#febuwhumpday21

[linecrosser]

Febwhump 2024 - Day 21 - Unresponsive

Young SQH suffering from System-induced shutdowns when not following the instructions to the letter.

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday21 #unresponsive #unconcious #sick child #svsss #shang qinghua #the system is the real villain here #whump #whump art

[kabie-whump]

♡ Febuwhump Day 21: Unresponsive ♡

@febuwhump

Low key a continuation of day 19 (but if im being honest you could totally connect all of my generic febuwhump posts into one story if you try hard enough)

Content: unresponsive whumpee, ptsd, disassociation, worried/guilty caretaker, post-rescue, referenced finger amputation

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It's been a month.

One month since Whumpee made the most idiotic decision of their life and volunteered to be captured by Whumper for the opportunity to gather information about them.

One month since Caretaker tearfully begged them not to go and one month since Whumpee turned their back on their best friend.

Caretaker isn't involved in the rescue mission. All they can do is sit outside the infirmary and mentally reherse what they're going to say to Whumpee when they get back. ("Fuck you for being an absolute idiot and being so careless with yourself and making me worry you dickhead you could've died what is wrong with you-")

Doors burst open. Whumpee is brought in on a stretcher wearing nothing but a thin blanket that is already stained red in some spots and god they've never been this skinny before. Their eyes are open, staring up blankly at the ceiling as they're rushed into another room.

All of the harsh words Caretaker had been saving for Whumpee disappear because one month.

It takes hours, but Caretaker is eventually allowed to see Whumpee. The nurse who leads them in gives them a sympathetic look, muttering something about "be patient and give them time" but Caretaker doesn't hear it as they rush to Whumpee's bedside.

Whumpee's awake. At least, their eyes are open. But they don't even look at Caretaker as they perch at the edge of a chair next to the bed, don't even flinch as Caretaker takes their hand.

"Whumpee? How are you feeling? Are you alright? I was so worried."

Silence. No sign that Whumpee even heard them.

"I'm sorry for how we left things. I just didn't want you to get hurt. You don't have to give me the silent treatment."

They did get hurt. Whumpee is wrapped in bandages and hooked up to an IV and oxygen. Their left knee is in a cast. Their whole right hand is cocooned in gauze and Caretaker tries to pretend they don't know why.

(They'd overheard it a week after Whumpee's capture: "Leader was sent Whumpee's finger in an envelope this morning. Don't tell Caretaker, they'll freak.)

"Whumpee, please. Say something."

Nothing; just a haunted stare. The harsh overhead lights must be hurting their eyes, but still they go an unsettlingly long time between blinks.

A lot of damage can be done in a month.

Caretaker bends over, pressing their forehead to the mattress as silent sobs shake their shoulders.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday21 #febuwhump day 21 #whump #whump tropes #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #whump scenario #whumpee #whump ideas #whump prompt #recovery whump #unresponsive

[blackrosesandwhump]

Febuwhump Day 21: Unresponsive

CW: experiment whump, unconsciousness whumpee, creepy whumper, needle mention

It’s happening again.

Whumper sighs in frustration and slaps whumpee’s face, gently at first, then more forcefully a second time. Nothing. Unresponsive, right at the critical juncture in the experiment. Whumper frowns and bends closer, examining his subject. Pale, damp skin. Shallow breathing. Weak pulse through the stethoscope. Not an ideal situation, especially when whumper is so close to success.

“You’re not being very helpful, whumpee.” Whumper steps back from the table, crossing his arms. “I told you to stay awake this time. But did you listen? No.” He pauses, observing whumpee for a moment in intense silence, then springs into action, readying various instruments and a syringe. The bright lights overhead wash out whumpee’s skin completely, making him look dead.

But he isn’t, and he won’t be, not while whumper needs him.

“And now, since you didn’t listen,” whumper says, plunging the syringe into whumpee’s chest, “we have to start the experiment all over again.”

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday21 #unresponsive #whump #whump snippet #whump drabble #lab whump #experiment whump #experimentation #human experimentation #blackroseswrites #syringe #needle mention #unconsciousness #unconscious whumpee #creepy whumper #laboratory

[what-the-whump]

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 21 | Unresponsive

Power Rangers Ninja Storm | 1x12 | Return of Thunder Part III

#Power Rangers #Power Rangers Ninja Storm #Hunter Bradley #1x12 #collapse #unconscious #worry #support #waking up #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday21

[writersmorgue]

Febuwhump Day 21 - Unresponsive

TWs in tags || read on Ao3 || wc: 1332

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

Time-activated quirks are rare. Izuku knows, he’s studied many. He was fascinated by the logistics the first time he read about one in the news. The quirk usually being transferred by some physical touch or substance from the user- slowly dissolving into the victim like a pill. 

Pro hero Buzzkill has a quirk that gives its victim a bee sting-like welt every four and a half minutes. The vigilante Combo Breaker has a quirk that breaks one of its victim's fingers every two minutes. 

And apparently, the villain he’d been fighting on patrol also shared this unique quirk factor. 

The debrief had said the guy was quirkless, but one look at the shoes on his feet told Izuku otherwise. 

Now, four hours and twenty-five minutes later, he’s lying on the floor of his kitchen unable to move. 

His nose is pressed at an uncomfortable angle, mere inches from where his coffee mug was smashed to pieces when he dropped it. 

He’d felt this odd pain in the base of his spine when he got off of patrol, and after his post-shift nap, it had only been higher up on his back and twice as intense. 

Apparently, when it got to his head, he was due to lose all motor functions. Great!

The good news is that Katsuki should be home any minute, and he can pull Izuku out of this cold, black coffee puddle. Maybe he’ll even put him back in bed if he’s feeling generous. 

He’s not sure how long he waits. His eyelids have drooped close, though he couldn’t open them if he wanted. He spends a while trying to determine if he’s breathing or not, but his whole body is so uncomfortably numb that he gives up. 

Soon enough, the door opens and Katsuki’s gym shoes are kicked off into their cubby. 

“‘M home.” He grumbles, probably not expecting an answer because Izuku is usually still napping when Katsuki gets back from his morning gym run. 

Izuku isn’t sure what Katsuki notices first, maybe his socked feet lying on the ground, or the bits of red, blue, and yellow ceramic that probably skidded across the room. 

“Deku? Did you fuckin’ fall?” His husband scoffs, rounding the corner to see Izuku sprawled on the floor, “Oi, get up dumbass.” 

Izuku mentally winces, not prepared for the absolute earful Katsuki is going to give him later. 

Katsuki walks closer, nudging the broken pieces of mug away, “Izuku?” 

Ah, he’s anxious. 

Izuku might’ve predicted this issue if he had thought a little harder. He’s not in any real danger, so there’s no need to worry-

“Izuku?!”

But he doesn’t know that. 

“No come on,” Katsuki mumbles out loud, trying to reason logically like Izuku knows he does when he’s scared, “he hit his head and passed out- no, there’s no blood. He was tired? Maybe he wanted to sleep on the floor…”

Katsuki comes up behind him and drops to his knees, rolling Izuku over. 

Light flashes in front of his eyes, but he’s powerless to blink at the sudden flash. Katsuki curses when his head flops back and smacks the tile. Stars fly across the black of his eyelids. 

“Izuku, wake up.” Katsuki presses his fingers under Izuku’s jaw and curses. 

There’s no way this quirk stopped his heartbeat- right?!

Katsuki pries one of his eyelids open. The cool air burns but he doesn’t flinch. 

His pupil must not react either, because before he knows it Katsuki is tugging him into his arms with a frantic whimper and launching himself across their living room. 

Katsuki places a leg in between Izuku’s own and wraps one of his arms under Izuku’s shoulders so he can use the other to propel them into the sky. 

The wind whistles by Izuku’s ears as Katsuki wastes no time getting them to what he can only assume is the hospital a few blocks away. 

The strain his arm must feel right now can only be extremely painful but Katsuki makes no sign of it. 

Izuku can feel them descending, just as Katsuki’s grip on him begins to slip. Katsuki stumbles a bit on the ground, lurching forward but being sure to keep Izuku’s body in his solid grip. 

“HEY!” He shouts as soon as they step through the sliding doors of the emergency bay, “I NEED A DOCTOR NOW!”

“Sir please don’t-”

“Pro hero Dynamight!” Another nurse interrupts the first, rushing towards them, “What are his vitals?”

Izuku feels himself get flipped onto a gurney, lying face up on the cold, thin fabric. He can feel everything down to his hair follicles itching to form goosebumps. 

He hears the nurse gasp as soon as his hair falls out of his face. 

I might be wearing pajamas, but I’m still the number one hero, he figures. I’d recognize All Might in his pajamas.

“Is that-”

“Someone who needs a fucking doctor?!” Katsuki growls, “YES.” 

The nurse barks a few orders at her coworkers and, from what Izuku can tell, sprints with him down the hallway. 

“Vitals?”

“No.”

The cart shudders when she briefly trips, “N-No? What do you mean-”

“I mean he wasn’t fucking responsive. I came home and he was on the fucking floor. No pulse, no breathing, no pupil dilation.” Katsuki’s voice moves to his other side, and there’s more movement before Izuku is lifted over to a different bed. 

The nurse hooks a machine up to him to start pumping his chest while she darts around him, checking various other vitals. 

“Shit.” She whispers to herself, pressing her warm hands into his wrist harder. 

Someone slams open the door, running to Izuku’s side. His hearing blurs while they yell orders at each other, pricking Izuku with various needles. 

“C’mon.” A new, higher-pitched male voice grunts in his ear as what he can assume is a shot of adrenaline is pumped into his fresh IV. 

“You said you found him like this?” Another female voice asks, farther in the corner of the room where he figures Katsuki is watching. 

“He passed out, there’s no obvious trauma. I have no fucking idea why.” Katsuki grunts, voice warbling. “He was on patrol a few hours ago but there was nothing in the report that would warrant this.”

“It’s not looking…” She pauses, “It’s not ideal, but we can’t rule out the possibility of it being a quirk.”

“Nothing is rousing him. We can keep the compressions going, but his body isn’t showing postmortem symptoms. I think, truly, if he comes back it will be regardless of what we do.”

Katsuki sighs, “I’m going to call his mom. Take the machine off him, she shouldn’t see him like this.”

Izuku’s head jostles as they remove the machine, his chest already feeling the ache and forming bruises. 

The nurse clamps a heart rate monitor onto his finger and leaves his side, rolling whatever monstrosity of a contraption they had waiting for him on a cart out of the room. 

It’s completely silent for a few minutes, not even the usual steady beep of his heart that he associates with the hospital to keep him company. 

The door swings open and footsteps move towards his side. 

He knows it’s Katsuki as soon as their hands touch. 

His husband’s warm hands cup his own, rubbing circles into his skin. 

“If you die on a random ass fucking Thursday morning when you’re not even working I’ll make sure they send you to whatever hell exists for idiots like you.” 

Izuku laughs inwardly, enjoying Katsuki’s touch. 

“Shitty prank. You broke your favorite mug.”

Ah damn, he forgot about that. 

Katsuki’s hair tickles his forearm as the man presumably leans down, pressing his lips to Izuku’s inner wrist, “If you leave me I’ll never forgive you.” He stretches a hand over Izuku’s stomach, resting it on his soft sleep shirt. “I love you, I don’t tell you nearly enough.”

“Come back to me, Izuku.”

And Izuku wishes more than anything that he knew how.

#bkdk #coma #angst #whump #hospitals #character death #effectively. idk #u figure it out i'm tired #ambiguous ending #febuwhump #needles #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday21 #unresponsive #bakudeku #bakugo katsuki #midoriya izuku #bnha #mha #bnha fic #mha fic #llyn writes shit #morgue's febuwhump 2024

[simpforchuchu]

Dearest

Prompts: DAY 21 - unresponsive @febuwhump Characters: Sachio x reader Fandom: High and Low Summary: Y/n’/ last letter

A/n for prompts: Hello guys! This is my first time trying a prompt challenge. I hope you like the short fics I wrote. I will finish them by writing some of the requests I have. I love you 💜

Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my main language so...

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: mention of character’s death

Sachio finally gathered the courage to open the envelope in his hand. While he was watching the city from where the old temple was located, he clutched the letter written "To Sachio" in his hand.

He was afraid. It was very difficult for him to open and read this letter after she’s gone. But he knew, he had to do it.

He sat on the steps and carefully opened the envelope in his hand. His heart was already racing when he saw his girlfriend's handwriting.

“Dear Sachio,

I know you will be very angry with me when you read this letter. Maybe you will hate me. But I couldn't tell you the truth. You were smiling so beautifully next to me, I didn't want you to feel sorry for me.

I have been struggling with this illness for a long time. My body was unresponsive to treatment and I was getting closer to death every day. How can you say this to someone you love? I didn't know. I still don't know. That's why I couldn’t say it.

I am sorry. I'm really sorry. I loved you so much that I couldn't bear you being sad because of me.

I was happy every moment I spent with you. You always made me feel like I was the only girl in the world. I felt loved every moment I was with you. And I loved you very much every moment.

Thank you for always making me happy and making me feel loved in our short time. The warmth of your hands and your beautiful smile is something I will never forget. I hope we meet again in my next life and I hope I will remember the warmth of your hands.

Don't be mad at me, okay? I didn't want you to suffer with me. Maybe it was selfish, but I love you too much to hurt you.

Do not be angry with yourself too, okay ? It's not your fault. I guess I was good at lying. I apologize again for these.

Please don't be too upset. I can't say forget me, but at least continue to have someone in your life, okay? You deserve to be loved. And being loved by you is the most beautiful experience anyone can have.

Take care of yourself Sachio, I have always loved you and I will always love you.

-Y/n.”

The young boy wiped his watery eyes and folded the letter in his hand again. He looked at the sky and tried to smile. It hurt, but he felt at peace.

Y/n wouldn't suffer anymore and she would always be with him.

HnL taglist : @straysugzhpe @tiddly-winx @ninamarie1994 @emperorsnero @koala-yuna @little-miss-naill

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday21 #high and low #high&low #high and low fic #hnl #high and low the worst #high and low the worst x #housen #housen sachio x reader #ueda sachio x reader #sachio x reader #sachio ueda #sachio #ueda sachio #sachio ueda x reader

[librathefangirl]

Febuwhump 2024: Day 21 Alt 7 - Last Words

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday21 #libra's febuwhump 2024 #nanatsu no taizai #seven deadly sins #nnt #sds #7ds #melizabeth #meliodas x elizabeth #meliodas x liz #meliodas nnt #elizabeth nnt #liz nnt #banlaine #ban x elaine #ban nnt #elaine nnt #nnt edit #libra creates

[whumpinthepot]

@febuwhump 2024

Day 21, Alt 2. “I love you”

—

Whumper saying “I love you” every torture session, conditioning the whumpee to associate that word with hurt, so when they’re brought back to the people who care the most they can’t stand being told those words. They won’t say it, they hate hearing it, so caretakers have to come up with different forms of showing their love. The worst part is that whumpee knows that whumper meant every word of it. Every time whumper said “I love you.” It was said with so much affection. Making it ten times harder to accept love from the people they actually care about.

#mind conditioning #whump prompt #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday21 #febuwhumpalt2 #febuwhump #breezys post #torture whump #intimate whumper

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Who Heals the Healer? Day 21 – Unresponsive

Continuation of Day 7. Hyrule passes out from his injury. Legend takes care of him with Warrior’s help. He berates himself for not noticing. TW: description of injury, discussion of death

“How did it get this bad?” Legend whispered in horror. Hyrule’s condition had grown no better over the hours since he’d fainted. The hole in his side, tinted green at the edges, had been stitched up and bandaged, but the sight of it still burned itself into Legend’s mind. “How did we let it get this bad, Warrior?”

“He… I don’t know, Legend,” Warrior answered quietly. Crickets chirped in the rustling grass, announcing the coming morning. In the east, light only just brushed the low hanging clouds. Legend hadn’t slept a wink that night, keeping a vigil beside Hyrule as he tossed and turned in his sleep, whimpering when his side caught with a flare of pain that he wasn’t conscious to feel. Warrior had taken it upon himself to stay up with him, no matter how much the vet fussed about being babysat. “It… it was a chaotic situation. He just wanted to make sure that Four was safe. We all did.”

“But someone should have noticed that he wasn’t well! I should have noticed. If he hadn’t spent all of his magic healing Four—we had potions, and once Four’s life wasn’t in danger—or even fairies, Time could’ve—Hyrule wouldn’t have to be this hurt,” Legend finished finally, dropping his head into his hands. He let out a small sniffle. “I can’t believe we let it get this bad.”

“There’s nothing to do but wait it out, now,” Warrior said. “He’ll be okay, I’m sure of it.” “But what if he wasn’t?” Legend shot back tearily. “I saw that he was looking unsteady, but I didn’t even do anything about it until he was already collapsing and—I already knew that he has this stupid self-sacrificing tendency that we all do, but I went and let him heal Four without making sure that he wasn’t—!"

“Shhh, you’re going to wake the others,” Warrior hushed him. Indeed, he was sure that half of the camp was awake by now—Time’s breathing was too even to be natural, Twilight’s ear flicked irritably, and Wind grumbled out some sort of protest and turned over, pulling his pillow up over his head. Across camp, Wild sat up, made eye contact with Warrior, and slipped out of camp silently. Legend noticed none of it, and if he did, he didn’t care to mind his interruption. Warrior reached out and put a hand on Legend’s arm. “I understand that you’re upset. But it’s no one’s fault. And Hyrule doesn’t blame you. None of us do.”

Legend shoved him off irritably. “I do! I blame myself!” he protested. “Christ, he could have died, and I just—!”

Hyrule’s face twisted. He squirmed where he lay with his head in Legend’s lap, turning towards the older boy’s voice even in sleep. 

Legend ran a hand through Hyrule’s curly hair. “Rulie, are you awake?” he whispered, his voice so soft and gentle, so unlike his normal acrid jibes. It made Warrior… sad. “Rulie, can you hear me?”

“Link, can you open your eyes? Warrior found Hyrule’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Can you squeeze my hand? Let us know you're in there, buddy.”

They both waited with bated breath, but there was no more response from Hyrule. He settled with a huff and fell back into an uneasy slumber. Legend sighed and dropped his hand back into Hyrule’s dark curls. Warrior sat back, frowning.

“He’ll be awake soon,” Warrior promised the empty air. “He just—just has to heal a bit.”

“It’s not just the injury, it’s magic exhaustion,” Legend said, his expression clouded. “It… It can be a lot more dangerous than just a simple injury. Both combined…” He trailed off and didn’t start again. 

“I’m sure he’ll be alright,” Warrior repeated, as it felt he had dozens of times before. “He just has to get through this… this magic exhaustion thing.”

Legend gave no answer. By the look on his face, he didn’t believe him, either.

Read the whole story here! Who Heals the Healer

Or check out my Febuwhump Series here! HotCheetoHatred's Febuwhump 2024

#linkeduniverse #lu #linked universe #cheetowrites #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday21 #linked universe fanfic #linked universe fanfiction #legend linked universe #warrior linked universe #hyrule linked universe #four linked universe #whump #hurt/comfort #whump fic #injury

[aquinnix]

Febuwhump Day 21 - Unresponsive

“Please.” Scott ran his fingers along the edge of Jimmy’s pale jaw. “Please don't let this be the end.” His eyes drifted up to Jimmy’s forehead, and he forced them back down again. It was just a little blood, both of them had been through worse. Jimmy would wake up. Scott’s hand fell to Jimmy’s arm, squeezing his wrist. Jimmy was just resting, the battle had taken a lot out of him. A poppy was lying beside them, it must have fallen off when… when Jimmy went to sleep. Scott fumbled for it and tucked it back behind Jimmy’s ear, for when he awoke. Scott stood, hoisting Jimmy up with him and wrapping Jimmy’s arm around his own shoulders. They needed to get back home, that way Jimmy could be more comfortable. He staggered over the desert sands, the ground littered with pits and red. A glance back revealed a trail of crimson following the pair, Scott must have gotten some on his shoe or something. The sun was high in the sky, the heat making Jimmy feel heavier. They were almost to the forest, it would be easier to walk on solid ground. Maybe Jimmy would be up by then, and they would laugh about Scott having to carry him like a body bride. They would clean up in the river, Scott might even let Jimmy cook tonight, he wasn't really that hungry anyway. 

It would be peaceful, away from all the death.

Just the two of them.

The way it's always been. 

#mcyt #life series #trafficblr #3rd life #flower husbands #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday21

[kybercrystals94]

The Fact Remains

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 21 | Prompt 21: Unresponsive

Rated: G | Words: 641 | Summary: After Wrecker is injured on a mission, the brothers wait for him to wake up.

“He is taking longer than expected to wake up.”

“He will. We have to be patient.”

“The medic said…”

Hunter stands up, nearly knocking the chair he’d been sitting in over backwards. “He will wake up.”

“I am not giving up on him,” Tech says, voice low. “I was simply stating his recovery rate suggests…”

“Not now, Tech,” Hunter growls. “I don’t want to hear about the numbers, or the research, or the odds. I just–”

Tech stares at him, waiting for Hunter to finish.

Hunter swallows, shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” Tech traces the edges of his data pad with his fingers, nervously. “I am fearful for Wrecker as well.”

Hunter sinks back down into his seat, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his knees.

Tech asks, “Have you spoken to Crosshair?”

“I’ve tried,” Hunter says. “He…needs more time.”

“That is understandable. It must have been very difficult keeping Wrecker stable until proper help arrived,” Tech says. “It is hard not to imagine what one might have done more efficiently to ensure a more favorable outcome…even if one knows they did everything to the best of their resources and abilities.”

Hunter glances up, catching a pained grimace flash across his brother’s face. Tech spoke from experience, he knew. Tech was never one to pass up an opportunity to offer his aid. He might appear cold and calculated at times, but he had an empathy that often led him to life or death situations on the battlefield. He rarely spoke of the uncertainties involved, always appearing self-assured by nature. But Hunter suspected he had battled this demon more times than he’d ever admit to.

“You should talk to him,” Hunter says.

Tech meets Hunter’s eye for a moment, a flicker of confusion. “I am notoriously deficient in offering emotional support,” he says with a humorless smirk.

“Crosshair doesn’t need ‘emotional support’,” Hunter argues, “He needs to know he did it right.”

Tech frowns deeply at his datapad. “That is not something one can easily be convinced of,” he murmurs.

“Maybe,” Hunter says, “but it might give some weight to the argument in his favor.”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“I thought I might find you here,” Tech says, stepping into the nearly empty firing range.

Crosshair looks up from polishing his scope. “Is Wrecker…?”

“Still unconscious, but stable,” Tech responds promptly to the unfinished question.

Crosshair scoffs, a sneer. “Then why are you here?”

“You performed your role exceptionally in stabilizing Wrecker on the field,” Tech says.

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

Tech shrugs. “Hunter thought it might.”

Crosshair returns to polishing his scope. “I know I did everything right,” he growls snidely. “Doesn’t change that it didn’t work.”

“I would argue that Wrecker is still alive,” Tech says, “and therefore, it must’ve been successful.”

“You can tell Hunter your little reassurances don’t mean anything unless Wrecker makes it out of this,” Crosshair says, tossing aside the polishing rag and beginning the process of reattaching the scope to his rifle.

“I told him as much already.”

“Then why’d you come down here and waste your breath?”

Tech levels Crosshair with a hard look. “I came down here as a favor to Hunter’s wellbeing, not yours. I know that you cannot be swayed from anything you’ve already set your mind to. If you’ve decided that you did not save Wrecker’s life, then I am not here to convince you otherwise.”

Crosshair stares back, gaze cold.

“That being said,” Tech continues, his voice softening as he stands, “the fact remains that you did save our brother's life, regardless of your opinion. And for that, Hunter and I are grateful. Do with that as you will.”

Tech moves to walk away, but a hand catches his arm. “Comm when Wrecker wakes up,” Crosshair mutters.

“Of course,” Tech says, and takes his leave.

END

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!✨

Taglist: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @arctrooper69 @proteatook @the-little-moment @mooncommlink @nagyanna424 @merkitty49

#febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday21 #prompt 21: unresponsive #star wars #the bad batch #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #injury #fics by kyber

[iztarshi]

Fandom: tmnt 1987

Prompt: Unresponsive

Notes: AU where the window got Leo. Which then turned into "wouldn't it be funny if 87!Casey somehow had a farmhouse?" and somehow then into "Casey Jones gets bullied by turtles".

-

“So, would you have expected Casey Jones to have a farmhouse?” Raphael says. It’s the first thing he’s said in a while, for all he says it like he’s continuing a conversation.

“Nah, dude. I always thought he was feral,” Michalangelo answers.

“You mean homeless?” says Donatello.

“No, no, I think Michelangelo’s got it right,” Raphael says.

Casey Jones growls from the driver’s seat, Splinter clears his throat pointedly, and the three of them chorus, “Sorry.”

April glances back at them from the passenger seat. “Any change?”

Everyone looks to where Leonardo’s limp body is lying, his head cradled in Splinter’s lap against the bumping of the truck.

“None yet,” says Splinter. “We must have patience.”

“We’re here,” Casey says, turning suddenly down a path between trees. The turtles, eager to take their mind off their fallen leader, scramble forward to look over April’s shoulders.

“Okay,” Raphael says. “If I had expected Casey Jones to own a farmhouse, that’s exactly what I would have expected.”

The farmhouse is dark and delapidated, a dip in its roof making it look like it’s frowning. It looks like the sort of place where university students have their car break down and then get chased around by a guy in a hockey mask.

Casey Jones, guy in a hockey mask, gets out of the car and comes around to the back. “I’ll carry him,” he offers. He’s not stronger than the turtles, but he’s sure as hell bigger, and he can carry Leonardo in cradled in his arms with Leonardo’s head resting on one broad shoulder.

Inside the farmhouse looks neither like the setting of a slasher movie nor the home of a sane person. There is sports equipment everywhere, much of it broken, and everywhere there isn’t sports equipment there are televisions.

“If the window didn’t kill Leonardo, this dust is going to,” Raphael says.

In the bedroom, which may be Casey’s bedroom since it has a television at the foot of the bed and is not so full of sports equipment no one can reach the bed, Casey goes to lay Leonardo down and is stopped by Raphael.

“These sheets need changing,” he says. “Please tell me you have a linen closet.”

“In the hall, second door down,” Casey says, and hold onto Leonardo while Raphael makes the bed. Afterwards Raphael heads out with a pile of dirty linen in his arms, the other two turtles trailing him. Michelangelo pauses in the doorway and runs back to squeeze Leonardo’s hand one last time before going.

Splinter pulls a chair up beside the bed and sits down. Casey and April stand looking down at Leonardo.

“He’s small,” Casey says. “Especially for someone who’s pinned Casey Jones before.”

“Can I take a picture?” April asks. When Splinter looks questioningly at her she adds, “It might make going back easier if there’s public sympathy for the little guys.”

Splinter slowly shakes his head. “No. I do not think Leonardo would want to be seen like this.”

They look at the turtle, bruised and almost grey against the cover, and then Casey Jones turns and walks out.

In the basement of the farmhouse Donatello is taking apart a television to mend the washing machine. Raphael is sitting on the washing machine complaining about not being able to do the laundry, how can Casey Jones own a farmhouse with thirteen televisions and no washing machine? Michelangelo is poking through the piles of sports equipment to see if there’s something interesting.

Casey Jones enters with a bellowed, “Destruction of property!” and Raphael slides off the washing machine to square up.

“Listen, bub,” Raphael says. “You’ve already got more televisions than anyone needs. I normally leave this sort of declaration to Leonardo but I will defend this washing machine with my life.”

Casey aims a blow at Raphael’s head, Raphael drops to all fours to duck and trips Casey in the process — getting an exclamation of dismay from Donatello who he nearly lands on. Casey rolls back onto his feet, nearly gets pinned with a sai through the sleeve, and then lifts Raphael up to throw him and hesitates with the turtle dangling in the air.

“A little help here?” Raphael says to Michelangelo.

Michelangelo shrugs, “It’s his house.”

Raphael swings one leg up as if to kick and then drops it again.

“Look,” says Donatello, “I can either fix the television up again or fix the washing machine. But they’re both going to be broken beyond repair if you fight on top of them.”

“Okay, fine,” Raphael says, looking up at Casey. “It’s your house, you pick what gets fixed.”

Casey Jones puts the turtle down and looks away. “Fix the washing machine.”

Raphael hops back onto the washing machine and leans forward to tap the centre of Casey’s mask the way he’d tap his friends’ beaks. “Good choice. We can do your laundry too once it’s fixed.”

“No need,” says Casey.

“Trust me,” says Raphael. “There really is.”

-

It’s a sunny day. Outside a bunch of makeshift washing lines are strung between the gnarled and ominous trees. Inside the house Michelangelo and Donatello are sweeping with a brooms made out of hockey sticks with bunches of twigs tied to them. Raphael, perched on Casey’s shoulders, is dusting the ceiling with a feather duster made out of a lacross stick with a bunch of shuttlecocks tied to it.

“Never springcleaned before,” Casey says.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Raphael answers. “What’s with all the sports equipment, anyway?”

“I like sports.”

“Not enough to play it with thirty hockey sticks at once.”

“Do you like baseball?” Donatello asks. “I’m pretty good at that. We could have a game later.”

Casey is quiet for a moment. “It’s been a long time since I played.”

“Aw, jeez, now we’ve got to play,” Raphael says, leaning outward to get a cobweb and, coincidentally, resting a hand on Casey’s head to balance.

Michelangelo leans his broom against the wall. “I’m going to cook us some lunch,” he says. The kitchen, the first room they tackled, is sparkling clean and empy of sports equipment now.

After lunch they play baseball, slightly hindered by the rules being a bit unclear with only four players and Casey yelling about “rulebreakers!” with exactly as much passion as he yells about lawbreakers. It’s still a pretty good time. They can almost forget, until dinner, that Leonardo is lying upstairs, pale and unresponsive.

April has to go back to the city, the news waits for no woman, and her departure leaves things feeling more empty and hopeless than ever. The turtles try to keep themselves busy. Casey’s house has never been cleaner and Casey himself does jobs like fixing the squeaky doors and the leaking gutters that he could presumably have done all along. But now he does them with turtles giving advice, fetching tools for him and heckling.

-

It’s one evening as they’re watching the Dirty Harry movies to please Casey that Splinter’s shout rings through the house, “My turtles!”

They scramble up the stairs in a panic, clinging to one another’s hands and to Casey Jones, afraid of what they’ll find when they reach the top. But in the bedroom Leonardo is sitting up, pale and weak, but trying very hard to smile. They throw themselves onto the bed, trying to be gentle and to hold him all at once.

“Where is this?” Leonardo asks, as he wraps his arms around all of them.

“This is Casey Jones’ farmhouse,” Splinter informs him. “He has been kind enough to let us stay here while you recovered.”

Leonardo blinks. “Casey owns a farmhouse?”

“That’s what we said,” chorus the turtles.

“But y’know,” Raphael adds. “It’s not actually too bad.”

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday21 #tmnt 1987 #87 turtles

[flowersfromwind]

Febuwhump - Day 21

(Last one I did for febuwhump. 21/29 days yay :)) Day 21: Unresponsive

#my art #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday21 #the legend of zelda #wind waker #wind waker tetra #loz tetra

[em-writes-stuff]

unresponsive

day 21 of @febuwhump

villain and hero

1219 words

warnings: past abuse discussed, bruises, cursing, hospital stay mention (not discussed heavily)

a/n: this one kinda got away from me, but oh well? i like it, it's just not that whumpy. anyway, hope you like it!

part one here

~

Villain looks up from his phone and watches a shadow pass his frosted window to the front porch. The figure stands there, frozen. Villain rises from the couch and stuffs his phone in his pocket. He walks over to the door and looks through the peephole. 

Hero stands there, arms wrapped around herself. Villain opens the door and pulls her inside, checking the street for any cars that might have followed her there. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, locking the door. 

She looks through him, barely acknowledging him. 

“Hero, what’s going on?” he says in a soft voice. 

For a few more seconds, they just stand there. Villain trying to calm the worry rising in his chest with every second Hero doesn’t respond. 

Hero chews on the skin inside her cheek, tears welling in her eyes. She finally focuses on Villain and shakes her head, “You were right.” 

Slowly, she unzips her jacket and pulls it down for Villain to see. Her arms are covered in bruises, so is what he can see of the rest of her. 

“Will you help me?” She asks, voice breaking. 

Villain nods, “Of course.” 

He leads her into the living room and sits her down on the couch. She pulls her jacket back over her arms and zips it up. Villain digs through a bin of blankets and tosses one her way, then takes another one out and sets it on the chair next to the couch. 

“Tea?” he asks, already walking to the kitchen. 

She nods, “Yes please.” 

He dips into the kitchen and calls out, “What kind? I’ve got…well how about you just tell me what you like and I’ll bring it over.” 

“Green tea would be great if you’ve got it,” she calls back. 

He rustles through the cabinets and pulls the box out triumphantly, “Green tea: check!” 

He swears he hears her chuckle and he smiles to himself while pouring boiling water into mugs.  Villain sets the mugs on a plate, the tea bags next to them and digs into his cupboard for the sugar. He gets out a few packaged snacks and sets them on the plate and picks it up and brings it into the living room. 

The blanket he tossed onto the chair for himself is on the couch next to Hero now, her eyes dart from him to the cushion, then back to him. He smiles warmly, sets the plate down on the coffee table and plops onto the couch, leaving a cushion between them. 

“I didn’t want to guess on how strong you liked your tea, so I just bought the bag. Take whichever mug you want, I’ll drink whatever. Sugar if you want it, take some snacks, anything you want.” 

Hero smiles and takes the smaller mug. She cups her hands around it and closes her eyes for a second before reaching out and grabbing the tea bag from the plate. She rips the wrapper and dunks it into her mug, swirling it around for a few seconds. 

Villain takes the other mug and does the same with his tea bag, then reaches to grab a package of cookies from the plate.

Villain looks over to her, trying to gauge how to start the conversation. She’s taking a sip of the tea, letting it sit in her mouth before swallowing. He clears his throat and reaches for the remote, “Music?” 

Hero nods, “Sure.” 

He nods and pulls up instrumental music. “This work?” 

She nods again and smiles, “Yeah, thanks.” 

He sets the remote on the coffee table and opens his cookie bag. He offers it to her first, then takes one out when she rejects it. 

“Do…you wanna talk about it?” He asks, wiping the cookie crumbs on his blanket. 

She bites her cheek and shakes her head, “Not right now.” 

Villain shifts into a more comfortable position and nods, “Do you want to talk about anything?” 

She nods, but doesn’t say anything. Villain inhales sharply and sets his mug on his knee. “What about the weather? It’s been crazy lately! I mean- 20’s then 50’s and even the 70’s? What’s up with that? My perennials started to sprout and now I’m afraid they’re gonna freeze next week.” 

Hero chuckles softly and smiles, “Yeah, it’s fucking with my migraines, the pressure change really messes me up.” 

“Migraines suck!” Villain says, leaning forward slightly. “It’s like. Hey do you want to have a constant owch pain in your head? Too bad, here you go!” 

Hero snorts and nods, “Yeah it’s horrible. And it’s so much worse because Superhero wants me to-”

She cuts herself off and looks at her hands, suddenly very interested on the border of the blanket. She bites the inside of her cheek and her brows furrow. She shakes her head and inhales shakily. 

“Yeah, I remember.” Villain says, picking at his fingernails. 

Hero looks up, “What do you mean?” 

He shakes his head, “It was a long time ago…and I’ve changed a lot since then, but I used to be you. Or…I did what you do. I wasn’t you…obviously.” 

“You worked with Superhero?” Hero asks, disbelievingly. 

He nods and takes a deep breath. “I know what he’s like. Used to think that him pushing me was what was best for me…just like you do. But then…” 

He shakes his head and lifts his shirt up, showing off a long, jagged scar along his abdomen. 

“He told me that…everyone fights dirty and I needed to be prepared for it. So he used a piece of broken glass and…” he makes a slicing motion along the length of the scar and drops the shirt, covering the scar once again. 

Hero looks at the floor, “I’m sorry.” 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Villain responds. “Anyway, he told me I couldn’t go to the hospital and had to patch it up myself, because there would be a time where I wouldn’t have the hospital as an option. And naturally, I couldn’t take care of it because I was nineteen…it got infected…and he dropped me off at a hospital. No money, no support, and he pretty much erased my existence.

After a few days in a coma, I figured out he wasn’t worth feeling sad over and I made sure that he could never actually succeed in what he’s been planning.” 

“What’s he been planning?” Hero asks, opening a bag of cookies.

Villain scoffs, “Of course he stopped telling people. He wants to branch out. Cover more cities, get more power. More control. That way he can take over everything. Make it so no one steps out of line, no one can do anything he doesn’t approve of. Of course, that’s not how he says it. He just ‘Wants to be able to keep more people safe.’ And the only way he can do that is by ‘Being able to monitor people who risk the safety of others.’ Which could be anyone, by the way, so he’d have to monitor everyone.” 

Hero shakes her head, “Why hasn’t he…I mean. Why does he let you…y’know? How come-”

“He doesn’t think I’m enough of a threat to kill me.” Villain interrupts. 

She nods to herself, “Is he right?” 

“God I hope not.” Villain says. “Could you imagine? I’ve just been doing all this for no reason?” 

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday21 #unresponsive #hero #villain #villain caretaker #hero whump #hero whumpee #no whumper #em writes #em writes stuff #my writing #whump fic #whump #whumpee #whump writing

[alicewritingstories]

Febuwhump Day 21: Unresponsive

CW: Injury, blood, broken bone, field medicine, unconsciousness

Continues Day 17

AO3

---

Wind was on the defensive almost immediately; there were three men against him and all of them were bigger than him. However, this was also the kind of fight he was used to, especially when one of the men suddenly yelled and reeled back, swatting at the side of his neck as if he'd been stung by something. With a grin, he pressed his advantage, lunging forward with a stabbing swipe of his sword that the man only barely dodged. A hand closed on his arm, but then that man also yelled in pain and shock and let go of him. Wind twisted away to put his back to a wall and waited for another chance.

It quickly came as the first man once again swatted at his neck. This time Wind saw something scuttle down off his shoulder, away from the bloody scratch in his skin, and leap to the next. He lunged forward and wounded that one, cutting a long slash across his chest.

Then the one Wind had seen the motion towards suddenly caught something in his fist and threw it to the ground with a curse, yelling something about demons.

Fortunately, between that and the discovery that Wind wasn't a helpless kid they'd apparently had enough; all three turned and ran, nursing their wounds. Wind followed them to the gate, but they had already vanished into the crowd.

For a moment he hesitated between following them - and possibly reporting what had happened to the guard - and finding out what exactly it was that the man had thrown down. But then he decided to listen to curiosity and the desire to make sure whoever had helped him was OK. He ran back to the location of the fight and crouched down to look more carefully among the trampled grass, hoping whoever it had been - a new type of fairy, perhaps? - hadn't really been invisible.

He pushed blades of grass this way and that, frowning to himself, then his eye was suddenly caught by a flash of color. It looked almost like…

"Four!" he cried as he moved some more grass and saw what looked like a tiny version of Four lying in the grass. His arm looked shattered, a shard of bone poking through a tear in his sleeve, and as Wind very carefully picked him up he didn't even twitch. His heart in his mouth, Wind pressed a fingertip to the tiny chest, unsure whether he'd even be able to feel a heartbeat.

He couldn't, but he did feel the faint motion as the little Four breathed.

"OK," he said, putting aside how weird this was for the time being. So maybe Four had a tiny version of himself as a companion. Or he could make himself small. It wasn't the weirdest thing Wind had ever encountered.

He looked back at the place little Four had been lying and saw a gleam of metal still there. When he picked it up, he saw it was a perfectly-scaled version of Four's sword, no bigger than a needle; he must have been holding it when the man threw him to the ground.

It really was Four. Just… small.

Wind shook his head and slipped the sword into its sheath. This still wasn't the weirdest thing he'd seen in his career and Four needed help. Very gently, still with the very tip of his finger, he shook his shoulder on the uninjured side.

"Hey, Four?" he whispered, unsure whether a shout would be too much for little ears. "Four, can you hear me?"

No response.

"Four?" said Wind a little louder, and then louder still, "Four?"

Nothing. Wind swallowed hard. He was going to have to find help. Four had kept this ability secret, probably for a reason, but there was no help for it. Cradling the tiny figure as safely as he could in his hands, he set off at a run towards where he'd last seen the others.

It wasn't far before he met Twilight coming the other way.

"Wind!" the rancher exclaimed, in that angry tone Wind knew adults used when they were actually more scared than anything else. "Where have you been? We've been searching all over Castletown for you!"

"I'll explain in a minute," said Wind. "Four needs help. At least… I think it's Four." He held out his hands.

Twilight frowned, confused. "What do you mean, you think -" Then he saw what Wind was holding and his eyes brightened in understanding, though the expression quickly turned to horror. "That's Four. What happened to him?"

"A guy threw him on the floor."

"Why -" Twilight shook his head. "OK, let me…" He also gently shook Four with a fingertip, but there was still no response. "OK. That arm's broken…"

"Should we find Wars? Or Hyrule?"

"No, not if we can help it. I already knew he could do this, so let's keep this between us if we can. I… once set a puppy's leg. He's smaller, but… OK, let's get out of the way." Twilight led the way through another gate into another piece of the park and into a sheltered corner behind a bush. "Let's give this one try. If I can't set the bone, we'll have to get Hyrule."

Wind nodded, swallowing hard, and held Four out again, telling himself that it was probably for the best that Four was unconscious.

"What if he doesn't wake up?" he asked. "We won't be able to get a potion into him like this and… he's smaller than a potion bottle; does it work to scale?"

"I don't know," said Twilight. "We're going to have to find out. I… almost hope this wakes him up."

Wind didn't, though he could see the point. He gritted his teeth, holding his hand out as flat and steady as he could.

Twilight gently took Four's forearm between his fingers, braced his body with the other hand, and pulled it straight.

Four didn't react at all.

---

Continued on Day 22

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday21 #linked universe #linked universe whump #lu wind #lu four #lu twilight #cw: injury

[adrift-in-thyme]

Day 21: Shackled (Sky & Time)

Ao3 link

Cw for blood and injury. Also the Shadow forcibly reads Sky’s mind so be cautious of that too

————————

Out of all the heroes in the Chain, Sky likes Time the least.

Well, no that’s not right. He likes Time just fine. The old man can be intimidating, of course (more than Sky thinks he really means to be), and gruff. But those are things that have long stopped bothering him. He’s lived a lifetime with Groose, after all, and fought a god, and endured Impa’s harsh reproach. Many things seem to bother him less after his adventure.

No, what troubles him about the older hero is the persistent, nagging feeling that he doesn’t like Sky. Sure, he’s given him relationship advice and laughed and talked with him. And sure, he listens to Sky’s input as much as he does that of the others. But that can’t wipe away the tension hanging between them, the way Time glances at the sword strapped to his back, the bitterness in his eye when Sky mentions Fi.

Sky quickly finds that the more time he spends with him, the more he feels that his presence by Time’s side is unwanted. That’s warranted, of course. The old man doesn’t even know the extent to which Sky’s actions have set him on the path he walks. But it still stings.

So, when he finds himself locked in a dark, dank cell with the hero, he’s less than enthused.

Perhaps it works in his favor that they’re shackled side by side rather than on opposite sides of the room. Though, on second thought, perhaps it doesn’t. After all, even if their position doesn’t create the awkward situation of trying to avoid one another’s eyes, it does put them in closer proximity than Sky usually elects to be.

And with nothing to do besides await the Shadow’s eminent appearance, Sky finds himself growing increasingly uncomfortable.

Usually in situations like these, where the silence is deafening and he can’t decide on the appropriate way to act, he loses himself in his head. Daydreams, he has found, are a wonderful way of avoiding unnecessary conflict and unpleasant thoughts. But it’s rather difficult to daydream when his ears are filled with the plink, plink of dirty water hitting the floor and his mind with the unignorable knowledge that the Shadow is on his way.

The headache pounding behind his eyes isn’t helping matters either. Neither are the memories surfacing with each jangle of the chains–of broken cuffs lying on the ground beside a scrap of Zelda’s torn dress, of cell doors surrounding him and smothering heat pressing down on him, of crawling out through tunnels that are so small he can hardly breathe.

And then, of course, there’s the fact that she’s gone. The lack of even her slumbering presence feels like a dagger in his chest.

“Are you alright?”

Time’s hand comes to rest on his arm, and he jumps, breaking from his reverie to turn to the older man. There’s blood streaked across the left side of his face, courtesy of the moblin who’d slammed its club into his head. It only seems to make him look more intense, his features more severe in the dismal lighting. And yet, his expression is kind.

Sky swallows. “Yeah, it’s just…” He gestures vaguely at their surroundings, chains clanking as he does so. “I don’t like cells much…or being chained to a wall.”

Time chuckles. “I don’t believe anyone does.”

Sky nods, letting his gaze wander the space once more. He has studied this place as well as he can with the minimal movement allowed, but no way out has presented itself. Not even a patch of soft dirt to burrow through or a crack in the wall they could bomb. Not that either would be helpful right now. Their packs are gone, stowed away under the guard of the Shadow’s lackeys.

“That’s not all, though,” Time says, quietly. “Something else is troubling you.”

Sky meets his eye again, but he can’t bring himself to answer.

Time regards him for a long moment, then hums. “It’s the sword, isn’t it?”

The Skyloftian opens his mouth, closes it, stomach clenching sickeningly. Of all the subjects they could possibly discuss, this is by far the worst.

“I just—I miss her,” he admits at last, voice cracking traitorously. “I can’t hear her anymore but…”

He trails off and silence reigns once more, broken only by that same, incessant drip.

“I heard her too, you know,” Time says, right when Sky is certain the quiet is going to crush him.

“You–” Sky swallows, hard. His mouth is abnormally dry. “You heard Fi?”

The smile on Time’s face is sorrowful, and it hurts Sky’s heart to see it.

“Not nearly as much as you seem to have. But yes, from time to time, I heard her voice.”

The older hero shifts, picking idly at the cold, hard, metal encasing his wrist. His eye is trained on the opposite wall, now, a faraway look in it. And without his armor, Sky can’t help but think he looks smaller than he ever has before, more human, and more vulnerable.

A question rises within him, one he knows he shouldn’t ask. But Sky can’t help it.

“What did she say?”

Time huffs a bitter laugh. “Many things. None that particularly endeared her to me.”

And there it is again, that biting remark that cuts to Sky's soul. Dejected, he leans back against the wall.

“She really does care for us,” he says, staring up at the ceiling. “I know she can seem cold sometimes, and even intense, but it’s because she wants us to succeed.”

Time doesn’t reply. It is very quiet now, even more suffocating than before, and Sky lets his eyes slip closed, wishing he were anywhere but here.

The old man is entitled to his own views, but so is he. And he would really rather not have to argue over them as they await their painful fates.

Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately), he doesn’t have to wait long.

Hardly ten minutes have passed when the door slides open with an ear-splitting screech, and the Shadow walks in. He’s still in his lizalfo form, tail swinging back and forth with every step, and his forked tongue darts out of his mouth as he takes in his captives.

“Ah, bonding over shared trauma I see,” he hisses. “What a wonderful way to spend your remaining moments—reminiscing about the ways Hylia has wronged you.”

He looks between them both, then heads over to Sky. One scaly hand grips the Skyloftian’s chin, forcing him to look up. His nails puncture his skin, drawing blood.

“Though, you fell for the goddess, didn’t you? And secured all of our fates in the process? Pathetic.”

Sky tenses, all too aware of Time’s presence at his side. But the older man hardly pays attention to the monster’s words.

“Let him go,” he growls, tone dangerous.

The Shadow laughs. “You wouldn’t demand that of me if you knew what this one has done.”

His grip tightens and Sky fights not to grimace. Blood runs down his chin to splatter onto his tunic.

“Have you ever wondered why he knows virtually nothing of Ganondorf? Well, that’s because he is the reason that man exists in the first place. His final battle wasn’t like yours, oh Hero of Time. You fought an evil man hungry for power. He fought the god who created him.”

The Shadow smirks and drops Sky’s chin. Seconds later the chains move of their own accord, lengthening and wrapping around his body. They constrict and he gasps, trying to breathe past their cutting grip.

Time’s expression darkens further, and he lunges for the monster. But with one flick of a claw, the Shadow sends him flying back. He hits the wall with a sharp, sickening crack.

No!

Sky struggles, desperately, but it’s hopeless. The shackles are so tight, now, that he can feel his pulse pounding in his wrists. The chains bite into his skin, tearing at his tunic, drawing blood.

“You aren’t listening,” The Shadow scolds, practically slithering over to where Time lies, looking dazed. He drags him to his knees. “I’m trying to impart vital knowledge before I end your lives. All the heartbreak you’ve endured, all the pain–I’m trying to make it make sense.”

“You’re lying,” Time grits out, “to try and make me turn against him. Believe me, I’ve seen this tactic before. Don’t insult me by expecting it to work.”

For a long, terrible moment it’s silent, save for the sound of Sky’s thin, ragged breathing. Then, the Shadow snarls “Lying, am I?”

He grabs Sky’s shoulder with one clawed hand and Time’s with the other, and suddenly, the pain in Sky’s head grows a hundred times worse.

He can’t hold back a scream, as magic pours into him and out. Memories flash past his eyes, flying faster than he can keep up, in a nauseating mix of color, sensation, and sound. He nearly blacks out before the Shadow finds the one he wants and seizes it. It feels like his skull is being split open.

And then he’s living it again—the battle with Demise and its aftermath. He’s watching a god fall at his feet, hearing the words that will doom his descendants for eternity.

When it’s over he sags forward, struggling to remain conscious. Every breath feels like fire burning his lungs. The taste of blood is bitter upon his tongue.

“Now, do you believe me?” The Shadow sneers.

With an effort, Sky drags his eyes open and turns to look at Time. The old man is still on his knees, though it looks like the monster’s grip is the only thing keeping him from collapsing. His head is tilted down, hair falling forward to cloak his features, but Sky can tell that he knows the Shadow’s words are true. He can see it in the trembling of his hands, the defeated slump in his shoulders.

A tear dribbles down Sky’s cheek to soak into his sailcloth. He knew this day would come, yet desperately, foolishly, he had hoped it wouldn’t come like this. He’d wanted to be the one to tell them all in the end.

There’s a deafening clatter as the Shadow tosses a sword at Time’s feet.

“You know I speak the truth,” he says as the shackles restraining the hero fade. “This man whom you’ve traveled with, conversed with, even protected, is responsible for all your anguish and regret.”

Time raises his head to look up at the monster. Almost in answer to his gaze, he kicks the sword toward him.

“Pick it up. Slay him. You know he deserves it.” He hooks a talon beneath Time’s chin, holding his gaze. “And after everything you’ve endured don’t you deserve it too? Even heroes have the right to get their revenge.”

The air is so thick with tension, Sky is certain he’ll choke on it. He can’t imagine Time caving to the Shadow’s request, he just can’t. But does he even truly know the man? Time hadn’t known his dark secret. And after what Twilight and Malon have told him, how can he be certain he won’t be relieved to finally have someone to blame?

Time turns to look at him and Sky forces himself to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks.

It’s so tiny an offering for the damage he’s caused, but it’s all he has.

He wishes he could do more. He wishes he could erase his mistake altogether.

There’s something unreadable in Time’s gaze, just barely peeking through the emotionless mask he has steeled his features into. Before Sky can even begin trying to decipher it, he looks back down at the sword. Slowly, he picks it up.

The Shadow’s lips stretch into an obscene grin, showing lines of tiny, sharp teeth.

“Yes,” he hisses, “well done. Now, finish it.”

Time stands, wavering slightly on still unsteady feet, and Sky’s heart climbs into his throat. But when the hero hefts the sword in his grip, when he stabs outward with dangerous precision, the glinting metal blade is not aimed at Sky.

It’s aimed at the Shadow.

The sword plunges right through the monster’s middle, and he stumbles back with a screech. There’s a flash of light, an explosion of dark, and then, nothing at all.

The chains around Sky disappear, and he crumples. Everything aches, his head pulses in time with his heart, and blood and tears fill his throat. But all that is hardly his focus right now.

He raises his head, and Time is standing there, gazing down at him. Without hesitation, he holds out his hand. Sky stares at it dazedly.

“Don’t blame yourself for matters you had no control over,” Time says, tone sincere and unbelievably kind. More tears cascade down Sky’s face at the sound of it.

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t—

“But it’s my fault,” is all he manages to say.

Time shakes his head. “Demise placed the curse on us, not you. Being unable to prevent harm doesn’t mix well with the hero’s spirit—I know that well. But you did all you could, Sky. I would never blame you for my fate.”

His words are like a balm on a deep wound Sky didn’t even truly realize he had. Zelda has told him the curse isn’t his fault–even Groose has agreed–but hearing it from Time of all people is just different.

A sob rips through him and he curls in on himself, hand pressed to his face in a vain attempt to restrain the emotion pouring out of him. Wordlessly, Time kneels down and brings him into his arms. Sky collapses into him, trembling and hiccupping.

For a bit he holds him, quietly allowing him to drench his tunic with his tears. But finally, he pulls back. Immediately, Sky disentangles himself from his arms, swiping at his face, and trying to steady his gasping breaths.

“I’m sorry Sky,” Time says, looking genuinely apologetically, “but we have to go. Every moment we spend here gives the Shadow more time to collect himself and plan another attack. And there are many enemies between us and the exit.”

He stands and picks up the Shadow’s sword from the ground. Then, he gives Sky a small smile.

“Besides, we have to rescue your friend.”

Sky’s lips lift just slightly in an answering smile, albeit a shaky one. “Right.”

This time when the older hero holds out a hand, he takes it.

#febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday21 #blood and injury #linkeduniverse #lu sky #lu time #trin writes #fun fact: this is the biggest wordiest fic I’ve done for febuwhump so far #behold the power of caffeine