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skyward-floored · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 6 — screams from across the hall

Nobody asked but I’m delivering Hyrule Warriors traitors nonsense anyway. It’s just so fun to mess with... Also I realized I hadn’t put Sky in any of these until now???

Warnings: blood and injury (per usual)

Ao3 link

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“Can’t sleep?”

Wind startled and looked over at Four, who was giving him a slight knowing look over the top of his book.

“...yeah,” he admitted in a mumble. “M’ not really tired.”

That was a bit of a lie. He was exhausted actually, Warriors’ Hyrule and it’s crazy hordes of monsters had worn him out. They’d managed to get an inn for the night, but Wind just couldn’t drop off to sleep, even despite his exhaustion.

Of all the nights to suddenly feel homesick.

Four nodded with a sympathetic look, and set his book down, leaning back against his pillow.

“I get that. Hard to wind down after a day like today huh?” he said, purposefully not mentioning anything about the true reason for Wind’s inability to sleep.

Wind nodded, playing along. “Yeah.”

He swallowed, ignoring how his throat tightened a bit, and looked away from the smithy.

Four’s voice turned even more gentle. “Would you like something to read? I’ve got a few extra books. Maybe it’d take your mind off of things.”

Wind sighed. “I would. But our writing is different, remember? Have any picture books?”

Four smiled a bit. “Sorry, no. Well, I have one with pictures, but it’s about blacksmithing techniques so I’m not exactly sure if they’d be much fun for you.”

Wind shrugged. “Better than nothing.”

Four nodded and slipped out of his bed, rifling in his bag for a minute before pulling out the aforementioned book. He walked over to Wind’s bed and handed it over, and the sailor took it with a grateful smile. Even if he couldn’t really understand it, it’d be nice to have a distraction. Hopefully it’d be enough to help him fall asleep.

“Thanks smithy.”

Four squeezed his shoulder, an absolutely knowing look on his face. “You’re welcome. Any time sailor.”

He went back to his own bed, and Wind began his quest for at least somewhat interesting pictures in Four’s book. There were a couple pictures of weapons and things, which were cool, and it was sort of fun to try and puzzle out what on earth the writing was trying to say. Confusing, but fun.

An odd muffled noise filtered into their room.

Wind paused, glancing towards the door with a suddenly anxious feeling in his stomach.

“Did you hear that?” whispered Four, shattering the hope that he’d just imagined it. Wind nodded.

“...yeah. Maybe it was just one of the other patrons?”

“I think we’re the only guests in this inn at the moment, this place isn’t very big,” Four murmured, brows pinched.

A scream rang out from across the hall.

Wind jumped at the sound, and Four reacted immediately, leaping out of bed and grabbing his sword. He flung open the door and Wind raced after him, book and homesickness completely forgotten as he grabbed his own weapon and bolted down the hall.

Another cry rang out, from Sky and Warriors’ shared room, and Four twisted the knob as they reached it, frowning when it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s stuck,” he said worriedly, and Wind banged on the door.

“Guys! Are you okay?!” he shouted, but there was no reply other than some crashing sounds and a pained grunt.

He heard footsteps behind him and the other heroes ran up, in various states of half-dress, but all armed, with frazzled looks on their faces.

“The door’s jammed, we can’t get in!” Wind said frantically, and Time opened his mouth to reply when another pained cry from inside cut him off.

“Move,” Twilight said, shoving his way to the front of their group. He cracked his knuckles and took a few steps back, motioning them all out of the way. Than he ran forward and threw his weight against the door with a loud thud.

The door didn’t budge.

Twilight shook out his arm with a shocked look on his face, and Legend surged forwards, splaying a palm against the wood.

“There’s magic keeping it shut,” he growled after a second, and banged at the wood again.

“What do we do?!” Wind asked frantically as the sounds of a struggle continued to filter through the door.

“Sky! Captain! Can you unblock the door?” Time shouted, and a tense silence prevailed for several long moments.

Then a desperate muffled cry rang through the hall, and Hyrule ran to the front of the group.

He jammed his hands against the door and they began to glow, a pale orangish color. Wind watched with his heart in his throat as Hyrule’s eyes began to shine the same color as his hands, and the air steadily grew thick with magic. Legend put a hand next to his, and the two heroes screwed their eyes shut, the door shaking on its hinges.

Crack

And just like that, the door popped open.

Hyrule and Legend shifted to allow the others entrance, and they all rushed inside, weapons ready. Wind passed through the door, and the first thing he noticed was the sharp smell of blood in the room.

The second was the knife pressed to Sky’s throat.

“Not a step further!” the man holding the weapon shouted, and they all froze in their tracks, some of them barely through the doorway.

Wind darted his gaze around the room, gripping his sword with a white-knuckled grip. There were five men it looked like; the one holding the knife, two more standing by Sky while the other two stood closer to Warriors, one of them wearing slightly-different clothes than the others.

Another man lay on the floor, unmoving.

Warriors himself stood at the far side of the room, eyes wild and chest heaving for breath. He had blood running down his arm, and there was a long scratch across his face, one that had barely missed his left eye. He held his sword with both hands, his face furious, and Wind thought he seemed pale.

Sky looked even more worse for wear, a bloody lip and torn undershirt that had bloody scratches visible underneath on his person. His wrist seemed like it was at a bit of an odd angle, and his eyes were bright with pain.

Wind shifted his weight and the man holding Sky glared, tightening his grip.

“I said not another step,” he growled. “Drop your weapons.” Wind balled his fist that wasn’t holding his sword up.

“Let him go,” Four said in a cold voice, and the man holding Sky’s grip seemed to tighten.

“Drop your weapons or I slit his throat right now,” the man said, and Sky’s breath hitched a little as the knife teased his throat.

The heroes all dropped their weapons.

“Now let him go,” Twilight growled, and a different man chuckled.

“I don’t think so. Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said calmly, striding to Sky’s side, “you let us leave with the hero, and your friend here for collateral, and we don’t slit his throat.”

“Fat chance,” Legend spat. “You expect us to just let you kidnap two of our own? You must think we’re idiots.”

“Why would you think we’d just let you do that?” Time said in a cold voice, and the man chuckled sinisterly.

“Because, if you don’t allow us to leave... we’ll slit his throat right now.”

And if to prove his point, the other man pressed his knife harder against Sky’s neck.

Sky flinched, and a bead of red appeared at his throat, sliding in a thin trail down his neck. Wind shot a look at Time, who seemed at a loss, eye darting between the two heroes with desperation.

“Clock is ticking, you have thirty seconds,” the man said with a smile, and Sky seemed to deflate in the other man’s hold.

Warriors shot a look at their group by the door, than back at Sky, his eyes calculating as blood continued to stain his shirtsleeve and cheek. Something resigned settled in his eyes, and his sword began to lower.

“Let Sky go,” Warriors said coolly, “and I’ll come without any fuss.”

“That’s not the deal,” the mantsked, and more blood trickled down Sky’s neck. “We keep him to make sure you behave. Drop your weapon or bye-bye bird boy.”

“Captain, they’re after you. I won’t allow you to give yourself up for me, get out of here,” Sky said quietly. “Please.”

Warriors clenched his jaw.

Then he dropped his sword, and raised both hands in the air.

Wind couldn’t help his gasp, and two of the men strode forwards and forced Warriors to his knees, leveling their swords at his neck.

“Excellent!” The ringleader crowed, and strode towards the middle of the room. “We’ll be taking our leave then.”

Sky and Warriors were both dragged to the center of the room, Wind and the other heroes only able to watch as they clustered around the one man with the different clothes. He heard Legend muttering to himself and saw Four’s eyes darting madly around the room, the other heroes all doing similar desperate actions. But they couldn’t do a thing without risking Sky’s neck. Just watch.

Fear swept over Wind as he looked desperately between Sky and Warriors, both looking resigned to their fate.

He couldn’t let them take his brothers. Not in the states they were both in, not to just be dragged somewhere and killed, he couldn’t let this happen, he refused to let it end like this, they’d kill both of them if they just let them leave, he—!

The men were enveloped in light, and Wind lunged forward, grabbing onto Warriors’ tunic as the others shouted in surprise and dismay.

His world flashed with color, swirling spots in his vision as magic crashed over him in a dizzying wave, Warriors’ good hand reaching down to clutch at his arm—

Everything went dark.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu wind #lu four #lu Sky #lu warriors #whumptober2022 #whumptober 2022 #day 6 #screams from across the hall #writing from the floor #to be continued at a later date #:)

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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 years

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CW: Pet whump, dehumanization, referenced torture, referenced death/murder, sadistic whumper, internal dehumanization

For @whumptober 2022, day six: Screams from across the hall

Jameson’s masterlist

It doesn't matter.

The pet in the cage curls himself up as tightly as he can, ignoring the throbbing ache in his knees and thighs, pretending he isn't covered in welts, some of which are deep enough to bleed.

He keeps the thought on a constant loop in his mind, trying to shout it, silently, until it drowns everything else out.

It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter-

The scream cuts through his thoughts, tearful begging, and he shakes his head violently, forcing it back out.

It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter...

Doesn’t-

Doesn’t matter-

With the muzzle on, he can't open his mouth enough to speak. He can't do anything except grind his teeth together until his jaw aches, hands pressed over his ears, forcing them flat against the thin skin of his head, the straps of the muzzle rubbing everything red and raw.

The sounds are muffled, but he can still hear them. The power drill is the worst - that high pitched whrrrrrrrrrr digs an icepick into his mind, making it harder for him to drown out the screaming with his thoughts.

And this one is a screamer.

He has to tell himself again and again that there isn't anything worth feeling bad over, she's going to die and better for her if it happens sooner and not later. Regret won't save her. He's locked in a cage counting bottles of Jameson as they're emptied and lined up along a mantle piece. He can't help her.

He can't save her.

It doesn’t matter.

The pet keeps his eyes shut tight to pretend this isn't happening, because it isn't happening to him, and caring about the ones that are brought here to die will wear him down to nothing too fast.

But if he could just not have to fucking listen, that would be great.

Her screams raise to a higher pitch, cracking through all his defenses, and the pet screams in tandem with her. His throat is raw and hoarse and his voice cracks, disappears and reappears, as he throws his head back and kicks his legs out against the door of the cage, rattling the bars and the lock that keeps him trapped, screaming until even what small hints of volume are less fade to crackling and then to nothing at all.

Just air, escaping his body even though he can’t.

The sound of the power drill stops.

Fuck.

After a second, the screaming from behind the basement door turns to wracking sobs. The pet lets his hands slowly lower from his ears. Is he done? Will it stop for a while? Maybe he'll just… fuck her, and then he won't want the pet, he can only take one, he isn't-

He isn't Nanda, who could go all night-

The pet forces away the memory of the man he loved as best he can. Memories only make it harder to survive. He swallows against the tight leather of his collar, straining to listen, jaw working against the construction that digs in along the underside of his jaw.

It doesn’t matter that Nanda is dead, because the pet isn’t.

It doesn’t matter.

"Fucking asshole slut," He hears, alongside the muffled thumping steps of Robert coming back up the stairs. His tongue sours with the taste of his voice. "Someone could hear that and call the cops on me, stupid brainless slut…"

The pet's upper lip curls back from his teeth in a snarl, hidden behind the dark leather of the muzzle. His heart, though, starts to race.

Robert heard him.

Shit.

He'll be the next one screaming.

Not that he really can anymore.

He shouldn't have felt sorry for her. He shouldn't have cared. He should have pretended he wasn't listening.

He should have understood that he’s on his own. She won't care as much about him. If their places were switched, she’d have stayed quiet.

She’d have understood that it doesn’t matter who dies, as long as the pet doesn’t.

For whumptober taglist: @whumpworld

Jameson’s taglist: @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

#whumptober2022 #no. 6 #screams from across the hall #whump #pet whump #whumptober #bbu #box boy #box boy universe #captivity #isolation #sadistic whumper #defiant whumpee #angry whumpee #muzzled #jameson bb #dehumanization #torture tw #caged

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99point9percentwhump · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 Day 6 - Screams from Across the Hall

Dark Shadows - Willie can’t escape Barnabas

#Dark Shadows #whumptober2022 #screams from across the hall #vintage whump #fear #torment #soap whump #collapse #sick #worry #unconscious #a little scene from a bigger one Im working on!!!

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shywhumpauthor · 2 years

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NO. 6 PROOF OF LIFE

Ransom Video | "I've got a pulse." | Screams from Across the Hall

Prev. || Masterlist

They’ve got names! Whumper is Mathias, and Whumpee is Kaden (frequently referred to as Kade also)

Cw: whumper pov, sadism, torture, stabbing, wound care, mentioned slap/abuse, implied torture, blood, uhhh creepy mindset on Mathias’s part, more sadism

Mathias Payne was a sadist by definition.

Ever since he was young, he had had a fascination with the blood of others. He had watch intently as a classmate sobbed over a skinned knee, his lips would twitch into a grin whenever he saw someone slice their finger on the side of a paper, or bump their hip against a stray table edge. The little hisses or gasps they would let out, whether they would go to get a bandaid or simply ignore it. It intrigued him, how different people reacted to pain. How some closed off, their body and mind going numb from the shock, while others screamed and sobbed while clutching the wound.

Kaden, however, seemed to be somewhere between the two.

Mathias couldn’t help but be intrigued at the way their eyes widened when the blade cut through their flesh and muscle. The way they glanced down at the crimson beginning to blossom, before looking back to his eyes. The warm tears that fell against his hand as their scream broke into a sob left a little pattern of tingling spots across his skin. He found himself twisting the blade, dragging it down ever so slightly just to make then wail. It was stunning.

Mathias ripped the blade free from their skin before he took things too far. He moved his hand, bringing their chin up with it to expose their neck.

He had gone through his fair share of victims. More than enough to know that it was an addiction he was fighting, that if he allowed himself to get lost within the rush the screams and pleading brought on, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He wouldn’t be able to stop until long after their heart did. It was always such a shame when they died. And this one, Mathias had a feeling, he wanted to keep alive.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” He whispered the twisted words of praise as Kaden’s legs shook and threatened to collapse. A deep crimson quickly began to spread across their shirt, blood staining their sleeve and dripping down their arm. “Just a few more moments, then this will end…”

Mathias’s thumb circled against their cheek, brushing away a tear as he brought the knife to the base of their throat. He nearly melted right there as the poor thing leaned into his touch, squeezing their eyes shut against the agony as they tried to swallow back a sob.

Ever so slowly, Mathias began to dig the knife in, watching closely as the skin split under the pressure.

The neck had always been so interesting to him. How so many vital systems stood, protected only by a thin layer of skin and muscle. With one wrong move, one cut too deep, he could drain away an entire being’s life force. He had done it before, many times on accident, many not. More than enough to know just how much pressure to put behind the blade, just what angle to drag the knife across to watch the scarlet begin to fall without hitting anything vital.

And when it fell, oh god was it beautiful.

Waves of red cascaded down Kaden’s neck, seeping through the collar of their shirt just as intended. Mathias was quick to pull the knife away, anticipating the lurch as Kaden gasped, their legs finally giving out.

Mathias stepped back, pulling his hand away and letting Kaden slide to the ground, their hands flying up to the wound.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, love,” He sighed, feeling a deep twist in his gut. A longing for more.

Mathias shook his head, almost to himself as he went to set the knife back into the plastic bag it had been brought. He then picked the bag up, walked over and set it in the bottom drawer his desk, before closing it. Though he doubted Kaden had the physical—or emotional—strength in that moment to get up and grab the knife, after the last one, he could never be too careful. Only satisfied once the little click of the automatic lock met his ears, Mathias stepped back, smirking.

“Now, love,” He said with a small grin, peeling the bloodied gloves from his hands and tossing them straight into the waste basket. “I’ll be back in just a moment. You should be fine until then, but try not to pass out. That’s just annoying.”

It was annoying, Mathias thought, as he stepped from the wound. Not the fact that it would fall on him to clean them up, redress them in actual clothes this time, and return them to their room, no. He longed to hear the little whimpers and cries they would let out as he cleaned the wounds, an giddy sort of excitement filling his chest as he anticipated their screams when the disinfectant stung their skin. Sure, it didn’t have the same sort of residual beauty as a beautiful scar or an angry bruise, but it satisfied.

Mathias nodded to Daniel as he stepped from the room, and the larger man nodded back.

“Mind grabbing a first aid kit?” Mathias asked over his shoulder, though it wasn’t really a question. His men knew better than to disobey him. Soon, Kaden would as well. He grinned at the thought.

•••

All Kaden could feel was fire.

Hot, burning agony flickering away at their very core, every movement only making the pain grow. They could tell the cut against their throat wasn’t deep, at least not deep enough to kill, but it burned. It burned like the fires of hell themself had been used to cut into their skin. They could only gasp, choking on their own breath as the air seemed to get caught up in their lungs.

They couldn’t think as Mathias returned, Daniel following not long after holding what looked like a red duffel bag.

“Darling, calm down,” Mathias sighed, a pair of fresh clothes in his hands. “I can hear you from across the hall. It can’t hurt that bad,” the man sighed, glancing over to Daniel. “Here, take this,” He handed over the clothes, stepping back to his desk to get a new pair of plastic gloves. “Get set up, on the coffee table will do.”

His eyes softened as he turned back to Kaden, stepping over and watching as they cringed. Oh the poor thing… were they really in that much pain? From a mere stab? Mathias had done much worse to others, and they hadn’t shed a single tear. It was pathetic and amusing all at the same time.

“Come on, dove,” He whispered, crouching down and reaching forwards to caress their cheek. “We’re done for now. I just need to get you out of these clothes now, and then I’ll patch you up, okay? I promise, the hard part is over.”

Mathias sighed, watching as Kaden’s half-lidded eyes flicked to meet his. He couldn’t help but smile, thinking just how adorable they looked, all bloody and tired.

Perhaps he introduced everything a bit too fast. The slap earlier had nearly sent them spiraling, of course this much had sent them over the edge. He made mental note that from then on, he’d have to take it little by little. Slowly introduce the pain, get them accustomed to it. If they reacted like this every time, God would it be boring. Sure, the slow burn would be near agonizing for him, but he could withstand.

After all, the ones worth waiting for always broke so extravagantly.

——————

Tag list: @whumpasaurus101 @t0rture-me @suspicious-whumping-egg

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whump-they-it-is · 2 years

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Whumptober

No.6 Proof of life [Screams from across the hall]

{Richard is tortured for information, and I tell ye, that man can scream!! }

24 season 4 episode 3

#whump #whumptober #logan marshall green #24 #screams from across the hall #torture #sensory deprivation #white noise torture #restrained #im girl and i cant scream that fucking loud lol #he is in like 6 eps and is being tormented the whole time #collar me not shocked

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arecaceae175 · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 6: Screams from Across the Hall (Legend, Four, Time)

Read on AO3 or here. Trigger warnings: offscreen torture (listening to torture), a bit of panic, ambiguous ending

Part 1/3. Part 2. Part 3.

Legend jolted awake to a scream. It was agonized, and very clearly a scream of pain. Worse than that, though, it sounded familiar.

Legend bolted upright. He whipped his head around, trying to take in all his surroundings at once. He was in a stone cell with a metal door. There was a small window of bars in the door, but it was nowhere close to being large enough to escape through. Legend didn’t even think a mouse could fit through the holes.

In the corner of the cell, Four was sprawled on the ground, unconscious.

The scream cut off abruptly. Legend let out a relieved breath, distinctly choosing not to think about it, and shuffled over to Four. He knelt down and briefly scanned Four for injuries. He didn’t see anything glaring, so he lightly tapped Four on the shoulder.

“Four, can you hear me?” Legend asked in a whisper. Four groaned in response, shifting scrunching his eyes. After a moment he peeled his eyes open and looked up at Legend.

“Legend? What-”

“Shh. Don’t want them to know we're awake,” Legend said. Four’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Who?” Four whispered.

Legend glanced at the door. “I don’t know. Let’s keep it that way for now,” he said.

He returned his gaze to Four, who was now staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Four, are you okay?” Legend asked.

Four blinked. “I don’t remember how we got here,” he said. His words were slightly slurred. Legend frowned, peering closer at Four’s eyes. His pupils were uneven, and his gaze was very clearly unfocused.

“Shit,” Legend muttered, leaning back on his heels.

“Where… are we?” Four asked.

Legend shook his head. “No idea. Not a clue how we got here, either.”

A piercing scream shot through the air. Legend flinched, hand shooting to where his sword should be. Four curled in on himself and shoved his hands over his ears.

The scream lasted for longer this time. Legend curled his hands into fists, tight enough to turn his knuckles white. When it finally stopped, it tapered off weakly, instead of the abrupt ending like the last one. Four slowly pulled his hands away from his ears, face twisted in pain.

Four very, very slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. He swayed dangerously to the side, so Legend reached out and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. He helped Four move back until he was leaning against the wall.

“Is that… you don’t think…” Four couldn’t finish the sentence. Legend grit his teeth.

“It sounds like Time,” Legend whispered, heart plummeting into his stomach.

“I’ve never heard the old man…” Four met Legend’s eyes. “What’s going on?”

Legend dropped his gaze to the floor. “I don’t know,” he admitted in a small voice.

Another scream. Four threw his hands over his ears again, hunching over his knees. Legend shot to his feet, running to the door. He banged his fists on it, but it didn’t so much as budge.

“Hey, assholes!” Legend yelled.

“Legend, what are you doing?” Four hissed. Legend could barely hear him over the screaming, over his own fists banging on the door.

The screaming intensified, and Legend threw his shoulder against the door. He had to get out, he had to help Time, he had to do something other than sit here and listen to his friend screaming in pain.

Legend kept going, his mind singularly focused, until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whipped around, fists at the ready.

“Woah!” Four said, taking a wobbly step back. Legend blinked rapidly, waiting for his mind to catch up with his body.

“Vet, you’ve gotta stop. That door isn’t opening. You’re just going to hurt yourself,” Four said slowly, empty hands open and extended. The screaming had stopped again, Legend realized belatedly.

He also realized Four was leaning heavily to the side, breathing hard and looking not a little bit green in the face.

Legend shook his head, bringing up his hands to rub on his face. He took a deep breath, ignoring any wetness he felt.

“Right, you’re right,” Legend said. “Now sit down before you fall.”

Four gave Legend a weak smile, and reached out a hand. Legend quickly grabbed Four’s upper arms and helped him back to the wall. Four lowered himself down slowly and gently leaned his head back against the wall, eyes tightly shut.

The screaming started again. This time, Legend followed Four’s lead and threw his hands over his ears. It did little to block out the sound, but what else was there to do? Legend pushed his back against the wall and scooted until he was flush against Four’s side.

It felt like the screaming lasted an eternity. Legend lost track of time. The intervals between the screams got smaller and smaller, until they were quiet enough that Legend could barely hear.

One cut off so abruptly that he and Four both whipped their heads up to stare at the door.

“Did they-” Four began, voice small and shaking. Legend shook his head rapidly.

“No, stop. He’s fine, we’re all going to be fine,” Legend said harshly, but his traitorous mind went exactly where Four’s did. There were only a few reasons the scream would have cut off like that, and none of them were good. Legend shut his eyes and shook his head.

Suddenly, keys jingled in the lock of the door. Legend bolted to his feet, placing himself clearly between Four and the door. The door swung open, and two heavily armored guards stepped through. Their shining armor was splattered with blood, their gloves stained red. They smiled wickedly, locking eyes with Legend.

“Who’s next?”

To be continued :)

#whumptober2022 #no.6 #screams from across the hall #linked universe #fic #linkeduniverse #lu fic #linked universe fic #lu legend #lu four #lu time #tw:#torture (offscreen)#listening to torture #panic #ace writes

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icypantherwrites · 2 years

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Whumptober: This Nightmare is Mine (Please Don’t Let it Become Yours)

Whumptober Prompt: Proof of Life — Screams from Across the Hall — Lance (+ Shiro)

This Nightmare is Mine (Please Don’t Let it Become Yours)

Summary: When Shiro winds up captured in a setting that he’s starting to fear is reminiscent of his time with the Galra, his only comfort is that the rest of the team is safe and they won’t ever have to live this nightmare.

And then he hears Lance scream.

Read it here.

#whumptober #whump #screams from across the hall #Voltron #VLD #fanfiction #Lance #Shiro #Shiro angst #Lance whump #protective Shiro #Platonic Shance #Platonic #shance #shiro voltron #lance voltron #icypanther #icypantherwrites #whumptober 2022

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dotcolorful · 2 years

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No. 6 PROOF OF LIFE Ransom Video | “I’ve got a pulse” | Screams from Across the Hall

Read it on AO3 here!

“Last chance, Lord Vader. Two billion credits, or I will blow your boy’s brains out.”

The cold barrel of the blaster pressed against Luke’s temple uncomfortably, and he couldn’t quite keep a gasp from escaping his lips. There was a hand on the other side of his face, covered with a worn-down suede glove, that steadied his head, held it upright so that he could not struggle. It was pointless, really - drugged as he was, with his hands tied behind him and his ankles cuffed to the chair’s legs, there wasn’t much he could do anyway. He suspected immobilizing him wasn’t really the point, though.

What the pirates wanted to achieve was a show.

It was why they had hit his face repeatedly before they had contacted Vader, why they had smeared his own blood over his face to make sure that he looked as vulnerable, as helpless and hurt as possible. This was a ransom call, after all. After learning that Luke was Vader’s son - how they came to that realization, Luke still didn’t know - they decided that Luke’s pain would push Vader to pay the ransom.

Honestly, Luke would have laughed at that if not for the fact that he was about to die. Basing the ransom strategy on Vader’s sense of parental concern for his son was hardly an approach Luke would have taken. There was, after all, no parental concern in the Sith.

Concerned parents would not chop off their child’s hand.

But Luke guessed the pirates didn’t know that.

Now, sitting bound to a chair, with a blaster pointed at his head and a holo-camera recording him, he wished for a father that would care about him.

What he felt from Vader’s side of the bond, however, was not care. It was anger.

“You will pay for this, pirate,” Vader growled. Even the shimmering blue hologram of his figure flickered at the potency of his anger.

“Ah, no,” the pirate laughed playfully. “You will be the one pay - pay me, to be exact. Two billion credits. Now.”

“You,” Vader seethed, “will not get anything from me. You will release the boy now, or I—“

The pirate smacked his lips, face turning into an expression of exaggerated disappointment. “You won’t? Is that your final answer?”

Through bleary, tired eyes, Luke looked at his father’s holo-image. He knew there wasn’t much to hope for - his father had already demonstrated his lack of interest in Luke’s well-being - but he couldn’t help but send his father a begging look, a silent plea to save him.

“Ah, hesitating, are we?” The pirate mocked when Vader remained silent. Then, in one quick move, he grasped a fistful of Luke’s hair and forced his head up. “See that, boy? I don’t think daddy loves you all that much.”

Luke closed his eyes, hurt; the pirate chuckled.

“Whoops, Lord Vader, I think your boy is not too happy about your decision. I mean, just look at those sad eyes.” His voice was filled with such malice, such fake pity and infantilism that Luke felt sick to his stomach. “Tell ya what, Lord Vader. I’ll give you one more chance: two billion credits, or our young…?”

“Luke,” Luke supplied mindlessly, then curses himself for cooperating with the man.

“…Luke, right. So? What’s it gonna be? The credits, or Luke?”

As if to emphasize his threat, the pirate pressed the blaster even harder against Luke's temple, and Luke winced. He was so, so tired already, so hurt from his forced position, his wrists raw from rubbing against the cuffs, the constant pressure of the barrel against his temple. He was exhausted from the constant feeling that he could die any second, that one pull on the trigger could end his life in a flash.

And, most of all, he was exhausted from naively hoping that his father would pay the ransom and save him.

He wouldn’t; Luke knew that. His father would never stoop so low as to accept the demands of a meek pirate. And so, between the life of his own son and his pride, it was pride that Vader would choose.

…which was precisely why Luke felt so hurt.

“Your dad always this indecisive?” The pirate chortled, giving Luke’s hair a sharp tug. Only now did he notice that the man’s hands smelled foul. It was a mix of grease and ship fuel, but rotten, giving off such a pungent smell that Luke wanted to retch. For a second, he felt disgusted at the feeling of the man’s hands in his hair. He’d have to wash it, and soon - those terrible hands probably carried a lot of dirt…

But there would be no dirt to wash off. Soon, he’d be dead.

“For the last time, Lord Vader, what’s it gonna be?”

There was a short pause, as if Vader was thinking, but there wasn’t anything to think about, really. The credits, or Luke. It was his father’s choice, and Luke already knew he was going to choose poorly—

“Pirate,” his father spoke suddenly, and a glimmer of hope passed through Luke’s eyes. “This is your last chance. Free my son, or-„

“Okay, too late,” the pirate interrupted him. “Luke, say goodbye to daddy.”

“…what?”

But before he could finish his sentence, the pirate pulled the trigger and white-hot light filled his skull.

Agony. Excruciating, unimaginable agony filled his eyes and lungs and heart, replaced the blood flowing through his veins and seeped deep into the pores of his skin. For a moment, pain was all he was; it encompassed his whole existence and defined his very essence. He had nothing - no vision, no hearing, no sense of smell, or touch. All had been replaced by that terrible, painful, flashing white.

And then it cleared.

As quickly as it had appeared, the white burst of agony had evaporated, leaving him blissfully numb. Only now did he realize that he was leaning forward, hands still tied behind his back, but head now slumped as his muscles no longer supported it. He was limp, boneless; dead.

What the fuck, was his first thought. The pirate… he’d not even given Vader a chance to finish his sentence! He’d just… shot Luke. Just killed him. Just lost his only bargaining chip.

How strange, was his second thought. How strange that he was even thinking these things now that he was dead…

And then it struck him.

He wasn’t.

He was limp, yes; paralyzed. He could not move a muscle save for the faint beating of his heart. His eyes were stinging - they were wide open, but his eyelids would not blink - and it felt as if someone had immobilized his very pupils so that nothing could be moved.

He could feel the burning pain somewhere near his temple where the pilot had shot him, and could still feel the terrible throbbing of his body that was now slumped in the chair.

He… looked dead. But he wasn’t dead.

And Vader’s side of the bond was oddly silent.

It took Luke a moment to realize it was because he couldn’t feel the Force at all. It was blocked, shimmering at the back of his mind but unattainable. It was frustrating; if only he could reach out with a mental hand, grasp at its tendrils and pull them towards himself…!

But his hands, both real and metaphysical, were paralyzed.

And he didn’t need the Force to tell him that Vader was… withdrawn. Silent.

Upset.

With his head slumped forward, Luke couldn’t see much besides the top of his own shoes, but he could feel the all-encompassing feeling of grief and distress that radiated from where Vader’s holographic figure was.

“You—“ the vocoder spat out. “He— he’s—“

For one, hysterical moment, Luke thought that Vader sounded like the toy robot he used to play with on Tatooine. Whenever its batteries were nearly dead - which happened often, for his family could rarely afford to buy new ones - it would also spurt out static and jarring noises, much like his father’s stuttering now.

That thought, however, was quickly overcome by the realization that his father thought Luke was dead.

And, by the Force, his father was feeling grief because of it.

Luke didn’t want his father to feel that way. But now, paralyzed and Force-less, there was nothing he could do.

There was a sharp tug as two pirates grasped his upper body and threw him off the chair. Luke’s face slammed against the ship’s floor, throat working frantically to scream, but no sound made it past his lips. His whole body ached from the impact, and with his hands still tied behind his back, his spine started to feel like it would soon snap in half.

At least now, with his cheek plastered to the floor, his eyes were set in the general direction of where the shimmering hologram of his father was.

The moment he looked at his father’s face, though, he wished he’d never seen it.

Yes, it was covered by a mask. Yes, there was no face to physically see. But somehow, the hurt that emanated from Vader seemed to transcend the mask, the helmet, the armor, and painted the picture of an expression of such pain, such sorrow, that Luke couldn’t have seen Vader’s face clearer.

“He’s—“ Vader’s broken stuttering continued. “He’s—“

“Dead?” The pirate who’d shot him smiled, picking up the holo-camera and repositioning it so that it would show Luke’s body, crumpled in a heap, lying on the floor. “Well, what can I say. I’m not a patient man.”

“You,” Vader seethed, finally finding his voice, “are not a man at all.”

The pirate had the audacity to actually laugh at that. “Look who’s talking.”

Slowly, deliberately, he walked up to where Luke lay and knelt by his head, before gently tracing a finger over the shot temple. “Such a waste.”

“Don’t touch him!” Vader actually sounded hysterical. “Get away from him!”

“Mmm,” the pirate mused, ignoring Vader’s words and continuing to stroke the side of Luke’s face. “New deal, Lord Vader. Two billion credits in exchange for your son’s body. Pretty thing… deserves a funeral, at least.”

Anger exploded from Vader at those words, so strong that Luke almost flinched despite the paralysis. Why was he feeling his father’s emotions so strongly? Could he really not touch the Force? Or was it there, but Luke just couldn’t feel it? So many questions, and his mind was so numb…

“Actually,” the pilot said after a moment, his hand against Luke’s face stopping, “I’ll make that one billion. Treat it as a nice little father of a dead child discount.”

What escaped Vader at those words was a roar, an animalistic, guttural sound, so loud that the speakers installed in the holo-display started spurting out static, unable to properly process it. This was it, Luke thought. His father’s anger was strong, his pride ruined, and there was no way he was ever going to agree to the pirate’s conditions.

He hadn’t paid for Luke when he was alive. Why would he do so now that he believed Luke dead?

Again, he wanted to recoil as the pirate caressed him once more. The action was sinister, deliberate, offending in a way that was supposed to provoke Vader.

And it did.

Because, impossibly, Luke saw Vader lower his head and say:

“I agree to your conditions, pirate. Transmit your coordinates - I will bring you the credits personally.”

A wide smile graced the pirate’s lips. “Wonderful news, Lord Vader, wonderful news.”

“And now,” Vader seethed. “Stop touching him.”

The pirate laughed. “That’s gonna cost a little extra.”

“He is dead!” Vader cried at that, angrily. “Give him some peace!”

“Alright, alright,” the pirate said, putting his hands up in the air. Relief flooded through Luke; finally, that terrible, gloved hand was away from his face. “I was just messing. See you soon, Lord Vader.”

His father’s helmet moved towards him, giving his a last, long look that radiated sorrow.

And then the transmission was cut off and Vader’s shimmering blue figure disappeared.

***

“...’kay Luke, that went well,” the pirate said, patting Luke’s arm. “I can’t believe your old man really bought this. I knew he was stupid, but this-- I mean, he literally thinks you’re dead!”

Again, Luke tried squirming. Again, he found his muscles would not move.

“You’re not dead, by the way, in case you haven’t figured that out already,” the pirate continued. “You’re paralyzed, though. I got this new blaster from a guy in Correlia and it’s kriffing amazing. This shot that hit that poor head of yours? It was a stun shot, but it looks just like the real thing! It’s amazing - keeps you aware but paralyzed. I mean-” he paused momentarily, regarding Luke’d face as if he was a piece of art. “You look pretty dead to me.”

He gave Luke one final pat before standing up, bruising dust off his thighs. “Alright, boys,” he called out to his comrades. “Get in position. Lord Vader will be here soon and he may freak out a little bit when he sees are young Luke here.”

“Ay, sir.”

There was a clunk of armor, the sound of steps as the pirates moved into position, re-charging their blasters and pointing them at various spots in the room.

The pirate turned back to Luke. “You stay put, boy.” Ah, but that was useless - Luke couldn’t move even if he wanted to. “When Lord Vader comes here, I’m gonna present him with a little resurrection scene. For three billion credits, that is. But, after losing you once, I’m pretty sure he won’t hesitate to pay this time.”

Oh, how Luke wanted to spit at the man. How he wanted to fight him, to hurt him for the torment that he was putting both upon him and his father. But, his lips still refused to move, just like his eyes and the rest of his body, and he could only lie helplessly on the floor, looking completely, utterly dead.

Something wet started trailing down his chin.

“Whoops,” the pirate laughed, kneeling by him. His suede-gloved hand reached towards his chin, swiping at the trail of saliva that had escaped Luke’s lips. Had his body tired to spit, then? He hadn’t really felt it; hadn’t felt anything, in fact, for his body was becoming more and more numb. It felt terrible; he felt trapped. He was conscious, yes, but his body felt as if it was made of steel, drowning in sticky honey sauce.

“Let’s get that from your face,” the pirate said, wiping the spit away. “Dead bodies don’t salivate… I think. Do they?” He turned around, calling out to another pirate. “Haja’a’n! Do dead bodies salivate?”

“The kriff do I know, Jaimar?” Haja’a’n shot back, and again, Luke wanted to laugh hysterically. At least now he knew the name of the man who’d ‘killed’ him.

“Anyway,” Jaimar said, getting back to his feet. “As I said, stay put. Your father will be his shortly.”

Luke only hoped that indeed, his father was going to come.

***

He didn’t know how much time had passed before his father finally arrived. Each second blurred into another, and he felt as if he was swimming in nothingness. His eyes, unable to blink, were stinging so much he wished he could just gauge them out. He was hot; too hot for his liking, and that meant something coming from a boy who had grown up on Tatooine. Was it a fever? A side effect of the stun shot? He didn’t know.

It was hard to think.

At some point, he’d caught his reflection in a metal casing of a navi-computer in front of him. He’d seen his body, deadly still and crumpled on the floor, his face, red from the blood and yet terribly, sickly pale. Saw his own eyes, sightless, dull, dead. His lips, slightly parted, dead. His hands, fingers curled, unmoving, dead.

The Force around him, dead.

And then, amidst that sea of nothingness, he’d heard the sharp snap-hiss of a lightsaber.

What happened next was fast. There were screams as the pirates were cut down, one by one, their blasters falling on the floor, useless. There was the sound of begging, of useless pleading, of choking and growled demands. There was the clank of armor as stormtroopers swarmed into the room; the room had gone dark, Luke realized, the lights going out, and he could see the troopers’ riffle red dot reflectors, searching for their next target.

It was all red. His father’s lightsaber; red. The troopers blaster shots, red.

The blood of the dead pirates, dead.

And then his father crouched before him.

“Luke.”

And Luke had never heard so much pain in someone’s voice.

“Luke, I-” his father paused, turned his helmet away as if it was painful to look at his son’s dead body - Luke guess it was - before turning back and reaching out with a gloved hand. The worn leather caressed Luke’s cheek, but with none of the malice that the pirate’s touch had. The movement was slow, sorrowful, pained. It was meant to bring comfort, even if Luke was dead.

It was as if the troopers behind Vader did not exist. For a moment, it was just them both: Luke’s paralyzed body and Vader’s large, dark, grieving bulk.

Those gloved hands caressed his cheek again, then moved to his hair, fingers trailing through the blood-matted strands. Then, the hands paused as Vader took a strand between his palm and thumb, looking as if he was marveling at the sight.

“Blond,” came the quiet rasp of the vocoder. “Your hair is blond. Like mine.”

The fingers moved back to his face. “And your eyes,” his father continued. “They are blue.”

His eyes did not look blue, though. They looked dead.

And he was alive.

He wished he could tell his father that.

There was, in fact, nothing he wished for more in this world. He’d never felt pain like that, had never seen such grief, such sorrow. His father’s body, kneeling uncomfortably before Luke’s prone form, seemed slumped. He was caressing Luke’s skin, studying his features as if he were a newborn, drinking in the sight of his son. Luke couldn’t stand that thought: that his father believed him dead, and was now caressing what he thought was his son’s corpse.

He didn’t deserve that hurt.

But his lips would not move.

“I’m sorry,” Vader whispered, clasping Luke’s limp hand in his own. “I’m so, so sorry. My child, I- I should have--”

There was a pause, before a burst of static and something akin to a screech left the vocoder. Was his father… Was his father crying?

“My son,” Vader repeated, the words distorted by that awful sound. “My son, my-- my little angel, my child--”

And at that, Luke started to cry.

Big, fat tears streamed down his cheeks, cascading like a river down a hill. He could not control them - could still not control anything - but they kept coming, leaving stinging, salty trails on his skin, pooling on the floor beneath his cheek.

His father loved him. His father was hurt by his death, and was caressing Luke with love and such desire to comfort that Luke had never felt. Not even his Aunt Beru had cuddled him like that. Not even Uncle Owen had ruffled his hair with such affection.

For the first time, he knew what it felt like to be loved by a father.

And so he kept crying. So engrossed in his grief, Vader didn’t even seem to notice.

But someone else did.

“My Lord!” The exclamation resounded in the room, followed by some quick steps, and then an Imperial medic moved into Luke’s field of view. “My Lord, the tears, he’s-- he’s crying!”

Immediately, Vader’s hands flinched away, as if he’d been burned, and the helmet spun to regard the tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Is he alive?”

The medic didn’t respond. Instead, he pushed Vader out of the way - a brave move, Luke had to admit - and brought his hand to Luke’s neck, searching for a pulse. He could feel his heart beating erratically, his blood faintly pulsing against the man’s warm hand, and relief flooded his mind.

They knew. They knew he was--

“Alive!” The medic exclaimed. “The pulse, he has a pulse! He’s alive!”

Vader’s presence exploded.

Joy, immense, impossible joy engulfed Luke like a blanket, and he momentarily lost all sense of anything, bathing in the feeling of his father’s relief. There were voices around him, he realized after a moment, there were words spoken to him and hands on him, and then something sharp pierced his skin.

“I’ve given him a stimulant,” he heard the medic say. “He should be able to move soon.”

And Luke did.

It was like warmth spreading through his body, like a fire melting away the ice that had frozen his muscles and blocked his ability to move. First, his toe fingers, then his legs, and hips, and stomach, and chest. His arms, his palms, every single finger, his neck, his lips, his eyelids.

He could move them all.

So, slowly, he blinked.

Immediately, his father was upon him.

“Luke,” He said, his voice almost begging, as if he wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was true. Gloved hands cradled his body, hands supporting Luke’s hands and back. “My son.”

Slowly, Luke’s lips turned into a smile. He parted them slightly, taking in a breath; it hurt as it went into his lungs. “...aaah…le…sss…” he tried to speak, then paused as the sound hitched in his sore throat. It was difficult to move his muscles, it hurt, but at least he could move them. Vader’s fingers tightened around him frantically.

Luke tried again.

“At le…ast,” he whispered again, stronger this time. He smiled, satisfied, and looked into Vader’s eyes with such love that he’d never thought himself capable of. “...at least…y-you ge to ke…ep…your two b-billion…credits…”

He’d meant the words to be light, but he still sensed a burst of guilt coming from Vader’s side of the bond. Those gloved hands tightened even more around his body, cradling Luke close.

“My son,” his father replied fiercely. “You’re worth so much more.”

#whumptober 2022 #no. 6 #Luke Skywalker #Darth Vader #Luke and Vader #ransom video #I've got a pulse!#screams from across the hall #star wars #writing #My writing #fanfiction #whump #angst #whumptober #tw: violence

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what-the-whump · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 - No.06 - Proof of Life

Screams From Across the Hall

- The Listener - 1x01:

Toby has a vision about a women in danger, a psychic scream from across the hall one might say.

#whumptober2022 #no.6 #screams from across the hall #The Listener #GIF #Toby Logan #1x01 #vision #weak #worry #tw flashing images #flashing images

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drabbles-mc · 2 years

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Who You’re Dealing With

Javier Peña x OFC (Carolina Rodríguez)

Whumptober 2022: No.6 Proof of Life- Screams From Across the Hall

Warnings: 18+, language, angst, kidnapping, blood/injury/burns, murder, canon-typical violence

Find Part 2 HERE

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: I started a multi-chap for these two a long time ago. And I still plug away at that from time to time. I don’t think this really fits in with their whole timeline for that, though, so I’m just considering it an AU one-shot lol.

Narcos Taglist: @garbinge @thesandbeneathmytoes @anditsmywholeheart @winchestershiresauce @sizzlingcloudmentality @alm0501 @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst @mirabee @buckybarneshairpullingkink @boomclapxox @nessamc @southotheborder @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @bport76 @marrianena @ashlingnarcos @passionatewrites (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

The pain of the tape being yanked off of her mouth was the least of Carolina’s problems. It stung, and she winced, but there were much larger issues at hand. There was still a blindfold over her eyes, so she had no idea where she was. It also meant that she didn’t know where Javier was, or if they were even in the same vicinity. For all she knew, they’d split the two of them up. That would be smart—it’s what she would’ve done if the roles were reversed.

All of those thoughts and more were racing through her mind as she tried to catch her breath. She tugged against the binds on her legs, tried to wriggle her wrists even though it was futile. The sweat slicking her skin gave the illusion of movement, of freedom, but she knew that it was false hope. She heard the sounds of a few different sets of footsteps and it put her on edge. She tried not to show it, though.

Coming down to Colombia, she always knew that there was a risk. Chasing after men like Escobar was essentially putting your life on the line every day. Sometimes it felt like they forgot about that a little bit. When they’d go weeks without a break in the case, when the chatter on the radio waves died down, things felt almost boring. They’d all work their days combing through old intel hoping to strike gold, bitching about the stillness of it all when they should be out on the street actually getting shit done.

She’d give anything for that sense of boredom now.

It’d all happened so fast. It was hard for her to make sense of any of it. She and Javi had been heading back to his car, bags of groceries in their arms, when all of a sudden they were being grabbed and gagged in the back of a van. They’d both fought, struggled against whoever it was, but they were outnumbered. Their attackers had the element of surprise on their side, too. She tried to scream for help but whoever it was who had captured them had been ready for that, slapping tape across her mouth very quickly. She assumed that they had done the same to Javier.

Asking questions would get her no real answers at best, and would get her injured at worst. Every fiber of her being wanted her to speak up and say something. Not necessarily yell, but just try and say anything. She just wanted to try and get a read on who these people were. She had an idea, she could take some good guesses at who they worked for, but who the fuck were they really?

“Lo siento, señorita.” The man speaking was close enough so that she could feel his breath on her face. She could smell the smoke on it, too. “Didn’t want you screaming where someone could hear you.”

She huffed, but she didn’t say anything. She knew better than to fully take the bait. Whatever she said now was going to be used against her, or worse, used against the rest of her team. She wasn’t going to be the one responsible for bad things happening to them.

“Nothing to say?” The man sounded a little farther away now, his breath no longer suffocating her. “A lot like your friend across the hall.” He saw the way her body tensed at the passive mention of Javier. “O quizás…” there were a few slow footsteps and before he spoke Carolina knew that he was close again, “tu novio?”

She clenched her fists tight, the ropes digging deeper into her wrists as she did. The sound of the man’s laughter seemed to echo in the room. The silence outside of that only confirmed that they had indeed separated her and Javier. If he was in the room, if he had heard what the man had been saying to her, there was no way that he would’ve been able to keep his mouth shut. God bless him but the second Javier got invested he lost all ability to know when he had gone too far. Underneath the numerous layers of fear and pain and anger coursing through her, she couldn’t help but to wonder if that was the reason the two of them were in this situation now.

“Nothing to say?” his voice kept her from being able to draw too many conclusions about the why of ending up in her current situation.

She heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. She let out a shaky exhale, undeniably afraid about whatever was coming next. She was gnawing at the inside of her cheek, already tasting blood and their whole ordeal had barely even gotten started. There was the feeling of fingertips against the side of her head and she instinctively pulled away as quickly and as far as she could. She was met with the sound of more laughter.

“Sit still,” she assumed that it was the man’s best attempt at sounding reassuring, although she would find it hard to believe that he actually care about that, “I’m just…” his voice trailed off as his fingers brushed through her hair again. Moments later he was removing her blindfold.

The drastic change in light was jarring for a few seconds, but her body quickly adjusted. She looked at the man sitting in front of her, glancing around the room and spotting the few others who were lingering by the doorway as well. She had definitely seen their faces before. There was definitely photos of them that had come across her desk at one point or another. She couldn’t quite remember why.

“Carolina Rodríguez,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, the gun holstered on his hip extremely visible, “your friend has been causing a lot of trouble for a lot of people.”

There was a scathing comment on the tip of her tongue, but she managed to hold it in. It was the biggest act of self-restraint she’d ever performed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But you know who?” He saw the panic flash across her features. It was hardly a split second but it still happened. He smiled. “He should’ve known better. Sad that he dragged you into it.”

She clenched her jaw, the thought crossed her mind that, yes, it was definitely something that he’d dragged her into this mess, although sad might not have been her word of choice. If they made it out of this, she was definitely going to have a few things to say to him. But that if was getting bigger and bigger with every passing second.

Javier grunted as a fist collided with his jaw once again. He could feel the blood pooling in his mouth, and normally he’d spit it out onto the ground, but the tape still tacked over his mouth was preventing him from being able to do that. He exhaled sharply through his nose, glowering up at the man who had hit him.

“You knew,” he paced, shaking his hand out once before clenching his fist again, “that this…relationship was conditional at best. You violate the conditions, you face the consequences, sí?” Javier continued to glare, unable to speak in response to the question. “They have your friend across the hall,” each word he said was calculated and he would pause if Javi ever looked away from him, continuing only when he had regained eye contact, “It’s a shame. I thought you knew better. She doesn’t deserve to suffer because of your mistakes.”

The word suffer made Javi’s stomach churn. He’d known from the second that the two of them had gotten jumped that things weren’t going to go well. But from the get-go, he knew that it was about him, about the choices he’d made and the people he’d decided to team up with. Those were all of his mistakes. He figured there was no getting out of this for himself. But Carolina, she wasn’t supposed to get caught up in the middle of any of this. He would take his beating because that’s what he got for doing what he did. They didn’t deserve to lay a hand on her, though. She didn’t deserve the mess that they were in.

She had tried to tell him to stop, to use his fucking brain instead of his anger, but he didn’t listen. And now here he was, and she was here too, somewhere. He wondered how far they were from each other. There weren’t enough apologies in the world to even scratch the surface of trying to make things right. With the way it looked now, it all seemed like a moot point.

“Or maybe she knows.” He was standing in front of Javier, watching intently for any sign of reactions from him. “You two seem…close. At least from what my men have seen. Do you tell her things? Does she know what we’ve been doing? Does she know as much as you? Because maybe,” he shrugged, pulling out a cigarette and placing it between his lips, “maybe she’ll be useful.” He tilted the pack towards Javi in a silent offer, making himself laugh knowing that it was an empty gesture given Javier’s current binding predicament.

“It’s quiet over there,” he nodded towards the door. “Maybe she talked,” he shrugged, puffing on his cigarette, “or maybe they’re already done with her.”

Javier pulled against his restraints at that. The movements were drastic enough for the man standing in front of him to notice. He laughed at Javi’s desperation, knowing that there was nothing that the man could do about it.

“You got too comfortable. Too cocky,” it almost sounded like he was scolding Javi. “You should never forget who it is you’re dealing with.”

The man was blowing out a smoke ring, the room heavy with silence as he casually strolled back and forth in front of Javier. He wasn’t looking at him anymore, just watching the grimy floors pass beneath his feet as he turned and continued to pace. Javier watched him intently, sweat dripping down both of their foreheads as the silence persisted.

The man opened his mouth to speak again when a pained cry came from the other side of the wall. His eyes lit up, lips beginning to curl into a smile at the sound. Meanwhile Javier grunted against the tape over his mouth, yanking at his restraints despite the pain it inflicted. He knew that voice. She was so close but there still wasn’t anything that he could do about it. They were hurting her and he was stuck tied to a goddamn chair probably only a few dozen feet away. It was infuriating, heartbreaking.

“I guess I was wrong,” the man taunted, “Maybe she didn’t talk yet.” He shrugged, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette and onto the floor close to Javi’s shoes. “She will, though.”

Javi pulled against at his restraints, the veins in his neck visible as he struggled. He wanted to scream out for her, let her know that he was going to get her out safely somehow. But he couldn’t. And, even if he could, he didn’t know how he was going to get to her. It just would’ve been another empty promise.

“Too bad I can’t trust you not to scream,” he shook his head, “otherwise I’d take the tape off.”

Javi’s breathing was ragged as he tried to think of a plan. Any hope of thinking straight was shattered at the sound of Carolina letting out another scream. The worst things imaginable were running through Javi’s mind, and the slick grin coming from the man standing in front of him did nothing to provide any sense of comfort.

“You know, Agent Peña, we could’ve worked well together. Still can. But you need to realize that we are going to play by our own fucking rules. You have no say in any of that. No matter what power you might think you have, it does you no good here.”

They weren’t wrong. He thought he could play the game well enough but look where they fucking ended up. He and Carolina, a woman who wanted nothing to do with any of this shit, were trapped on opposite sides of the wall from each other. And he was getting off easy. He knew that that was part of the punishment, pouring salt in whatever wounds they were going to leave him with before this was all said and done.

“I can see that you care for her. Should’ve kept a closer eye on her, Peña. She deserves that much, at least, hm?”

He hated that he was talking like he knew her. It wasn’t that the man was wrong, but that wasn’t the point. His guilt was duking it out with his rage as he sat helplessly tied to the most uncomfortable chair in all of Colombia. He cringed, face contorting despite the tape over it as he was forced to listen to the sound of Carolina crying on the other side of the wall.

Apparently he had displayed enough emotional discomfort. The man crouched down in front of him. “Promise me you won’t say anything fucking stupid, and I’ll take the tape off.”

There was a long pause before Javier gave a slight nod. The man smiled, peeling the tape away. Despite Javi’s promise, he was still ready to strike the DEA agent again if he had to shut him up. He was almost disappointed when Javi made good on his promise to not start screaming for Carolina like a madman.

“Good to see you realize that it’s our rules here, not yours.” The brief pause was filled with Carolina’s hurt echoing from the next room over. “Think she knows it, too?”

“Let her go,” Javi grit out, tirelessly working at the ropes around his wrists. “She doesn’t know shit about any of this.”

“Nothing?”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to figure out how to honestly answer that question. Sure, he hadn’t ever flat-out told her that he had formed an alliance with Los Pepes. But she still knew. She never flat-out accused him, but she didn’t have to. She was a woman with endless strengths and one of them was the ability to say just about anything without having to actually say it. Some days Javier loved that about her, but in the most recent weeks, it’d been a trait that was the bane of his existence. He wondered if that skill was making things worse for her now.

“She doesn’t know anything I don’t.” He finally settled on that truth. Anything useful that she knew, Javi knew too. They were on the same playing field. Javier didn’t know if that put her in more danger or not. “You’re not gonna get anything new out of her.”

He shrugged as they heard her let out another cry. “We’ll see about that.”

Carolina tried to stifle her sobs. She tried to bite back her screams. Not giving any reaction was something that was much easier said than done, though. Deep down, she knew that she could scream all she wanted as long as she didn’t put anyone she knew and loved in danger. Incoherent cries did the men hurting her absolutely no good. She knew that the only thing it get them was a very infuriated Javier if he was within earshot somewhere.

She’d been hit before. There were plenty of men who got out of hand on the job and had hauled off on her. But she had never been so helpless in the face of it before. She had no means to defend herself. The cuts, the burns, the punches, she just had to sit there and take all of it. That was as painful as anything.

“You’re a smart woman, aren’t you, Miss Rodíguez?” he asked as he toyed with his knife. “Do the smart thing—save yourself the trouble you’re going to put yourself through over Agent Peña.”

She shook her head. “I have nothing for you.”

“I don’t believe—” he stopped short when he heard the sound of a gun going off across the hall. His eyes widened as well as hers. He took his gun out of its holster, motioning for the two men to move closer to her to stand guard. Looking back at Carolina, he said, “Keep your mouth shut and don’t do anything stupid.”

There wasn’t much she could do while she was still tied to the goddamn chair. Plus, she wasn’t so delusional to think that even if her restraints somehow magically managed to disappear she would be able to fend for herself against the two other men in the room with her. She was too beat up to be thinking like that.

They all heard the sounds of an altercation outside the door. There was a lot of yelling, swearing, and the sounds of people being slammed against walls, against the floor. Carolina just hoped that Javi was getting the upper hand in it all. When the sound of another gunshot echoed through the building, Carolina couldn’t help the tiny yelp that slipped past her lips. It was only one shot, which meant there was a fifty-fifty chance that it was Javi that fired the kill shot, not the other guy. She hardly even felt the barrel of the gun that the man was digging into her shoulder.

The door to the room that she’d been in was flung open as Javier’s boot connected with it. He strode in, gun drawn and at the ready. All three of the men immediately began yelling at each other, and Carolina didn’t really feel much safer than she had before. She was still completely at the mercy of everyone else in the room, and that wasn’t a feeling she was at all comfortable with.

One of the men standing next to her was partway through a speech to Javi about doing the smart thing and making sure that he did whatever it took to keep Carolina alive, but he didn’t get the chance to finish it as Javi quickly pulled the trigger two more times, firing one round into each of the men standing by her. She screamed, curling up as best she could to try and make herself as small as possible. Tears streamed down her face as Javi quickly fired his gun two more times, enough to ensure that the two men were really dead.

Carolina’s entire body was trembling as Javier knelt down and did the best he could to make quick work of the ropes that were around her wrists and legs. She immediately threw her arms around him, allowing him to help her up onto her feet. He tried not to think about how she looked, the tears and the bruises and the blood. There wasn’t anything he could do about it now. The best he could do was get them both out of there, wherever there happened to be.

“Come on.” He had his arm around her, guiding her towards the door. “We gotta go.”

She didn’t say anything, just nodding in agreement as the two of them carefully made their way through the building that they were in, looking for the nearest exit. They both knew it was only a matter of minutes before more men showed up looking for them. They had to put as much space between them and this place as possible.

Once they were outside and on the street, Javier tightly gripped Carolina’s hand with his own, the other holding tightly onto his gun. He wound down sidewalks and across streets with a lot of confidence for a man who didn’t really know where they were exactly. He could work out the details later. He just wanted to get somewhere quiet, somewhere away from everyone else.

They were both completely out of breath when they came to a stop in an empty alleyway. It was dark save for the dim lights shining out of the scattered windows along the building. No one would be looking for the two of them, though.

Carolina leaned back against the wall behind her, her entire body still shaking from everything it had gone through before, now combined with the exhaustion from the chase. She wiped at the sweat and tears on her cheeks.

Javi gently rested his hands on her shoulders, taking in the state of her. He knew that asking if she was okay would be the dumbest fucking question in the world, but he didn’t know what else to ask her. He opted for not asking her anything. His thumbs lightly traced back and forth along her skin as he spoke. “I thought I lost you.”

She allowed herself to look him in the eyes, to feel the relief of knowing that they were both alive and somewhat safe for the moment. “I thought so too.”

Seconds later she collapsed against him with a sob. He caught her, leaning into her as he shut his eyes. Feeling her tremble against him so violently invoked a type of pain he was certain he had never felt before. She wasn’t someone who broke down easily. He tried to hold her tightly but with care, knowing that she was littered with injuries now.

He gently ran his hand through her hair, his voice soft as he said, “I’m so sorry, Caro.” He rested his hand against the back of her head, breathing her in for a moment, “Lo siento mucho.”

She took a few more deep, shuddering breaths before peeling herself off of him. She leaned back against the wall again, running her hands over her face. She tried to ignore the fact that the tears on her hands were also mixed with blood and grime from everything that had happened over the last few hours.

She sniffled, looking up at the sky for a moment before retuning her attention to the man standing in front of her. “Javier…”

“I’m gonna make sure that they pay for this, Carolina. I swear. I’m gonna—”

“Javier, stop,” she shook her head, “please. Stop.” She saw the way that sorrow was instantly filling his eyes. “I,” her voice trembled, “I told you this would happen. I said that nothing good was going to come of that and…and now…” her hands shook and she looked at her arms and legs that were spattered with marks of all kids.

He reached for her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” she snapped. She wasn’t yelling, partially because she didn’t have the energy, but also because she knew that yelling didn’t do anything to him. “This didn’t…” she pressed her lips into a thin line for a moment before continuing, “This didn’t have to happen.”

“Caro—”

“This shouldn’t have happened to me,” she cut him off, her voice cold as tears continued to trickle down her cheeks. “This,” she gestured to herself, the myriad of wounds, “is on you, Javier. This one isn’t on me.”

He didn’t know what to say to that as the tears welled in his eyes. He just nodded, not able to say or do much else.

“You just couldn’t fucking stop, could you?” Her bottom lip trembled. “And now we’re here.”

He didn’t want to look her in the eyes, but he owed her at least that much, “Now we’re here.”

There were still tears on her cheeks as she tried her best to sound much more collected and in control than she felt. “Let’s just…get the fuck home.”

“I can take you to the—”

“I’ll get checked out on my own.”

Her anger was more than justified, but it still stung. All of that and she wasn’t even going to let him take her to the hospital. Javier knew that if the roles had been reversed, he would’ve done the same, and he wouldn’t have been nearly as gracious about it as she was. Her anger would probably resurface in a couple of days, once she had a chance to rest. The next time he reached out or showed up to her place, he knew he was going to be in for it. It was the least that he deserved.

“You can walk a little more?” he asked.

“I’ll manage.”

The two of them made their way down the alley, back the way that they’d come. Javi glanced over at her, “Caro…”

“Not today, Javi,” she shook her head at him, “please.” She turned and saw that he was already looking at her. She repeated herself, so soft he almost missed it, “Please.”

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frozenrose105 · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 6

Prompts: Proof of Life

Characters: Bingiplier

Requested by @perse-flame uwu

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2

======================

Bing didn't sleep. He didn't need to, being an android, and thus stayed awake through the nights hanging out or working on whatever project he had going on. He was too strong to have to worry about danger from others and he didn't have all of the same weaknesses as humans or other species. When someone could harm him it was because they knew what they were doing.

That's how he knew that the EMP blast which knocked him unconscious was definitely targeted.

If that didn't give it away, hearing people mutter about "the android" as he woke up bound to some kind of metal surface gave him an idea. He was laying flat, only able to stare up at the ceiling with his head likewise bound. Even that wasn't much of a view with the room dimmed as it was, the flickering shadows indicative that the light came from fire- candles, he assumed.

"Uh- What the Hell is happening here, dudes?" Bing asked with some strain in his voice. The blast had weakened him, and it showed in his rather pathetic attempts to break the metal around his limbs and head. Upon his speaking, everyone else in the room fell silent. Then he was being moved, able to see a couple of people out of the corner of his eye and able to feel the rolling of wheels beneath him. Apparently the metal surface he was on was some kind of table.

"Hello?" Bing spoke up again. Who was moving him was a different question, as he couldn't see enough of them to run an accurate facial recognition, and they didn't seem keen on speaking to him. He was getting increasingly worried, especially when he heard screaming- distant, but definitely within the building. No one so much as flinched, and Bing couldn't help but assume that he would share the same fate as the one screaming, whatever that was.

He couldn't die, and he was durable so they would have to try hard to harm him. Obviously they knew he was an android, else they wouldn't have known how to knock him out so efficiently, so perhaps it would be easier for them. Bing wasn't sure if that was even their end goal, but if it was he needed to hold out until help arrived. Google would come once he realized Bing's distress through their network- surely.

"Up on the alter." One of the people there were directing the others, and Bing felt the metallic table lift suddenly, the people obediently hoisting him onto a higher surface.

"Alter?" Bing asked. "I hope this isn't some kind of blood sacrifice thing, or else the gods are gonna be real disappointed."

"You are an unnatural being." Bing had once again expected to be ignored, so hearing a response had him straining to see the speaker- still to no avail. "The God of Life did not will your creation. We are his acolytes, and you will perish in his name."

"...Right." Society had a multitude of views on androids and AI in general, but this one was something Bing hadn't heard before. "...Points for creativity, but I don't really like what you're implying. I can't die, you know that right?"

"We're aware. You upset balance by not finishing the cycle." There was a moment where the "acolyte" was quiet, and all Bing could hear was movement. Then the man was stepping forward and up, finally in view of Bing- and brandishing what looked to be a scalpel, alongside a table of other tools. Real tools. Things which could take an android apart. "It cannot continue."

"Uh- You don't have to-" Bing tugged against the restraints, but the metal wasn't budging and neither was the man. He didn't even appear to be listening as he moved the scalpel closer and began muttering something under his breath.

The words of what sounded like a prayer were echoing in his ears as warning signs began to flash in front of his eyes. They were words he couldn't focus on with the searing pain of the first cut into his chest. He couldn't do anything but curse whatever god these bastards were praying to as his synthetic skin was peeled away to reveal what would be his heart, if he had one.

As it was, the thing keeping him running in its stead was his core, which hummed even louder as it was exposed. It was the only proof that he was alive- or anything resembling it- to any organic. If it was removed or damaged too harshly, he would come as close to death as it was possible for an android to get, and the flashing warning signs in his vision ensured he knew that.

Bing could only assume that that's what they were going for. Though he'd stopped watching, he could feel things moving in his chest, and he could see new pop ups alongside the warnings.

He was informed that there was something wrong with his core, that power was diverting to keep necessary functions running. His systems were automatically running diagnostics, but Bing didn't need the results to know when his core was pulled out of his chest.

He couldn't feel it. His sensors weren't picking up unnecessary input, and soon they stopped picking up anything at all. It was then that Bing felt the most like a machine- trapped, motionless in his own body but unable to truly die. If someone replaced his core, he could fix himself up as good as new, but humans didn't get that luxury.

Perhaps these fanatics were right. He played at being mortal, often blending in so well that no one knew the difference. But at the end of the day, here he was being dismantled on some alter. Unnatural, they had called him.

Bing didn't even notice when his power shut off entirely. For all intents and purposes, he was dead. Unable to go to whatever afterlife may wait for mortals, just- ...Gone.

#whumptober 2022 #no. 6 #proof of life #screams from across the hall #fandom #fic #em writes #writing #fanfiction #bingiplier #sacrifice #didnt have the willpower to edit this one but #here u go

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enigma-the-mysterious · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 Day 6: Screams from Across the Hall

Fandom: The Musketeers (2014)

"What were you thinking?" he hissed.

"Athos, you misunder-"

Athos was not having any of it.

"Do you even begin to realize how fortunate you are that it was me who walked into the two of you instead of practically anyone else?" He growled, shaking Aramis again. "I walked into the two of you Aramis! Twice now!"

Read on AO3 here

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much-obliged-timothy · 2 years

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Whumptober #6

Detroit: Become Human - #6 - Screams from across the hall

“Not another word about it,” Hank said as they entered the run-down apartment building.

“But Hank, you were clearly going 17 miles over the speed limit,” Connor said. “We were in no rush to get here, so you could’ve-”

“What’re you gonna do, arrest me?” Hank laughed a little at his own joke. When Connor didn’t join in, Hank rolled his eyes. “Look, we got a tip our guy’s squatting in one of those rooms. Can’t have him getting away, can we?”

“No, but if we got in an accident, I am replaceable. You…You are not,” Connor said, his voice getting quieter.

Hank sobered up at his tone and clapped Connor on the shoulder, forcing the android to meet his eyes. “You’re not replaceable, Connor.”

“But-”

“You’re not. That’s the one thing I will absolutely not let you argue with me about. Now shut up and let’s go get our guy. And have a little more faith in my driving, will you?” He pulled his hand away and headed for the stairs.

“I would, if you obeyed the speed limit,” Connor said, climbing the stairs behind him.

Hank rolled his eyes. He couldn’t let himself acknowledge how Connor’s concern made him feel, not now on the job. He knew once they reached the second floor, Connor would let it drop for the sake of focusing on the task at hand, so Hank sped his steps.

Sure enough, as soon as they were on the second floor, Connor didn’t mention it again. Hank signaled for Connor to follow, and he did so obediently.

“Alright,” Hank said in a low voice as they moved down the hall. “He’s squatting in one of these two rooms, but the owner wasn’t sure which. I’ll check the right, you check the left. Can’t have him hearing us and getting armed if we pick the wrong door.” He pointed a threatening finger in Connor’s face. “But if he’s armed, you get out of there and let me handle it. Got it?”

“Yes, Hank,” Connor said, and Hank resigned himself to the fact that Connor absolutely would not obey that order.

They took their places at the doors, Hank aiming his gun. Connor readied himself to enter, looking over to nod at Hank.

Hank mouthed a countdown before they simultaneously kicked in the doors. Hank stormed into the room, clearing it rapidly. There was a closet on the far side and he approached it cautiously, moving his body to the side as he reached for the door handle. Only real place left for the bastard to hi-

“HANK! HANK!”

The screams of his name came from the room across the hall - the room Connor was in.

Hank was already running when he heard the sickening sound of something hitting a body. He brought his gun up as he crossed the hall and entered the other room.

He knew the face from the report they’d been studying. He saw the man raise a heavy object again, positioned over the prone body of Connor.

Hank was moving as he fired, watching the lifeless body crash against the wall and fall still. Hank took just enough time to feel for a pulse that wasn’t there to ensure there’d be no more surprises before he spun to Connor.

“Connor! Here, son, here.” He got his hands under Connor and pulled the android into his lap.

Connor’s knees bent at odd angles, probably the first things their target had aimed for. Connor’s chest was caved in, horror spiking through Hank as he ran gentle fingers along the damage.

“We’ll get you fixed up,” Hank said, holding Connor a little closer. “Hang in there, Connor. I’ll get help. I’ll-“

Connor’s LED ring was flashing red as he struggled to focus. Hank ran a soothing hand along Connor’s hair.

“He didn’t…g-get a-away,” Connor managed.

“No. No, you made sure of that. I’m going to tell myself you would’ve listened to me if he hadn’t fucked up your knees,” Hank said. “It was a good job. You did a good job, Connor.”

Connor smiled at that. The lifelike quality of his eyes faded, his LED display blinking once more before stopping.

“No. No! Connor? Connor, answer me!” Hank demanded, knowing it was pointless. “Connor. Connor!”

He’d yelled for Hank even as he was being beaten to death just to make sure he completed the mission. Others would think it was out of a sense of duty, but Hank knew it was more. Hank knew the usually judgmental looks he received would turn to ones of silent praise as he returned, mission complete and partner…partner…

He was gone. Jesus, Connor was gone.

“Connor.” Hank shook him once more, then tipped his head forward until it met Connor’s. “You- You- Fuck!”

Why? Wasn’t it bad enough he had to watch Cole’s life slip between his helpless fingers?

Not again. He couldn’t take this loss again. Cole, young and innocent. Connor, new to freedom and so damn loyal to Hank. Both had deserved so much. Both had been stolen away so cruelly.

Hank knew he should call this in. But for now, he allowed himself to sit in a heavy silence, holding Connor to himself and trying to drag himself into some semblance of strength.

Connor would’ve wanted him to go on. He could honor that for him, at least.

Agonizing as it would be without his partner there to nag him, to make him feel strong and alive again. He would live and press on in Connor’s memory.

But that was a step to take later. For now, he let his world collapse around him as he gripped the lifeless body in his arms tighter.

#whumptober2022 #no.6 #screams from across the hall #detroit become human #fic writing #dbh connor #hank anderson #jtdoeswhumptober

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logicgunn · 1 year

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#6 Proof Of Life (Whumptober 2022 McShep Style)

On AO3

The silence is killing him slowly.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, days? Weeks? More than hours he thinks, but there is no temporal certainty to be found in the perpetual darkness. It’s been long enough that his stomach has stopped waging war with him, no longer panging with hunger or rumbling when he exhales, and has fallen still and inexorably silent. A distant part of his mind—the part that isn’t mapping constellations in the firing of his optical nerves against the absolute pitch black surrounding him—recognises that it’s not a good thing.

The pain he can deal with, the isolation too, but the silence is thicker than the darkness and it’s been so long since he heard footsteps, voices, the creaking of a door...anything but the stubborn thumping of his heart and the rasping of his breath. He knows he has a broken rib or two in the way his chest twinges on each expansion, but sometimes he gets so breathless he thinks there might be something worse going on than a simple fracture. He can taste metal when he coughs, though he’s barely even doing that anymore. If Jennifer were here, she’d instruct him to take deep inhalations and push through the pain to keep his lungs from giving up the ghost.

The thing is...the thing is, he’s on the cusp of losing the will to care.

For a while he held on to hope, secure in the knowledge that his team had made it to the gate and that they’d be coming for him any minute. But the moments ticked by, flowing through his fingers like sand, and his resolve started to break under the ever-increasing tally of heartbeats that he’s long given up counting.

He has regrets, God, does he have regrets. He’ll never hear Torren’s first word or see his first steps. He should have told Teyla what a wonderful mother she is, a strong leader, a good friend...but that she is so much more to him than what she gives freely to others. Ronon will never know how proud he is to call him a brother, that he’s the best damn soldier he’s ever had the pleasure of serving with, that he’s grateful...so grateful that he took a chance on them instead of listening to seven years' worth of survival and going it alone. Rodney...Rodney will never know how much he...

***

Something breaks through the sensory void. At first, he thinks it’s in his mind; that he’s finally cracking under the torment. It’s almost a relief that it’s finally come. Those under his command think him unshakeable, unbreakable, but he’s always known that every man has a limit.

Thus far shall you come and no farther.

The sense-memory of his father should spark ire, but there’s something comforting in the sound of his voice. Tangible. Fitting that it’s his words he hears in his final moments of lucidity. The military can train and simulate, educate and advise, but there will come a point in every captive's imprisonment when they sink or swim, and John thinks that the ocean knocking at his mind’s door is sounding ravenous right about now.

And here shall your proud waves be stopped

Only...that’s not it. That’s not what he’s hearing at all. Footsteps, furiously tapping on stone, getting louder and louder, and over the top a voice, a real voice, penetrating through the silence and bouncing off the walls of the corridor outside.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself. When did you last wash your grubby hands? The sanitation here is practically medieval. The waves of Teahupoo couldn’t wash away all that filth!”

The sound is so familiar and welcome that for a moment his heart swells with joy until the words sink in and he realises what they mean. John tries to call out, but his mouth is so well gagged and his throat still so raw that his voice doesn’t even reach the walls of his cell. He winces as warm light flickers through a gap under the door in front of him, dim but blinding after so long in the dark. The marching comes to a halt, and there are moving silhouettes in the line of light as metal scrapes against metal. Rodney’s diatribe doesn’t stop as even as a heavy door is opened and barely pauses when he’s dropped to the ground with an oof.

The door scrapes again, and the boots leave back the way they came, Rodney insulting their intelligence and their hygiene and their rough handling of delicate scientists until long after the last flicker of light has been overcome with shadow. As he complains, he paces, and John follows Rodney’s laps around his cell with the clarity of his voice until anger finally gives way to fear and all John can hear anymore is quiet sobbing. John would give anything to be able to comfort Rodney and spare him from the misery to come in his perceived solitude, but his mouth is gagged and his hands are tied behind him, the rope around his wrists suspended from the ceiling so that he can do nothing but lean forward over knees that have lost all sensation.

The sobs don’t last, and John’s enfolded once again in silence, the heavy wooden doors too thick for quieter sounds of life to slip through. He tries several times to make a sound loud enough for Rodney to hear, but with no voice to speak of and no way to strike anything against a hard surface his efforts are in vain. Rodney can't hear his paltry grunts, and now he can’t hear anything at all.

***

When the screaming starts, John had all but convinced himself that Rodney’s voice had been a hallucination. It’s been quiet for so long, the silence and the darkness so heavy that it couldn’t possibly have been real, but there’s nothing imaginary in the desperate howling and pleading and begging coming from across the hall.

Rodney cries out for him, for Teyla, for Ronon; the three people in two galaxies that he trusts the most to keep him safe. John strains against his bindings but he is so weak and the ropes are so tight. He couldn’t escape them back when he was first captured, he has no chance now that his entire body is drained of energy. All he can do is listen to Rodney's screams, his own angry sobs caught in the cloth between his teeth. Tears are rolling down his face and his nose is dripping and all he can think is he’d give anything, anything, for Rodney’s screaming to stop.

It does, and for a split-second John feels a reprieve, relief for Rodney that his hurt has stopped even if it's only for a little while. But then the door to Rodney's cell is opened wide, and then his, and as he winces at the light shining on his face he realises that the screaming hasn’t stopped at all, it’s just muffled. He strains to peer past the figure looming in the door, can see with aching eyes Rodney kneeling directly opposite him, blood dripping through the cloth in his mouth, expression so full of pain and fear that it is louder than any sound he’s ever made.

And then the figure steps into the light and John strains his neck and looks up to see the face of their captor. The last time John saw Torrell, he was running for the Stargate, fleeing the Wraith and the Olesian Magistrate that had convicted him of nearly a dozen murders. John never imagined those deaths were something other than political opportunism or desperation, but now, with Torrell’s pale eyes boring into him, he realises he is looking at something more than a simple killer.

Torrell doesn’t smile, but John can feel the satisfaction rolling off of him as he presents his trophy. John doesn’t want to look, but his eyes flick to Rodney's bloody tongue dripping between Torrell’s finger and thumb and he feels something in his entire being shatter to fragments; as many as the number of pieces Torrell promises to cut Rodney into.

#whumptober 2022 #no.6 #proof of life #screams from across the hall #sga #mcshep #fic #short fic #logicgunn #rated m

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