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nomsfaultau · 7 months

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SBI Whumptober Prompt 1

bruises//scars//”that’s going to leave a mark”...Bonus 25) Field Medicine and 10) Guilt. But the AU is called Fault so there will ALWAYS be guilt.

Disclaimer: this blurb is set in the SCP SBI AU I have called Fault, specifically within Part 2. Explanation of AU; tldr.

The Blade had always said scars were badges of honor. The mark of survival, of victory. And that was fine and all, but a boarish brute like him didn’t even have the option of slinking into human society, could never feel the scathing eyes of strangers raking through every wound. That pounding instinct that Wilbur was a poor mimic and at any moment the human crowd would pounce upon the intruder in their midst.

Philza never said anything about scars, but then again he never had any injuries. Not permanent ones, anyway. He didn’t have to deal with the tightness where skin stretched, the way it ached in the cold. Presumably if asked, Philza would give some grating advice about taking care of himself and knowing when to ask for help. Nothing to be ashamed of, mate, just proof you survived! As if they shouldn’t have had to just barely survive in the first place.

And Wilbur…well. He just called them one more thing to deal with. His skin was a patchwork of such things dealt with. His was an existence pockmarked by eruptions of violence, the evidence carved well into his skin. The humans had left their fair share of agony across Wilbur, the Foundation tenacious in its hunt. Beyond that, the territory the void had marked upon the vessel that composed his body. The gouges slashed into his back, the bite marks mangling his shoulder, the indecipherable mess of damage trailing up to where the abyss clawed itself out of his skull. For all that he only had half a face, the void sure did its best to ruin what little ‘human’ visage he had left. Pieces of himself destroyed by the abyss, either stolen or given. Wilbur wasn’t unfamiliar with selling his body, each chunk a small sacrifice for whatever bargain he needed to make so that the whole of him would survive. Or, what was left of it.

He’d earned every scar for his weakness, either the price for failing to dodge an attack or the cost of amassing ephemeral power. And Wilbur was used to that. Sacrifice was life, or his at the very least. It wasn’t an existence he wished on anyone, let alone someone he cared about.

And for all that he was a World Eater, what was a lot harder to choke down was the damage littering Tommy. Sure, after a year in the Foundation there were bound to be lasting reminders of that hellish place, but something in Wilbur’s head refused to let go of that idealized version of Tommy. The kid was supposed to be the normal one, with a loving family and a place among the humans. Bright-eyed and excited and blissfully unaware of how cruel the world could be. And surely that child had shattered long ago, but Wilbur needed him to be real, if only for that hope he’d long since abandoned. That little fantasy where someone like him could be free and happy and safe.

The recent Foundation ambush proved that was never going to happen. No matter how hard they fought to escape, the humans were unrelenting in their pursuit. Sure the anomalies fended them off this time, but what about the time after that? Or after that? Each time battered a little more, broken a little further.

Wilbur slipped on sturdy gloves and peeled Tommy out of his jacket, cautious of being contaminated by the boy’s anomalous Red. The liquid curled around him anxiously, fear lingering from the attack. One drop and Wilbur would be reduced to the murderous monster humanity thought he was.

But Tommy needed help and Wilbur was the only one with half decent knowledge on how to patch up a humanoid. Not that Philza wasn’t incredibly learned, but there was always the off chance the immortal would suggest leeches. So Wilbur helped Tommy squirm out of his contaminated shirt, pausing as he got a good look at the ugly mixture of mottled bruises and mutilated scars on the boy’s back.

We ruined this kid, he thought quietly.

Most of the scars were silvery slices of surgical precision from the Foundation doctors trying to find out what made the monsters tick. And, sure, Wilbur had those too. But there were a handful of other ones, imprecise, ugly maroons, skin scrunched and coarse. Signs of abuse and battles. Wilbur had those too, far more. Sometimes he thought his skin was mere echoes of damage. He’d gathered them over a lifetime, though. Tommy wasn’t close to catching up, but he’d made great strides in a single year, and it would only grow worse.

Wilbur did his best to ignore the scars, working on tending to the recent bruises. He’d never had time to explore it before, and he didn’t want to be invasive. He’d known they’d be there, knew he needed to focus on the present. The small things were easy to overlook, the too-straight cut lines and the biopsies and the general abuse that had gone too far. The friction burns around his wrists that mimicked the chaffing around Wilbur’s throat. Their mirrored set of y-incisions. Little details from where doctors tried to unravel them to find out what made the anomalies tick.

Recent fingerprints bruised into Tommy’s skin from where they’d tried to grab his little brother and take him. So many things had been stolen from Wilbur, sleep and time and peace. But he refused to ever lose Tommy again.

He drew as close as he dared to a particularly large contusion clipping the edge of Tommy’s ribs, trying to discern if there could be fractures. His breathing was pained, but that really didn’t narrow anything down. Cautiously, Wilbur prodded the area. There wasn’t a crunching sound at least. Tommy’s breath hitched as the cold compress pressed against the contusions, the Red dancing along his arms rising with the pain.

Still, for all the ache each prod must bring to his battered body, Tommy pressed into each touch. For all the times Tommy reached for him only to flinch away at the last second, Wilbur cursed the universe. How could it possibly be fair the only times he ever held his brother was when he was bruised and bleeding? He knew it wasn’t worth the risk but still the injustice coiled in his gut. Wilbur bandaged the last of the scrapes, and before he could stop himself he ran his fingers through Tommy’s hair. He couldn’t feel it through the thick gloves, but Tommy melted all the same, sinking into the touch.

And with it sunk the Red as he began to feel safe…revealing a dark blotch of crimson no longer hidden by the anomalous power.

Wilbur winced as he discovered the fresh wound. It was small but deep, burrowed into Tommy’s upper arm. Jagged, from where the barb was ripped out mid fight. Recognizing it at once, Wilbur searched the boy for a twin wound. Luckily, it seemed the second taser barb missed. Good, Tommy didn’t need to know what that kind of voltage tasted like.

There wasn’t much Wilbur could do beyond disinfection and a bandage. Really, he’d doomed Tommy to the life of getting hunted down like an animal, and that was the best he could do? Fail to protect him and just watch as another scar got added to his growing collection?

“That’s going to leave a mark,” Wilbur apologized, as if that could ever make up for the irrevocable mark Wilbur left on Tommy’s life.

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blametheeditor · 2 months

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The Expense Of Trust: Chapter 3

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Content Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of death and murder. Mentions of others being lesser than. Intent to kill. Death by anomaly. Dehumanization. Addressing someone as 'it'. Darker themes and tone.

Run Down: In the instant of a site-wide containment breach, there are only a few protocols available to follow. Know the right people, hope to be at the right place at the right time, and whatever you do, don't trust anything.

Scott can't seem to catch a break, but next week we torture Fritz

______________________________

Scott’s first thought when Vincent instructed him to turn around was to prepare to run.

Because up until that point, the living shadow hadn’t been helping in escaping the facility unless he was in immediate danger, and even then it’s been verbal directions while hiding in Scott’s own shadow despite having the capability of using a corporeal form. Meaning it was up to the containment specialist to do all of the leg work in carefully making his way toward an exit.

Instead of an SCP rounding the corner, however, he was greeted with the sight of a small group of people lined along the wall of the hallway opposite of the one he had been making his way down.

At first he was confused, managing to identify D-Class and medical personnel, the latter he actually recognizes as the kid who has checked over him monthly ever since he made the deal with Vincent. A tactile response officer, a researcher, and someone wearing a suit. And there is only one person in this entire facility who wears a full piece suit.

The moment he realized it was David seemed to be the same moment the senior researcher recognized Scott.

He expected a lot of things. Annoyance due to their interactions always turning into arguments regarding wearing proper safety gear. Possibly even relief finding another person who hasn’t fallen victim to an anomaly. At the very worse indifference considering on the surface, Scott wouldn’t have much to contribute when it comes to escaping other than having each and every hallway memorized and therefore able to lead them to the exit.

No, David suddenly looks horrified before turning around. Begins running in the opposite direction.

Was the senior researcher leaving him behind?

Scott tries to quench his anger, sending a glance over his shoulder to see if an anomaly snuck up behind him. Because the man couldn’t be that selfish and leave someone to die because they had arguments.

There’s nothing. No sign of a single SCP. Honestly, Scott should’ve expected it given his track record.

“They’re heading straight toward an anomaly,” Vincent pipes up.

Wait. “What kind of anomaly?”

“The bad kind,” is all that’s offered.

Great. Wonderful. So either Scott can be the bigger person and warn them despite the clear want to leave him to survive on his own, or pretend he doesn’t have such vital information and simply continue toward the exit.

Of course Vincent wouldn’t care which is chosen. The demon has made it blatantly clear he finds the morals most humans possess to be quite entertaining. Wouldn’t hang it over Scott’s head if he picks the second option because it’s just a matter of survival, simply revel in watching the guilt slowly consume the containment specialist from the inside out.

God damn it.

“Dav-!”

His shout is cut off as the ground vanishes from beneath his feet the moment he stepped forward to chase after them. He’s in freefall for a few seconds, unable to breathe, unable to scream, staring out into a pitch-black void.

It feels like a lifetime has passed, and then the ground appears as if it was always there, Scott unable to stop his momentum. Forced to bring his hands up in the attempt to soften his collision with a wall that seemed to have materialized from thin air.

It didn’t, he’s more or less used to Vincent’s way of ‘teleporting’ him from place to place, but he will never be an ‘expert’ at it. Not when he’s positive the demon purposefully throws him near objects just to see him trip or at the very least nearly break his nose.

Scott’s fairly certain he earned a slight concussion this round, but this time he manages to stay on his feet. Looks around the room before spotting the open door. Racing out in the hopes he managed to stop David in time, only to immediately feel hands grab his shoulders before an arm is secured around his neck.

He feels panic flood his heart as a hand is placed on his forehead, begins to struggle with all his might. Praying he isn’t killed all because he was trying to save their lives. “I’m not an anomaly!”

"He’s n-n-not!”

“David.”

“He’s not, but he’s marked.”

Scott doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but once he realizes he opens them to be greeted with David staring down at him with a grim expression. Stares as the taller man pushes someone behind him.

The worst part however is the sight of some kind of mist creeping around the corner heading straight toward them.

“Behind you!”

The arm that had been slowly restricting his throat releases him. But before he can process why, hand is on his back to shove him away from the oncoming threat. “Move.”

Scott doesn’t need to be told twice, obediently running back toward the spot he had originally been. Only slows down for a second in order to meet Jeremy in the eye. The one familiar face he doesn’t have a bad past with. “Follow me.”

He’s unable to wait for the kid to give a response, sprinting down the opposite hallway and making a swift left to continue on his path toward an exit.

“Right.”

Vincent’s directions aren’t questioned. He still has a hard time trusting the demon, but with Scott’s life currently on the line he has no room to argue. And this time, he can’t help having a little bit of faith at the sight of a security door only a few yards away.

"Stop!”

He barely manages to in time, skidding to a halt right before stepping out into the hallway parallel to the one he’s currently in. Gasps for air as his legs tremble from the exertion and terror. Remembers he’s not alone and whirls around to see Jeremy’s about a few feet behind him, able to slow down without any trouble. Followed by the D-Class, the officer- they all followed him. Even David.

“V-Vince?” Scott begins, hoping he’ll get a little more information on what’s stopping them from reaching the security door. It’s right there. As soon as they get through it they’re essentially home free.

“There’s something waiting in the hallway,” the demon begins. “As soon as you step out it’ll grab you.”

“God damn it.”

“Right or left?” the officer asks as he walks closer, grabbing a small disk from his belt. Meaning he heard Vincent’s explanation. And is willing to give the disembodied voice the benefit of the doubt.

Vincent hums. “Directly above, actually.”

The man nods once. Presses one side of the disk before throwing it out into the hallway. “Brace yourself.”

Scott didn’t know who was being addressed, but within the fraction of a second, something drops from the ceiling and disappearing once more the device gone. A moment later it sounds as if something exploded right before he feels the displacement of air.

“Thirty seconds.”

He’s at the security door in five. Swipes his key in one. Holds it open as he counts everyone making it through before slamming it shut with four to spare.

“Scott,” David growls lowly in between labored breaths. “You better explain yourself.”

“Well aren’t you a hypocrite,” Vincent begins as his shadow stretches onto the wall beside Scott. He then steps out of it to form a familiar purple man. One who’s grinning from ear to ear. “I also seem to recall it’s none of your business.”

“It is my business when I’m apparently dealing with a demon!”

“Oh so we’re making deals, now.”

“Vince,” Scott hisses to try and reel the living shadow back in, even if it might be completely fruitless.

He almost misses the officer doing the same thing to David. Though instead of flashing a condescending smile, the taller man backs down. “How do names work?”

Vincent’s smile suddenly vanishes. “You’re a hunter who knows what he’s doing.”

“And it seems your only weapon is ambiguity.”

That earns a low whistle. “I can see how you managed to get someone like him under your thumb. You’re safe with your first. Last is pushing it.”

“I’m James,” the officers introduces, locking eyes with Scott most likely looking just as lost as he feels. “Thank you for helping us.”

“Of course. I’m Scott, this is Vince-”

A hand is suddenly covers his mouth before he can finish the living shadow’s name, leaving him stunned as Vincent gives a dark chuckle before removing his hand. “No need to overshare, Scotty.”

“We're going to trust this?” David demands as he gestures toward the scene in front of him. Honestly, Scott can’t even be upset. Not when it’s abundantly clear he knows nothing about the demon he made a contract with.

“At least I have a rulebook,” Vincent shrugs. “I’m much more concerned with the half-breed.”

Scott feels like he was left behind somewhere. He doesn’t know where exactly, and to be entirely truthfully he might even want to know. But considering someone was able to wrangle Vincent within just a few seconds, he wants to stay on good terms with James. If that means somehow fixing his and David’s relationship in one way or another, then he will do it, no matter what it takes.

The only issue is the fact Vincent seems dead set on trying to anger everyone. Including Jeremy who attempts to glare at the demon. “H-H-His name is M-Mike.”

Scott doesn’t want to know why Vincent suddenly looks very excited. “This is going to be fun.”

“James,” David all but pleads.

“They both saved our lives,” is all the officer says.

That is the last straw for Scott. The realization that the only reason why someone is staying on his side is because a favor is owed. “Vince. Do me a favor and shut up.”

“Did I go too far?” the demon stage whispers with a smug smile.

“You know you did!” Scott exclaims. Uncaring if the others are watching and listening. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t intentionally antagonize.”

“What for?” Vincent asks. It almost feels like a slap in the face from how genuine it is. As if the living shadow can’t find any reason not to be.

“You know what, forget it.”

“Did the fact I’m a demon just slip your mind?”

“Did you claiming we’re friends slip yours?”

Vincent suddenly barks out a laugh. “Did you honestly think I meant that?”

Scott stares up at the demon for a moment. Memorizing the sneer and the sheer joy at the fact he managed to trick the containment specialist.

Someone who bent over backward for the anomaly to make the research teams back off after they managed to get under Vincent’s skin. Pulled several strings in order to get a table placed inside the demon’s containment room so he could protect himself within reason. Genuinely enjoyed answering questions about ‘odd human mannerisms’ when the living shadow escaped containment for the sole purpose to bother Scott.

Looking back on it, he should’ve realized he was just being used. It’s nothing new. Just meant he was an idiot for thinking a shadow demon would be any different.

Well two could play at that game.

He refuses to acknowledge Vincent’s sneer quickly vanishing as it’s replaced with a look of regret. “Scotty-”

Scott brushes past James and David in order to lead the way down the smaller corridors on this side of the security door. Tunnels normally meant for maintenance that should be empty of most SCP’s. And for any that managed to slip through the cracks, Vincent will easily be able to sense them before they get to close. Something he’ll have to announce or else Scott gets killed considering he’s first in line.

“Scotty, wait.”

He doesn’t acknowledge Vincent running to catch up with him, the living shadow opting to keep a form he’s commented on being less superior. For what reason, Scott doesn’t care enough to think about.

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,” Vincent murmurs as he falls in step with the shorter.

“No, you’re right,” Scott shrugs. “You’re just a demon who doesn’t possess any feelings.”

“Look, I know you’re angry-”

“How do you know what anger is?”

“Hey,” the demon growls. “Stop being pretty.”

Scott glances up to see if Vincent was intentionally botching the saying, not wanting to be tricked. But there’s a genuine scowl aimed toward him. No hint of a smirk. “It’s petty.”

Vincent opens his mouth with a glare before hesitating, seeming to realize what was said. “What did I say?”

“Pretty can be an amplifier or a compliment.”

“Stop being pretty petty.”

Scott hates himself for wanting to smile at how confidently the sentence was spoken. “Close enough.”

“I think of you as a friend,” Vincent grumbles, as if he’s unsure how to feel about such a confession. “I offered a deal instead of killing you for a reason. I really do enjoy throwing you across rooms.”

Scott gives a look. “Not what you’re supposed to enjoy in a friendship.”

“But then I would be lying if I said anything else!”

He whirls on the demon in order to properly chew him out, yelling when Vincent sinks into his shadow with a laugh. “Asshole!”

“Are you two done?” David snaps from the back of the line. One that has James at the front who stopped a few feet away when Scott did. Following by Mike, Jeremy, and the assistant researcher he had completely forgotten about. A bit unsure where the kid has been this entire time. “I’d prefer to get out of this place before whatever the hell is kept in the basement finally realizes it can escape containment.”

Scott glances around the corridor. Staring when he spots a door almost to his immediate left. The door he was looking for, actually, because on the other side is a direct path to an exit out of the facility.

“Don’t-!”

Vincent’s warning came too late as the door swings open.

He was expecting a horrific Eldritch being by how panicked the living shadow sounded. Yet all he sees is a young boy no older than ten years old standing about a yard away. Holding nothing but a plush golden bear. With a blade of shadow as long as he is tall racing forward to slice him cleanly in half.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

#Scott does not know how to deal with a demon #and Vincent would like to continue being extremely unhelpful thank you very much #but they're friends!#also I apologize I lied about posting a schedule #but I can confirm only three series will be posted consistantly until all or one is finished #and that's this one #ghosts #bingo #and custody battle #writing just tends to lean toward one of the four at the most random of times so I feel bad for making a promise and then breaking it #but those four getting 'finished' is a promise!#terms and conditions may apply #have a great week!#FNAF bois #SCP AU #BTE writing #cw #content warning

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