not to break, was at this very moment barely clinging to his composure, and he’d just been informed he was stuck between two horrific fates worse than death. “I didn’t mean—,”

“‘S alright,” Virgil interrupted, voice rough with exhaustion. “It’s not like I didn’t know. It makes me feel a little better, honestly.”

Roman stared at him, bewildered and still slightly aghast at his own stupidity, and Virgil shifted a few fingers to peer back with one eye.

“At least some Humans didn’t fall for it, y’know? At least some of them got out in their own way,” he continued, a thin thread of hopelessness tangled up in the words. “I was starting to wonder if the rest of space was right. If we were all just destined to be monsters with the right motivation.”

Roman should have been more alarmed at the implication that Virgil felt close to succumbing, that he was nearer than he’d ever wanted to be to a Human on the brink of falling under someone else’s blatantly malignant control, but all he could feel was a painful sympathy.

“You’re not a monster,” he said, and then, more firmly— “Humans aren’t monsters.”

Virgil’s eye widened slightly, gaze intent in a way that would have made Roman bristle in the past.

“They’re just people. They can do good or bad, just like anyone else. And sure, these guys are— they’re not doing good.” A pause, and Roman forced himself to meet Virgil’s stare. “But you have. You saved Patton, and you tried to save me, and you’re— you’re not a monster. You’re a good friend.”

Virgil buried his face back in his elbow and was quiet for a long moment.

“…You’re not so bad yourself.”

—

Roman hadn’t expected Marta to show up in person, not with how much she had delegated to her brainwashed underlings thus far, but arrive she did.

“Don’t fret, ghiva’al,” she crooned to him, passing by his cell with the lightest clink of her claws dragged against the bars. “I’m here to meet your little pet, not you.”

“Don’t—,” call me that, call him that, he wanted to snarl, but his throat closed up so sharply that it sounded a little like he’d choked.

Marta made her stilted croaking laugh, sparing him a glance that might have been pitying if it had bothered to reach her cold, empty eyes. “You always did struggle with words when emotional, didn’t you? Not nearly as well spoken as your mother. What a shame to see that hasn’t changed.”

There was a sharp clacking as an aggressive shudder ran through Roman’s scales, but he still couldn’t find his voice. Not even when Marta moved on to grip the bars of Virgil’s cell, her attention shifting to the Human where he stood warily in the center of the cage.

Roman had learned more than he’d ever thought he would about Human body language over the past few weeks. He knew from the slight sway to Virgil’s every shift that the Human was drained, likely barely keeping his feet.

Still, he was upright to face Marta, his height advantage allowing him to look down at her, and that was better than being crumpled on the ground at her feet. Little victories were all they had now, and they clung to each and every one.

Roux wasn’t there, Roman realized with a jolt, and the knowledge was enough to drag his mind into overdrive, a sudden double-edged hope springing to life in his chest.

Virgil must have already realized, because the way he held himself shifted into something taut and coiled, like he was preparing to lunge forward at the first opportunity, weak or not.

“Back of the cell,” Marta commanded, voice turned brisk and blunt in a way it hadn’t been with Roman. Like she was speaking to a beast instead of a person.

Virgil didn’t move, barely deigned to acknowledge the words beyond a brief flicker of his pupils upwards.

Marta waited, letting the silence stretch for a brief moment, and then clicked her teeth together in a mild reprimand. “The hard way, then.”

Despite her apparent annoyance, the words held a sort of anticipatory delight, and Roman felt the thick tar of dread slide under his scales as he watched her slide a small, triangular remote from a pouch at her side.

When she pressed the button in the center of it, she was looking at Roman.

It was Virgil who went rigid and fell.

Despite knowing it would undercut every lie he’d tried to sell about how little he cared, despite the fact that he was playing right into her claws, Roman couldn’t help but rush to the bars separating them, a shout of horror catching in his chest.

The Human hit the ground hard but stayed chillingly frozen, with every muscle locked into hard lines. He didn’t make a sound until Marta shifted her thumb away from the button, the motion somehow allowing him to finally go limp like a puppet with strings cut.

“Virgil!” Roman managed, though the sound of it was nearly lost in the sudden loudness of the Human’s gasping breaths. He hadn’t been breathing before, Roman realized with a terrified shock.

Whatever Marta was doing, it hadn’t countered Virgil’s natural stubbornness, and he climbed back to his feet with less staggering than Roman would have expected.

His gaze caught on the tremor to Virgil’s hands, the shuddering of his pulse, and he understood. Adrenaline.

The fight or flight instinct, Virgil had called it while talking with Patton. Roman had seen him choose to fight once, at their very first meeting, but even that couldn’t compare to the speed and ferocity of the way the Human lunged now.

Marta didn’t flinch back when he made loud, skull-rattling contact with the bars, but she didn’t blink, either, keeping her eyes firmly locked on Virgil as she pressed the button once more.

Instead of letting him drop, however, she reached out and seized him by the face, claws digging in on either cheek and holding tightly.

Virgil couldn’t so much as flinch away from the pain, and Roman slammed his arm against the door of his own cell with force, furious at his own helplessness.

Marta released the trigger again, and this time, every gasping inhale Virgil took was dosed with her haze. He tried to jerk back, but it was far faster acting straight from the source, and he had barely a moment before his expression dropped to something hollow and smooth, his desperate strength wavering and then extinguishing like a flame with nothing left to burn.

“Down,” Marta commanded, releasing her grip, and Virgil stood in place for a few long heartbeats before his legs collapsed underneath him.

She waved a hand absently down at him, still scattering her haze thick in the air. “There you go. It feels so much better when you listen, doesn’t it?”

Virgil twitched, a ripple of discontent crossing his face, but didn’t respond. He was shaking relentlessly now, his entire body trembling in a way that had Roman deeply concerned.

“You’re safe with me,” Marta lied, reaching down to glide the palm of her hand over the side of Virgil’s face. “You’re only safe with me. Everyone else wants to hurt you, but I’ll make the pain go away. Always do as I say, okay?”

Virgil didn’t move away, even as her rough skin caught on the wounds her claws had left only moments ago. His breathing grew wispier, slower, until he appeared almost calm, his eyes dazed and distant.

“Let’s try this again,” Marta straightened, and when her hand left Virgil’s cheek, he strained after it for a handful of seconds. “Back of the cell.”

Virgil climbed back to his feet, and Roman closed his eyes as the Human quietly began shuffling across his stretch of cell. He felt all of six winters old again, watching his aunt lead something fuzzy and helpless back and forth, closer and closer to the water’s edge.

“Good. Now, heel.” More shuffling, wordless as a corpse.

How long did he have before Virgil took his own plunge?

—

It took longer than before for Virgil to regain coherence, afterwards.

Roman knew the moment he’d come back to himself, because the soft grip around his hand had instantly vanished, yanked away so sharply that he’d barely registered the movement before Virgil was up on his feet and backing away.

“Virgil,” he tried, and the Human shook his head, the motion harsh, his hands lifting up to grip roughly at his hair in a distressed motion Roman had only ever caught glimpses of back on the ship.

He’d continued to retreat until he hit the furthest corner of the cell, where he slid down and curled in on himself, utterly unreceptive to any of Roman’s stilted calls. Roman caught his expression crumpling into a miserable grimace before he buried his face in his knees and hid that away too.

The silence stretched.

If there were some right words to say here, Roman couldn’t find them. Even if he did, he undoubtedly wouldn’t be able to say them. The helplessness sheared against his scales like rough sand, but how could he allow himself to wallow in it when he at least still had his mind, his existence still unarguably his own?

Freshly taunted by the knowledge that he didn’t have even that much, Virgil remained still and taut and quiet in the furthest reaches of his cell for what felt like a very long time.

When he did finally stir, Roman was appalled to see the faint streaks on his face where his tears had washed away the sweat and grime.

Patton had described Human weeping as arrhythmic vocalizations, much like Ampens, but with a physical manifestation as well. Roman hadn’t known that Humans could cry silently, like a pup gone still and quiet in the face of danger, with only the barest hitching of breath to indicate distress.

The expression on Virgil now was creased into firm lines, but it didn’t seem agonized or crumbling at the edges. Rather, as he climbed to his face, he seemed to hold the same bitter resolution Roman had seen in him a few times before: during the tail end of their first meeting, and after the fight with the raiders, both times when he’d thought he was about to be left alone again.

“Roman,” he started, and then worked his jaw tersely, once, twice. Rather than continue, he held out a hand, palm-up in silent offering.

Things had changed a lot over the course of their captivity, Roman reflected as he reached out and set his own hand in the Human’s grasp with barely a shred of hesitation. It felt like second nature by now, to reach out and cling on whenever his stomach was roiling with stress.

Virgil watched him for a moment longer, and then wrapped his fingers around Roman’s hand and drew closer, slowly pulling his arm up until he had positioned Roman’s claws just above the skin of his neck.

“This,” Virgil said, each word resolute, “is the best place to sever if you want to kill a Human quickly.”

The words took a dull, ringing moment to sink in, but once they did, Roman jerked back sharply. “Virgil, what—?”

For the first time, Virgil held on, keeping his hand pinned in place with ease even as he had to grip the bars with his other hand to remain upright. Roman could see the way the Human’s pulse fluttered under the skin, a heartbeat racing visibly exactly where Virgil had indicated.

“It’s important. You need to know,” Virgil insisted, and lifted their joined hands higher, to his temple. “Head wounds bleed a lot. Gashes up here are valuable because the blood runs down and drips into their eyes, which will work pretty well as a distraction—,”

“Stop it!” Roman demanded, yanking harder as his panic increased. “I’m not going to— stop talking like that! I don’t need to know how to hurt you!”

At the start of their voyage, Roman would have done just about anything for information like this, anything to feel safe on his own ship again. So why was he learning it only now, when each word and accompanying gesture made him feel ill and rotted down to the tip of his tail?

“It’s not— Roman, it’s not about me,” Virgil said, frustration seeping into his voice. He let Roman drag his hand away from his face, but still didn’t let go. “It’s about them.”

Roman wasn’t sure he believed that. “I don’t need to kill anyone. They’re brainwashed, this is Marta’s fault! I know the truth, now.”

Virgil shook his head, ghosted the fingers of his free hand over his implant scar with a distant, sickened expression. “It’s not that simple. I don’t want guilt to be the reason— Look. If it’s them or you, I want it to be you. I want you to make sure it’s you.”

And what if it's me or you? Roman thought, but the words lodged firmly in his chest until he could barely breathe around them.

“They all made their choice,” Virgil continued once it became clear that Roman wouldn’t respond. “They’ve kept making that choice, every time. You have to want to survive, too, okay?”

Mutely, Roman nodded, trying to ignore the creeping sense of horror. He pulled Virgil’s hand back towards himself, fumbled for speech for a long moment before finding the words and hoping they didn’t feel like a betrayal when spoken aloud.

“The underbelly,” he started, and Virgil’s expression— shut down. Every hint of body language went flat like stone, and just as unyielding.

“No.” The word was final, a sentence all its own, and Roman scowled mulishly.

“But—!”

“Roman.” Virgil lifted his other arm over so that he was clasping Roman’s hand between both of his own. “You’re the only one left, right? You told me that.”

The thought was still a wound-like pang in his chest, even after all this time. “Yes,” he admitted. “But, even still—,”

“No way. I don’t want to hear it, man. There’s nobody I would be willing to use it on, anyhow.” Virgil kept his gaze locked firmly on a point past Roman’s shoulder, but his shoulders were set, his voice steadfast.

There was no point arguing. Not now, when the both of them were one wrong move from collapse.

“Okay,” Roman finally said, and forced himself not to protest when Virgil reclaimed the position of lecturer. It was a struggle not to wince away with each gory anecdote, a full guide on the quickest ways to make the Human body stop functioning or even turn on itself.

“Gut wounds are slow to kill, but they can be painful enough to debilitate. There are vulnerable organs here, below the rib cage, and damage to them is difficult to treat without surgery if the wound is severe enough…”

Still, he held himself at attention, did his best to memorize every word.

If Virgil wouldn’t accept knowledge about Roman’s own vulnerabilities as a gift of equal exchange, Roman would simply have to treasure this information with the same dedication that he applied to the rest of their small crew.

After all, knowing all the individual weak points of a Human would make it that much easier for him to protect each and every single part of Virgil.

Virgil wasn’t going to die. Not here, and certainly not by Roman’s own claws. Not if Roman had anything to say about it.

#sanders sides fic #wibar #lmmr #let my mind reset #ts virgil #ts roman #humans are deathworlders #my writing #writing #sanders sides #space au

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