#stitches bthb

[wolfeyedwitch]

as a follow up to the bthb …. stitches :))) since they are already talking about the rather questionable medical treatment Bailey received

Pariah Prisoner, Part 5

No. 11 “911, WHAT’S YOUR EMERGENCY?”

Sloppy Bandages | Self-Done First Aid | Makeshift Splint

Sorry for everyone whose ask came before this one. I promise I will answer them all; it just won't necessarily be in any kind of sensical order.

CW for: major character injury, injury reveal, blood, medical treatment, implied past torture, stitches, minor shock/dissociation (Zera is not having a good time). Let me know if I missed any tags, or if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

Masterlist

---

Zera honestly couldn’t tell you how the group had made it back to their base. They’d had a head start, given that none of the villains were willing to follow them through their rather extreme means of egress, but still.

Their memories from their landing all the way to the medbay were an adrenaline-soaked mess. Random details stuck out perfectly (Poppet—Bailey?—pulling the knife from their side; the feel of blood soaking through the hasty, sloppy bandages; the ache in their legs from running and the cold prickle of fear along their spine), while anything coherent remained out of their grasp. They only tuned back into their life when Bailey(?) was taken from their arms. 

Zera grasped them tighter for a second, unwilling to let anyone hurt their rescuer. They would- would—

“Zera, stand down,” Elijah said gently. “We’re back in Hero HQ. We’re in the medbay. Maeve needs Poppet laying down so she can examine them.”

Zera nodded unsteadily, feeling like a poorly carved wooden doll: all splinters and stiff joints. With Elijah’s help, they got Poppet-Bailey settled on one of the beds.

“Is-” Zera started, looking around. “Are you okay? How’s Luke? Where’s Luke? Did-”

“Breathe,” Elijah said, tone somehow even more gentle. He led them to a chair that they more or less collapsed into. “Luke’s fine, nothing more than scratches that a band-aid can handle. He didn’t want to be here.”

Zera made a face at that.

“I’m fine too,” Elijah continued, a small smile on his face. “Again, just minor things. The only one who got physically hurt was Poppet.”

Zera blinked. Then blinked again. If their brain would start working again, that would be great. “Physically hurt?”

Elijah’s smile turned sad. “I mean you, Zera. You were a million miles away just now; you had me worried.”

Zera looked away from him, over to where Maeve examined Poppet-Bailey with glowing hands and a practiced eye.

The sound of a chair being dragged across the floor snapped Zera’s attention back to Elijah. He’d brought one close enough that he could sit while continuing to talk with them.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “I know you, Zera. You’ve got something running through your head. Is it about Poppet?”

“Bailey,” Zera said.

“What?”

Zera shook their head, trying to kick-start their brain’s higher functions. “They said their name is Bailey,” Zera continued.

“They told you their name?” Elijah asked, sounding as incredulous as Zera felt. In their line of work, names and identities were either well known, like with heroes or villains that didn’t care to keep a secret civilian identity, or a carefully guarded secret. None of Slipknot’s associates fell into the former category— Poppet included.

Zera nodded woodenly. Their tone was thick when they continued. “And it isn’t just that they told me. It’s how they said it. It was like… God, it was like it was a relief to say it out loud.”

Both heroes turned to look at the unconscious villain then. 

“I think they were telling the truth,” Zera said. “I don’t know what happened to them, but I don’t think they were there by choice. Not really.”

“Not an informed choice, anyway,” Elijah said thoughtfully.

Zera thought of how Bailey had talked about themself, the loathing in their voice when they called themself Slipknot’s toy. 

“They got hurt because of us,” they said, voice low and hoarse. “They were rescuing us. And their own teammates stabbed them for it.”

Warmth spread over their knee. They looked down to see Elijah’s hand covering it. 

“We can’t change what’s happened, Zera,” he said. It was a phrase he’d told them on many occasions.

“We can only move forward and learn from it,” Zera said, completing the phrase. 

“Over here, you two,” Maeve called tiredly.

Zera and Elijah joined her at Bailey’s bedside. 

“I fixed the internal damage,” she said, pointing to a still-open wound in Bailey’s side. “The knife nicked some blood vessels and punctured their lung. I healed the pneumothorax and the internal bleeding, but that’s all I can do for now.” She sounded apologetic, as though it were her fault she was still recovering from using her powers to patch the group up after their last disaster.

“Will they pull through?” Elijah asked.

Maeve nodded. “They should. I’m going to start an IV to help replace the blood they lost, and stitch up the last of that wound. That’s not why I called you over, though.”

She gently rolled Bailey onto their uninjured side, exposing their bare back. 

Zera’s breath caught at the sight. 

Bailey’s back was a patchwork of cuts and bruises layered over a lattice of scar tissue. If Zera didn’t know better, they’d say it looked like…

“Fuck,” they said quietly. “They said. They said the guests ‘got a little rough’, at Slipknot’s last party.”

It looked like Bailey had been whipped. 

“These are at least two days old,” Maeve said. “They had time to scab over, then re-open. They were cleaned and bandaged, but nothing more than that for treatment. Some of these could have used butterfly closures at minimum, and preferably stitches. I would say that Poppet treated these themself.” 

Elijah and Zera shared a look, his grim, theirs horrified. If they’d needed more proof that Bailey wasn’t an entirely willing participant in Slipknot’s schemes? Well. Here it was.

“I’m too tired to figure out what you’re not saying at the moment,” Maeve said. “Right now, I need steady hands— and someone who’s not coming off an adrenaline high, don’t even think about it Zera— to help me document all this.”

Elijah sighed and nodded, probably thinking about all the paperwork this was going to cause. “Right. I’ll send Iris.”

“I’m staying,” Zera said. 

Both senior heroes stared at them. They did their best not to squirm under the scrutiny.

“I won’t get in the way!” they said, probably losing the battle not to sound defensive. “And I won’t offer to do anything, not that you’d even accept. I just… I wanna make sure they’re okay.” 

They sounded more pathetic than they’d really like to admit at that admission. That was probably what made the senior heroes let them stay. 

Zera did as promised. They didn’t try to help with the procedures or the documentation. They did go ahead and fetch the materials Maeve would need—  saline solution, gauze, bandages, suture kit— but then they were a good little hero and sat down, out of the way. 

Iris and Maeve managed to photograph what must have been every cut and bruise on Bailey’s body before Maeve started on the stitches. She took out hemostats and a curved needle, maneuvering them with precision in her gloved hands. Zera couldn’t remember the medical name for the stitch at the moment, but they knew the sewing name for it: whip stitch.

Whip stitch. For some reason, it was almost unbearably funny. Whip stitch, for someone who’d been- been—

And then it wasn’t funny. Not in the slightest. The laughter they’d been holding back transmuted into sobs.

Just what kind of hell had their nemesis been put through?

---

Taglist:

@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world @dolls-circus @pickleking8 @ghostfacepepper @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @extemporary-whump @whumpwillow @multiple-characters1-acct @sunflower1000 @fleur-alise @equestrianwritingsstuff @scp-1296 @livingforthewhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @suspicious-whumping-egg @kaiwewi @lelly-belly @neuro-whump @newbornwhumperfly @whumpthisway @whumpcreations @wicked-whump @heart4brains @myhusbandsasemni @how-to-be-a-hero @kixngiggles @kurochan @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @pattonvirglsanders @neverthelass @we-write-as-one @elrysdoesstuff @whumperflies-and-roses @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @ramadiiiisme @towerlesskey @emmanemanemm @pigeonwhumps

#whumptober 2022 #whumptober #whumptober2022 #no. 11 #sloppy bandages #self-done first aid #lunar manages to write and publish the whumptober entry on its actual day its a miracle #bthb #stitches bthb #stitches #medical care #medical treatments #implied past torture #blood #major character injury #injury reveal #with bloody outstretched hands #bailey the villain #bailey aka poppet #shock #dissociation #basically zera isn't dealing well with the adrenaline and everything after this experience and is in a bad headspace #zera the hero #zera aka foxfire #maeve the medic #elijah the leader #elijah aka tempest #maeve aka airmid #iris the engineer #iris aka spark

[hold-him-down]

It's not 4 minutes later but maybe close enough: BTHB "Stitches"

“What happened here?” Rob asks, ushering Leo into an empty exam room. They’re all empty right now, well past business hours.

“I f…” Leo pauses as the kitchen towel is unwrapped from his hand, revealing a deep red gash. He follows Rob’s unspoken direction to sit on the exam table as Rob holds his arm at the wrist, inspecting his palm. “I fell.” The words come as naturally as anything else, and he wonders, if just for a moment, why.

He feels Rob’s hand tense around his and knows instantly that he isn’t convinced.

“Mm,” is all Rob says in response. 

Leo watches an accusatory glance pass between brothers. Luke, from the doorway, puts his hands up. Some of the panic has subsided, Leo thinks, and faint traces of humor line his eyes. It helps. He closes his eyes, ignoring the throbbing pain and the spinning room and the medical supplies and the bandages and cotton swabs and the needles that he knows are hiding in the cabinets, and he forces himself to breathe.

“You push him?” he hears from somewhere far away. It’s followed by laughter. The laughter is Luke’s, but it’s hesitant. He swallows, and he feels a hand squeeze at his forearm. 

“Leo?”

He forces himself to breathe, and he hears Rob asking him if he’s okay and he makes himself nod and he hears Rob asking him if he’s in pain and he shakes his head even though he’s not sure if it’s true or not. 

He’s been in this room just once before, and every time he’s come to the office since, he’s avoided it with unwavering resolve. 

He hears his name again, and he feels hands at his fingers, straightening them out. “I need you to open your eyes.”

He does, and as he does, he holds his breath. The room’s still spinning, but if he keeps his eyes on Luke, it’s less, so he does that, too.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and even he isn’t sure why.

Rob’s expression tightens but he smiles, gesturing toward his hand. “I’ll get it cleaned up, and then–” he pauses, taking a breath “–you’ll need at least a few stitches.” 

Luke has moved from the door to the table in the time it takes Leo to refocus, and he can feel his hand on his back, and he can feel his eyes on his face, and he nods. He won’t cry. It’s not worth it.

Rob rummages through the cabinets for whatever medical supplies he’s going to use on Leo and Leo listens to Luke’s voice, telling him that it’ll be okay, that it’ll be quick, and eventually, asking if he will do it. If he’ll agree to let Rob do this.

They stare at each other. He doesn't know how long it lasts, only that it’s interrupted when Rob drags a cart full of needles and gauze and drugs over, pulls along a stool, and sits down in front of him. Reluctantly, Leo’s eyes leave Luke’s.

Rob looks serious, even as he spins with the room.

-

“What if I don’t do it?” Leo asks. His voice is smaller than normal, and Rob spares a glance at his brother, before nodding earnestly. 

“It’ll still heal,” he says. “It’ll heal over the course of a few weeks. You risk a serious infection, and if it gets infected, it’ll probably hurt, but we’ll manage it. It’ll probably scar, you may risk increased nerve damage, but it’s an option.” He means it, and he tries to convey that. He’s not entirely sure how much Leo is even hearing. 

“What,” Leo mouths, not completely audible. “Will you numb it? If I do it?” 

Again, Rob and Luke’s eyes meet, this time, there’s fire behind them both.

Rob takes a breath.

“Of course, Leo,” is all he can make himself say.

Leo nods, and Rob can feel the unmatched tension lingering in the room. His instinct is to make a joke, to cut through it, but he can’t make the words form.

“If it’s the drugs you’re afraid of,” he finds himself saying instead, “it’s not the kind of medicine that should impact you in any real way. It’ll numb the area, but it won’t do anything to your head, or to your stomach, or to anything outside of the immediate area of the wound.” 

Leo’s eyes fill with tears, but they don’t spill. “If it’s pain that you’re worried about, all I can ask you is to trust me. I get that that’s a big ask, but you won’t feel the stitches, and you’ll barely feel the needle. You’ve got Luke right here, you can stop me any time, okay?”

Rob hands Leo a small cup of water, and Leo drinks it without hesitation. He tries not to, as a general rule, let himself imagine what Leo’s truly been through. But in these fleeting moments, where these small details unravel themselves, he can’t completely stop himself. “It was just water,” he finds himself saying, and Leo nods automatically.

“Can I close my eyes again?” Leo asks; there’s no mockery in his voice– just raw uncertainty at the very real possibility that the answer might be ‘no.’

Rob can’t look at Luke when he says, “Of course.” He can’t look at Luke when he accepts Leo’s ‘okay,’ as consent, knowing Leo absolutely would not refuse this procedure, if he thought Luke wanted it for him. He can’t look at Luke as he reconciles the need to provide medical care with the knowledge that Leo is suffering. 

He takes a breath, on the edge of calling it off, of waiting until Leo is in a better mindset to handle this, when Leo whispers, “Please– Please do it fast.”

He nods as he makes the decision, even though Leo can’t see him. That it may be more cruel to prolong the anxiety, that Leo has made this request in earnest, and while maybe he wouldn’t have consented under other circumstances, there are no circumstances in which he can truly consent.

Leo holds completely still as he cleans the wound; as he numbs his hand, as each stitch is placed. He doesn’t open his eyes, and he doesn’t speak. 

“All set,” Rob eventually says, quickly clearing the area of anything that might be remotely upsetting. 

Leo only nods and issues a soft ‘thank you,’ before standing, unsteady on his feet. Luke shadows him but keeps his distance, and Rob watches with tears in his eyes as they walk back toward the car. 

They pause at the passenger door. He knows it’s a moment he isn’t meant to see, and he knows how deep in his brother is, but watching the tension leave Luke’s shoulders as he wraps his arms around Leo, watching Leo start to come back to himself, he knows, for better or for worse, that it’s as right as it can be, and that has to be worth something.

#the fighter #stitches #bthb #im counting it as stiches idc it counts im a bingo champion #kind of med whump #ftr i was gonna do training stitches the painful kind #but i felt like it's been so long since leo and luke moment #so we got this #but hey i think i have an old request for stitches that i failed to do #so maybe one of these days

[galaxywhump]

I'm so sorry you're having a hard time my friend. Sending you love ❤️

So, why do you like the trope "mouth sewn shut" so much? And what got you to love it? 👀

-- @whumperofworlds

Thank you so much friend ❤️

Oooh okay, so I'm a fan of characters being silenced in general, but mouth sewn shut adds the aspect of being kind of out of left field, so it's more shocking to the character in most circumstances. Duct tape or cloth is a classic, muzzles are a bit more out there, but needle and thread? It's a whole new level of horrifying.

I also like that it takes time, so there's a process to describe. The whumper has to be precise and focused, the whumpee is forced to stay still, otherwise the needle might slip. I suppose it just fits into my love for Realizations, gives the whumpee more time to think about how messed up what's happening to them is.

And, of course, I like the aesthetic.

#asks #is this coherent i hope so #almost 3 am now #thank you for giving me the opportunity to ramble about mouth stitched shut ❤️ #always a good time #i first saw it on someone else's bthb card and my eyes were opened #and now i'm really happy with the two pieces i wrote about this trope #i should write more #thanks again! #mouth sewn shut #mouth gore

[hopeintheashes]

Happy belated birthday, @renecdote. Sending you SO MUCH LOVE and also married Buddie with lots of soft h/c. - - -

>> let it rain, by hopeintheashes <<

2.8k, hurt/comfort, relatively minor injury & illness for the Stitches square on my @badthingshappenbingo card

Buck and Eddie's first post-honeymoon trip may or may not be cursed. Read it on AO3.

- - -

This marks the end(!!) of the BTHB card I started in summer 2021! I kind of can't believe it, but here we are. You can read them all here on tumblr or here on AO3.

yes i plan to request my next board sooner rather than later &lt;3

#911fic #911 fox #9-1-1 #buddie #hurt/comfort #by:hopeintheashes #my bthb fics #badthingshappenbingo #fandom: 9-1-1 #trope: stitches

[devirnis]

Fuck It Friday 🔪

tagged by @daffi-990 & @giddyupbuck :3

needed to take a bit of a break from the christmas fic because I was getting frustrated, so have some more of the bthb forced to watch fic

(I love starting new fics because I just write the scenes I have in my head and then it's Future Ali's problem to stitch everything together into a coherent narrative)

“Do you have an address?” Linda asks, immediately switching back into professional mode. Her calm, steady voice soothes Eddie’s frayed nerves a miniscule amount, but he’ll take any relief he can get at this point. Eddie shakes his head, trying to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. Tears of relief and frustration spring to his eyes. “No, I don’t – I don’t know where we are. It’s a-a-a house, I don’t – this is a landline, can’t you get our location?” “Hey, hey, Eddie, it’s okay. Help is on the way,” Linda says. “I just wanted to confirm the address if possible, but I have your location. Help is coming.” “How far away are –?” The rest of Eddie’s sentence is cut off as something slams into him from behind, tackling him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him. The phone goes flying out of his hand as he smashes his chin against the hardwood floor. Stars explode in his vision and he tastes blood. For a second, he’s completely disoriented, so shocked that he’s unable to process what the hell just happened. “E-Eddie!” Buck’s hoarse, weak shout is what snaps him out of his daze.

if you wanna @bigfootsmom @homerforsure @messyhairdiaz @sibylsleaves @housewifebuck @try-set-me-on-fire @exhuastedpigeon @spaceprincessem @malewifediaz @princessfbi @wildlife4life @disasterbuckdiaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @jeeyuns @honestlydarkprincess @eowon @bvckandeddie @loserdiaz @shitouttabuck 💜

#fuck it friday #tag games #mywip #fic: don't listen when I scream #911

[renecdote]

“Carm. Carmen.” Sydney chases his gaze, squeezing tight around the towel on his hand until he looks at her. “This needs stitches. Okay? This needs a doctor to put in stitches.” He knows that. Fuck, he knows that. Carmy squeezes his eyes shut. His hand throbs in time with his heartbeat. “How?” he makes himself ask. Neither of them have a car here, most of the others have gone home, he doesn’t really want to bleed out on a train— “Richie!” Carmy cuts his hand. Luckily, Sydney and Richie are there to help. For BTHB: stitches

#The Bear #fic #badthingshappenbingo #did not expect my first bingo square to be for this show #but here we are 😅 #if this is ooc pls don't tell me I just poured a heap of feelings into it idek

[pollencoveredman]

BTHB prompt - scar to remember

Gob still has the stitches on his fingers; the scars from where Buster nicked him with the sword over a decade ago.

#bad things happen bingo #arrested development #blunder #gob bluth #tony wonder #my writing

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Confined to bed rest for Mariano?

BTHB 2023 - Fill 15 - Confined to Bed Rest

You know what anon, he sure fucking IS confined to bed rest after what Royal did to him! The team still belongs to @that-one-thespian and I've been having SO much fun hashing this out with them c:

The invitation - The party - The aftermath

TWs: broken bones, gore, aftermath of torture, concussions, effects of a traumatic brain injury on speaking, mention of drugs in a medical setting

Nine hours. It was nine hours from the time Archer all but ran inside the clinic with the bloody bundle of clothes he called Mariano to the time Jewel finally came out of surgery. Bastian didn't know people could look like that and still be alive later.

Mariano's chest had been bent the wrong way, like a dented car door. His hair had been a bloody, tangled mess. He was nothing but slack limbs and too-pale skin.

He'd looked dead.

Jewel wouldn't have asked for so many surgical packs and drapes to be set out for a corpse, though. She wouldn't have let Archer or Fletcher give that much blood to a corpse. She wouldn't have operated until well past sunset on a corpse.

Bastian couldn't even be in the building. He sat out in Elana's Feelings Clearing, seething, his chest just about broiling from how he wanted to raze things to the ground. "You need to stay." Archer had said when Wren had located where Royal was. "We need to be careful when we get Mariano out of there." He was firm, but not domineering. A steel wall of determination. "Keep the clinic safe. Please. We're going to need it."

In the end, Bastian had only stayed because he recognized the fury that Archer refused to let past his eyes. He'd seen that same look in Mariano's eyes before. He knew he'd had it in his own. Archer would tear apart that building with his bare hands before he let anything more happen to Mariano. The whole team would.

So Bastian stayed. He stayed, feeling that wavering, flickering connection to his Mariano hang on by a thread. And when the team got back, with Elana bleeding from the middle and Bastian's hands too unsteady to even help clean her up, he left for the clearing. Jewel didn't need more distractions to contend with while she worked.

Archer joined him not long after.

When the sun had sunk below the horizon, Bastian and Archer went back inside. Mariano was tucked into a bed, draped in a hospital gown instead of the loose pajamas the team usually kept on hand for injuries that needed surgery. He was less bloody, less...entirely wrong. His breathing was slow and deep, supported by the oxygen cannula at his nose. Most of the blood had been cleaned away, with bandages and stitches as the only clues to the warpath that Royal's bat had been on across his body.

Fletcher perched at his side on a chair, holding one of Mariano's hands in both of his own. Bastian could see the dried tear-tracks a mile away. "Hey." He said, one scaly hand coming to rest between Fletcher's shoulder blades.

"Hey." Fletcher said, his eyes never quite leaving Mariano.

"Jewel give a verdict?" Bastian asked after some quiet, watching the silent forming of peaks and valleys on Mariano's heart monitor. Jewel wouldn't lie to them, even if it was regarding a friend.

Fletcher nodded. "He's...she said tonight would be the...the hardest." His voice wavered, and Bastian felt him shiver under his palm. "And if...when he wakes up tomorrow, we'll know more." Wordlessly, he pulled Fletcher against his side, letting him press his face into Bastian's hip. His jeans had seen worse than tears and snot from people he liked a whole lot less.

Bastian settled into a chair beside Fletcher, giving him a shoulder to lean on that wasn't singed or bandaged. Archer took Mariano's other side, his laptop's glow carefully angled away from Mariano's face. Bastian couldn't even blame him. Even with enough drugs to keep a horse unconscious working through Mariano's body, Bastian habitually kept his phone's brightness on its lowest setting.

Bastian had never hated how Mariano slept more than he did that night. Hands folded at his stomach and still as a statue, he looked like he belonged on the pillow of a coffin instead of a clinic sickbed. Archer and Fletcher seemed to have the same idea, each of them taking one of his hands in their own. With his good arm at his side, he just seemed exhausted.

Exhausted, and as it turned out the next morning, deeply concussed. When Bastian woke up from an involuntary nap, Fletcher and Archer were already holding a drowsy Mariano between them like he was made of porcelain. He was awake, barely, but also visibly elated when his eyes met Bastian's. Jewel had to have drugged him up well.

"Bastian...good morning." Mariano said, drifting languidly from word to word. "How..." He struggled for a moment, and Bastian could see him searching, translating, and searching again when he couldn't come up with the phrases he wanted. "How are your...how is your...heart?"

Bastian stood with a snapping, popping stretch that made his sides shake and his head spin. "Don't worry about me right now." He sighed, rolling his shoulders as he leaned over the bed. His lips met Mariano's forehead carefully, one hand resting feather-light on one of his shoulders. He could feel the sturdy stitches under the thin gown. It felt like he could snap Mariano in half if he wasn't cautious. "You're the one who can't talk right."

Mariano snorted indignantly and tried to look away like he always did when Bastian teased him, only to groan and squeeze his eyes shut. "I...I speak just fine. It's the...the English words. Not my...brain that is the issue." He mumbled, not opening his eyes again. "Bats, no bats...it does not matter."

Bastian laughed, low and soft as he kissed Mariano's cheek this time. "Shh. English or bats, don't stress yourself out, stupid. Just relax." He straightened up, popping his back once again. "And don't even try to get outta that bed, or you'll have Archer, Fletcher, me, and Jewel after you."

"I do not think my...my legs know their jobs enough to do...that." Mariano muttered, beginning to relax again as one of Fletcher's hands started delicately combing through his hair. "I will, treasure...I will stay."

"So..." Bastian started, keeping his voice low as Mariano melted back into sleep. He tugged the blankets up to his mage's chin, not able to keep his eyes away from the clinic walls as his face heated up. He wasn't going to deal with that new pet name just then. Current Bastian simply did not have the capacity to process anything else. That was for later Bastian, who hadn't been run through an emotional blender by some weird, rich guy the day before. "So I'm gonna order breakfast. What's the doc's favorite? Figure we all deserve something nice today."

#bad things happen bingo #bthb #confined to bed rest #medical whump #comfort #rescue #aftermath of torture #broken bones #gore #concussion #drug mention #it's in a medical setting dw #mage of violence #dragon of diamond #the team #archer #elana #fletcher #jewel #I love wren but she's busy doing her own thing

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Part 18

Fancy Boots

Warnings: Nightmares and lots of self-hate, talk about manipulation, torture, and being forced to hurt

This one is a fill for my shiny new BTHB.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

That wasn’t quite how Riordan had imagined his evening would go. Instead of shamelessly inviting himself to dinner, he found himself sitting on the sofa, Damien’s sleeping figure leaning against him. His friend had fallen asleep almost instantly, telling him how fucking tired Damien must have been.

Riordan leaned his head against the backrest and looked towards the window. Night was falling, and in a bit, it would be completely dark. He had not thought to light a lamp or crystal before entering the room, and now he couldn’t get up to do so. He couldn’t do anything but sit and let his thoughts drift, unless he wanted to risk waking up Damien.

His mission had ended almost a week sooner than planned. After a whole fucking month in the north, he had been eager to leave ice and snow behind. To remember how it felt when his toes were warm. To eat something that wasn’t dried meat or half-burnt gruel. To come home.

Home.

He still wasn’t sure if he had a right to call it that. After his injury, Merridy and Damien had insisted he stay with them. He had been reluctant at first, not wanting to burden them. But his recovery had taken so much longer than anticipated. For almost ten weeks, he had been out of commission. Plagued with weakness and headaches at first, then slowly building his stamina back up, until he hadn’t felt like collapsing after merely walking across the garden. The headaches had never fully vanished, but they had become rare enough now that he could deal with them. Not that he had a choice, really.

After three months, he had returned to the citadel, worrying if he would even still have a job. The nyv he had worked with before had been impatient. In week one, he had sent his best wishes. In week two, he had inquired as to how long Riordan planned to be absent. In week three, he had let Riordan know that he had found a replacement for him, and thanked him for his work.

Luckily, the citadel had taken over his contract, turned it into a general one. Ever since, he had come back for a few days whenever he had been between missions. For the first time in almost a decade, he found himself bound to a place. Fuck, he had even toyed with the thought of purchasing a house in the neighborhood for himself. He had never before had the urge to settle down, but… it was nice to have a place to come home to.

Riordan’s finger brushed over the blanket he had wrapped around Damien’s shoulders. There were stitched letters he could only feel in the dim light, not see. His name. Merridy had put it there after yet another discussion of whether he should really stay. It had been half a silly joke, half assurance that he would always have a place here. He had mocked her for it, because that had been less embarrassing than starting to cry, and she had thrown a pillow at his head.

When Damien’s body started to slide, Riordan didn’t stop him, merely guided him until his head lay on his lap. That was a bit more comfortable and allowed him to relax as well. He hoped his friend would be able to sleep for a while. He had wanted to ask how long Merridy had been gone, how long those nightmares had been going on, but in the end, did it matter? One day, or two, or three, Damien was clearly miserable.

Riordan hated to see his friend like this. He hated all the glimpses of the horrors Damien had been through. He hated knowing that he had been a part of it, however small.

When Damien twitched in his sleep, Riordan lowered a hand to his head, stroking his temple. Perhaps knowing that he wasn’t alone would help to keep the nightmares at bay. He would do his best until Merridy came back. She would know how to help. She always knew what to do. Riordan paused, giving his hand a moment of rest. He hoped. He hoped she would come back. Soon. Back soon. Until then. He would.

The spot beneath his hand was empty. The weight on his legs was gone. Riordan flinched, suddenly aware that he had almost fallen asleep. Almost?

Where it had still been dim twilight a moment ago, now everything was pitch-black. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his eyes as he raised it, couldn’t hear— he heard something, turning his head in the direction of the sound. An icy hand seemed to grip his heart. Someone was crying, and it wasn’t hard to figure out who that was.

Riordan’s faint hope that his eyes would only need a moment to get used to the darkness turned out to be false. Everything stayed black. He couldn’t sign like this, and he didn’t know if he could dare to speak.

“Damien?” he whispered anyway, because he couldn’t just do nothing.

“Please. I can’t. I can’t do this.” Damien’s voice was shaky, his words interrupted by desperate gasps, coming too quickly. “I can’t. Don’t. Don’t make me.”

The cushions of the sofa were slightly tilted, telling Riordan that Damien must still be sitting on it. He shuffled closer, one hand feeling along the cushions, trying to find him.

The moment Riordan touched him, Damien screamed. He flinched, shifted somehow, but didn’t draw back. There must be nowhere for him to go on the sofa. Riordan pulled his hand back and pressed it to his chest, his heart racing. Fuck. He needed some light.

He nearly fell over the coffee table as he got up, stumbling towards the door. It was his luck that he had spent so many nights here, because he found the crystal mounted next to the door frame almost instantly. A quick touch, then soft yellow light filled the room. Riordan squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, before he dared to open them; slowly, very slowly.

The sudden light stung in his eyes, the pain so horribly familiar it made him feel nauseous. But unlike his headaches, this pain was fading after a moment, allowing him to finally see what he had already assumed.

Damien sat at the far end of the sofa, cowering into the corner. Tears were running down his face and his eyes were wide open, but he didn’t seem to see anything.

“Please. No. No.” He sobbed. “No.”

Riordan approached him slowly, pausing after each step. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t sign while Damien wasn’t looking at him, and he couldn’t speak without freaking him out. Touching him had also been a bad idea. Fuck; what could he do?

“Please. Please don’t…” Damien’s breaths came so quickly, Riordan had no idea how he still managed to speak. He pressed himself into the corner, grasping at his shoulder. When he found nothing where once his arm had been, he started to cry, gasping for breath in between each sob.

The moment Riordan’s shadow fell over Damien, he looked up. Something shifted in his gaze. Blind panic made room for recognition, only to be replaced by a new kind of fear. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me here. Please. I don’t want to die.”

Riordan swallowed dryly. Damien’s nightmares were bad enough, but this… he didn’t see merely a shadow of his dream, he saw him. Instead of Riordan, his friend, he saw Riordan, the fucking squad leader who had dragged him into the dungeon and left him to die.

In any other situation, he would have left, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Damien alone like this. He looked to the door, as if hoping for a miracle, for Merridy to appear and fix this. Of course she didn’t.

A strangled noise made him snap his attention back to the sofa.

“Please. Please don’t let them kill me.” Damien clawed at his throat, finding nothing, but leaving bright red marks on his skin. “Don’t let them kill me don’t let them kill me, please.”

Riordan couldn’t bear it any longer. He crossed the distance between them, sat down on the sofa and wrapped his arms around Damien. He knew this wasn’t exactly a great idea, but he couldn’t let him hurt himself, either.

Damien froze for a moment, then he started to struggle. Riordan resisted the urge to talk to him. It wouldn’t help. All he could do was hold him until he snapped out of it, pressing his arm against his side to stop him from hurting himself.

It didn’t take long for Damien to realize he was trapped. His body went limp, but he was still shaking violently. Riordan lost the fight against his own tears as he felt him sob in his arms. Fuck. This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

It’s me. It’s me it’s me it’s me.

Riordan wanted to scream it, but didn’t even dare to say it out loud.

It seemed to take forever for Damien to calm down, and even longer until something shifted. It was the way Damien held himself, the way his breathing changed, a fleeting touch on his arm.

“Riordan?” Damien’s voice was trembling.

Riordan let go of him instantly, only keeping his right hand on Damien’s arm. With his other he signed, “I’m here. Everything’s gonna be fine. It was just a dream. Just a dream.”

There were too many words, too quickly, that much was clear from Damien’s confused expression. It didn’t matter. Now that his friend was awake, Riordan pulled him into a hug, a real one. Damien leaned into it, even raising his arm to return it weakly.

“Can we. Can we get up?” he mumbled after a while. “Light a fire? I’m cold.”

“Of course.”

Riordan pulled back, still not daring to let go fully. With his free hand, he picked up the blanket that had dropped to the ground, draping it around Damien’s shoulders.

“Come.”

He helped him to his feet, leading him around the coffee table and in front of the fireplace. Once Damien was sitting on the rug, Riordan turned his attention towards the fireplace, brushing cold ashes aside and piling up fresh logs. While he worked to ignite the flames, his gaze kept wandering back to his friend.

Damien sat wrapped in the blanket, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. The way he sometimes raised his hand to wipe away a tear tore at Riordan’s heart. Finally the fire was burning, slowly taking over the wood. Riordan put the fire poker back, brushed his hands against his pants and got up. He tapped Damien’s shoulder, to grab his attention.

“Anything I can do?” he asked as soon as Damien was looking at him.

Damien didn’t reply, but Riordan had the feeling it wasn’t because he didn’t understand him. Riordan sat down next to him.

“Your dreams,” he started, his hands freezing mid-air. He didn’t know how to ask. He wished he knew what they were about, so he could help better. At the same time, he wasn’t sure he could bear the full truth. “Are they always like this?”

Damien shook his head, not looking at him. “Usually, I… I dream of my time in the— in Caldeia. In a way. It’s… It’s not what happened, not always. It’s what could have… or couldn’t, but it feels real. In that moment.” He had that panicked look on his face again. “I should know. Sometimes I do know, but—”

Riordan tapped Damien’s arm, signing “I understand” as soon as he looked at him. Dreams didn’t always make sense. That didn’t make them any easier to bear.

When Damien nodded, ceasing his attempt to explain, Riordan reached for his arm. He could feel him tremble under his touch. “But not this time?“ he asked with his free hand.

Damien shook his head. “I dreamed of my time in Raqhar. And of… of Ed.”

He had mentioned that name before. Riordan’s research had revealed that Ed had been the leader of a particularly notorious band of rebels, long before the first rumors of the Nightmare of Raqhar. Little was known about his whereabouts these last years, but it was probably futile to hope he had found his end out there.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t want you to hate me,” Damien mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

“What you had to do doesn’t change who you are. I know your heart.” To emphasize, and in case Damien didn’t know all the words, Riordan placed his hand on his chest, above his heart. “I could never hate you.”

There it was again, the look that always broke Riordan’s heart. Absolute disbelief every time someone saw something good in him. Riordan shuffled closer, so he could wrap his arms around Damien. Damien leaned against him, like he had on the sofa. He watched the fire, or at least looked into the direction of the fireplace. Long minutes passed until he suddenly started to speak.

“I fell for their propaganda when I was at my lowest. After my father died, and my brother left, and the family business was gone. I wanted to belong somewhere. To… I don’t know.” Damien’s voice shook as he whispered, “I don’t even know.”

Holding him like this made it all but impossible for Riordan to sign. Instead, he found Damien’s hand under the blanket, interlacing his fingers with Damien’s, waiting for him to continue.

The words came slowly at first; telling of meetings in a tavern, of false promises, of leaving his home. Riordan listened quietly, his heart sinking with every detail, every casual act of cruelty, every glimpse of Damien’s despair. A pattern formed in his mind of how Ed had dug his claws into Damien, with no intention of ever letting him go. A pattern Damien obviously couldn’t see.

When Damien came to the point where he had been punished for trying to use his magic against Ed, Riordan was so startled, he almost forgot he shouldn’t speak. He made a choked noise, pulling Damien out of his tale.

“You told me… back then, you told me you never tried to stop him,” he explained when Damien gave him a questioning look. “But you did. You tried.”

Damien laughed; quietly, desperately. “Didn’t do me much good, did it.” He freed his hand to grasp his right shoulder, his fingers trembling.

“What did he do to you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.” Riordan’s reply had been too harsh, the motion too forceful, making Damien flinch. “Yes,” he repeated, taking care to keep his signs small, to not scare him again. “It matters. You matter.”

Damien’s expression told Riordan that he might disagree. He rubbed his shoulder.

“He returned after sunset. Made everyone watch as he punished me. Fifteen strokes standing, or thirty kneeling.”

Riordan pressed his lips together to not let a curse slip out. He felt sick. Fucking son of a mok. “Did you…?” he signed when the silence stretched on.

Damien was staring into the fire, his voice trembling. “I… I tried, but I couldn’t. I was… I had no strength left. I must have fainted, because when I came to, it was night. He had just left me hanging there, burnt from the sun and beaten half to death.”

A shiver ran through Damien. He pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders, burying his hand in it.

“One of the men… He was almost still a kid. Jesse. His name was Jesse.” Damien shook his head, tears glistening in his eyes. “He came and gave me some water, and stayed with me until sunrise. If not for him… I think I would have died that night. And then—” He swallowed. “Then I wished I had, because Ed knew. He always knew. Everything. And he started to use Jesse against me. The moment I stepped out of line, he would have punished him in my place.” His voice was barely a whisper at the end.

It wasn’t a surprise to Riordan. From the moment Damien had stepped in trying to save the man, Ed must have known his weakness. If only he could make Damien see it, too.

“Do you—“ Riordan let his hands sink. This was too important to risk Damien missing the point of what he was trying to say.

“May I speak?” he signed quickly, pointing at his mouth.

Seeing Damien think about it was good. It meant that when he finally nodded, it was more likely to actually be true.

“Do you think it was hard for Ed to…” Fuck. There really wasn’t a good way to phrase this, was there? “To do that to this woman?“

“No.” Damien didn’t hesitate with his reply. “He made no secret of how much he enjoyed it.”

Riordan took a deep breath. He had to be careful about this. “He enjoyed hurting people?“ he asked, as if that hadn’t been clear already from what Damien had told him.

Damien nodded.

“And yet, for years, he made you do it. What for? He didn’t care if he killed them. Cleaning up wasn’t his problem. His own reputation was bad enough, he didn’t need the Nightmare. What did he get out of it?”

It hurt to see the conflicting emotions on Damien’s face. Riordan wished he could help him forget his past, instead of poking around in it. Damien would never be able to move past it as long as he blamed himself for everything that had happened, though.

“I don’t know,” he eventually admitted.

“I do,” Riordan said. “He wanted to see you suffer. He lost his chance to lay his own hands onto his victims, but he got you. He enjoyed how much you hated yourself. He could see you despair, trying to make the best out of it, while he held all the strings to make it worse.”

Damien opened his mouth, then closed it again. Riordan continued, needing to get it all out before he lost his courage.

“He manipulated you, raised the stakes every time he pushed you too far.” His tone had been too harsh, and he took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “The first time, you didn’t want that man to die from his injuries, and he used it. When that wasn’t enough anymore, he straight out threatened to kill them. And when that wasn’t enough anymore, he threatened to kill those closest to you instead. He gave you enough freedom to make you think it was your decision, but every time you didn’t do exactly what he wanted, he found a way to punish you.”

Damien stared at him in stunned silence. Afraid he had spoken too harshly, Riordan reached for his hand through the blanket.

“You were also his victim. Not in the same way, but you were.”

“Can you…” Damien’s voice was strained, his gaze blank. “Can you give me a moment?”

“Of course.” Fuck, it hurt letting go of him. Riordan pulled his hand back, scrambling to his feet. “I’ll go check the fire in the hearth,” he mumbled, grabbing the tinderbox and fleeing the room.

In the kitchen, he found still enough embers to rekindle the fire. Riordan filled the kettle, pushing it over the flames and watching it until it boiled, and then a bit longer. He hoped he hadn’t messed everything up now. It was killing him to see Damien hate himself so much. If only he could see half of what his friends saw in him. If only Riordan could make him see.

With worry twisting his stomach, Riordan grabbed a teapot and scouted the shelf that held the containers of tea. He decided on a herbal mix; calming, at least supposedly so. A few minutes later, he climbed up the stairs, the freshly brewed tea in one hand, two empty cups in the other.

When he entered the living room, Damien sat almost as he had left him. He must have moved, though, because the flames in the fireplace burned brighter, a few new logs thrown in. Damien’s eyes were red as he looked up.

Riordan returned to his spot next to him, putting teapot and cups down in front of them. He poured some tea, picking up his own cup and watching Damien reach for his. His fingers tried to close around the handle, but slid off. Damien paused for a moment, taking an audible, deep breath, before closing his hand around the whole cup. When he raised it, his gaze met Riordan’s.

“At first I thought I was just bad at it,” he said, taking a sip before putting down his cup. “At using my left hand, I mean. But sometimes it still gives me trouble, even after all this time.” He raised his hand, and his sleeve slid back, revealing the scars around his wrist. “Perhaps I never noticed before, because the other hand was worse.” Damien turned his hand, looking at it, and suddenly, his right arm was back. He bent his fingers, the illusionary hand mirroring the movement of the real one. “Something never quite healed right. The shoulder, or the wrist, or… I don’t know. Guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” He laughed dryly. “At least I blew up the right one.”

“Damien…”

Ignoring him, Damien let the illusion vanish. He didn’t look at Riordan as he said, “In a way it saved me. I would never have gotten out. I knew that, but still…” He raised his head, his eyes dark and so full of pain. “I couldn’t give up. I was close, sometimes, but…“ A tear ran down his cheek, quickly followed by another as he whispered, “I didn’t want this to be all there was.”

He closed his fingers around his shoulder, taking a shaky breath. “Some days it hurts. The spot where my hand should be, and the scars, and the memories, and it’s all too much, but as long as this…” His voice broke and he wiped at his eyes. “As long as I have Merry and Valadan and you, and this life, it’s all… It’s all been worth it. To hold on. To survive.”

Riordan’s cup was empty. He set it down with trembling hands. Tears welled up in his eyes at the thought of how close Damien had been to losing his life without ever getting a chance to live. How easy it would have been for them to never meet. He found the lump in his throat didn’t allow him to speak, so he raised his hands.

“I’m glad you did,” he signed, his fingers trembling. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Damien looked at him as if he wanted to ask him why, but he didn’t. He didn’t do anything, so it was Riordan who reached out for him, carefully wrapping his arms around him. So close, he could feel just how much Damien was shaking. In his attempt to comfort him, Riordan rubbed his back in circling motions. It didn’t seem to help.

“I’m scared,” Damien said, his voice shaking just as much. “You found me. What if someone else does? I try not to think about it, but then I dream of being back, and I can’t help it. I am afraid, because all they’ll see is the Nightmare. I can’t be him anymore, I can’t take what they’ll to do him, to me, I can’t—”

“Hey. Breathe.” Riordan grabbed his arm, snapping him out of his panicked ramblings. “No one’s going to take you.”

Damien laughed, the sound breathless and almost a sob. “You can’t know that.”

“Listen to me. Listen to me.” Riordan could barely stop himself from shaking Damien, merely twisting the blanket in his fist. “I mean it. We won’t let them. We would fight for you. We would get you back.”

Riordan had no doubt about that. Valadan had almost killed him after merely assuming he was here to hurt his brother, and Merridy would rather have stabbed him than allow him to take Damien. As for him…

“I’d burn the damn palace into the ground if I had to. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Damien froze for a moment, his heavy breaths the only sound besides the crackling of the fire. Then he fell apart. He sank against Riordan, his shoulders heaving as he started to sob. Riordan held him, losing the fight against his own tears.

All the pain, all the fear. He had the suspicion Damien would never have talked about any of it, if not for the lack of several nights’ worth of sleep. Time would tell if his words had helped. As for tonight, it would be a victory already if Damien found a bit more rest.

When after a while Damien started to calm down, Riordan straightened up. He made sure Damien was sitting safely on his own before he leaned to the side, to grab the half-full cup Damien had put down.

“Here. You need to drink something.”

Riordan handed Damien the cup, his hand hovering nearby to make sure he wouldn’t drop it. When it was empty, he refilled it, waiting patiently until Damien had finished it as well. Then he got up, not missing the way Damien’s hand grasped at the air where his leg had been a moment ago, before being hurriedly pulled under the blanket.

“I’m not leaving. Give me a second.”

He took the teapot and put it on the coffee table, placing the cups next to it. When he returned, he brought two of the cushions with him. After handing one of them to Damien, he walked to the door, to dim the glowing crystal. The light of the fireplace was enough for him to find his way back and settle down on the rug.

“You don’t have to—” Damien started, only to break off when Riordan put his hand on his arm.

“But I want to.”

Damien obviously wanted to avoid every place where he had had a nightmare those last days. To evade any further discussion, Riordan flopped down, only to almost miss the cushion. He lifted his head as he pulled it closer, then dropped down on it with a sigh. Not that the rug was a worse place than a shitty tent at a research site. At least it was warm in the living room.

After a moment’s hesitation, Damien followed his example. He lay down as well, facing the fire, his back towards Riordan. They were as close as they could be without touching.

Slowly, Damien seemed to calm down. His breaths became more even, but he was still crying. Riordan listened to it for a while, staring at the flickering shadows in the room, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He reached for him, carefully draping his arm over Damien’s side, trying to offer him a bit of comfort. When Damien’s hand found his, he released the breath he had been holding. He didn’t want to make this weird, and he was glad Damien didn’t seem to see it as such.

Encouraged, Riordan shuffled closer until Damien’s back was against him. Feeling the rise and fall of his friend’s chest, he found himself relaxing as well. He was tired. He didn’t know how late it was, but the journey back had taken all day, and now they had spent a considerable amount of the night talking. He might as well try to get some sleep.

When Damien winced, startling awake at the edge of falling asleep, Riordan pulled him closer, pressing his hand.

“You can sleep,” he whispered. “I’m here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

[ID: The banner shows the feet of two people wearing boots, sitting next to each other in the grass. The title fancy boots is written next to them in a fancy looking, curly font in a bright green to yellow gradient. All other images are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

Tagging: @teamwhump  @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-in-the-moonlight @kixngiggles @badthingshappenbingo​

#Fancy Boots #Glass Shards #whump #fantasy whump #badthingshappenbingo #prompt: nightmares #fandom: original work #my writing

[rogerzsteven]

RETIRED BAD THINGS HAPPEN BINGO - 1 MASTERPOST

I've decided to not work on the remaining two prompts, so here is my kinda finished retired bthb masterpost! Thank you to @badthingshappenbingo for giving the opportunity.

Sensory Overload

Buck has a sensory overload.

CPR

Buck collapses in the firehouse. How long will it take for Eddie to bring him back?

Nervous Breakdown

Eddie gets hurt, Buck has a nervous breakdown.

Delirium

Buck gets sick. Eddie keeps him company.

Rage Against the Reflection

Buck loses someone on a call, causing him to spiral. Eddie is there to pick up the pieces.

Lost Their Voice from Screaming

Buck is having night terrors. Eddie stays with him.

Scalding

Buck gets hurt. Eddie takes care of him.

Shaking and Shivering

Buck has mild hypothermia. Eddie warms him up.

Passing Out from Pain

Buck buys a new bike, only to get in an accident.

Cry into Chest

Buck has a leg cramp. Eddie helps him as he can.

Forced to Hurt Someone

Buck is forced to hurt Maddie. Cue emotional breakdown.

Bundled Up in Blankets

5 times Buck is bundled up in blankets.

Vertigo

Buck gets sick.

Jaw Wired Shut

Buck passes out from exhaustion.

Barely Conscious (it has an aftermath series)

Buck gets kidnapped, but he finds his way to Eddie.

Mouth Stitched Shut

Buck and Eddie are in a hostage situation.

Vomiting

Buck and Eddie are trapped in a train crash.

Kind Restraints

Buck takes a hallucinogen on accident. He calls Eddie.

Headache/Migraine

In the night of their 24 hour shift, Buck has a migraine. The 118 looks after him.

Cradling Someone in Their Arms

Buck has a fever. Eddie draws him a bath.

Self-Surgery

Buck is hurt. Eddie walks him through a surgery over the phone.

Non-Consensual Touching

When Eddie and Buck go out for drinks, Eddie notices two men watching them from afar. What could go wrong?

Stumbling and Staggering

Buck has a heat stroke.

Thank you all for reading. See you for BTHB - 2 🖤

#911 fanfic #911 fic rec #911 fic #buddie fic rec #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #911 #simiwrites

[tarisilmarwen]

@badthingshappenbingo

Title: “Leverage”

Prompt: Surrender

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Character(s): Sabine Wren, Ezra Bridger, Chopper

Warnings: Concussion, threats of harm, non-consensual drugging

AO3, FFNet, Request a prompt/character

Not quite sure what happened to your ask, anon, Tumblr appears to have randomly eaten it, but here you are, your Sabezra-flavored BTHB request.

---

The stitch in her side pulled painfully as they ran, her breath drawing out through rattling lungs in long heaving gasps. Blasterfire streaked all around her, pinging off crates.

Sabine didn't understand how everything had gone so belly up.

Running alongside her, his saber out, Ezra deflected blaster bolts with flashing motions. His attention was firmly behind, at their pursuit, while hers was straight ahead, searching for the exit, trying to find the edge of the wall around the complex. Ezra was complaining about how "This was supposed to be an easy one!" and "Why are there even pirates this far into the Mid Rim?" and Sabine wanted to pay attention and banter back at him, just to lighten things up for a brief moment, but her heart was too busy clenching with the weight of the knowledge of what the sigils on the raiders' armor crests meant.

Danger alarms sounded all around her head. She grabbed a grenade from her belt and paused as she activated its timer, letting Ezra run on ahead of her. She wound up with her arm and hurled it out behind them, the metal clanking against a crate as it disappeared from her sight, falling in and among the assorted Gamorreans and Devaronians.

Relief tingled for half a second inside her. That should buy them just enough time. Chopper already had the ramp of the Phantom II down, had it hovering in place in a clear spot by the wall, screeching in binary for them to hurry up. His manipulators gestured jerkily. Ezra was almost to safety; Sabine glimpsed him as she started to turn—

"Sabine!"

Ezra's warning was shrill and abrupt and startled her. Sabine whipped back around, eyes widening as a small black spot came sailing through the air straight towards them.

Sabine caught her own grenade in frantic hands, clumsily trying to get hold of it for a terrifying couple of seconds before she flung it away.

It exploded, powder and paint and fire searing into her face, scorching the front of her helmet.

Her head snapped back from the shock and she felt weightless, airborne a moment before her back and body hit the ground.

Ringing pain flooded her head. Vaguely, she could hear Chopper shouting, the engines of the Phantom II roaring as if from some far away watery distance, more blasterfire, and heavy-booted footsteps before her sight faded and she blacked out.

-SWR-

The pain returned when her awareness did.

Sabine groaned, the sharp throbbing pounding away at the sides of her skull like two charging rancors smashing into her. She pinched her eyes tighter, grimacing through the pain. For a long moment she sat with her ears ringing and her temples stabbing, until finally she decided she should probably get up.

She pried her eyes open and was dismayed to see an unfamiliar ceiling above her.

Sabine raised her head, looking around the room with apprehension. It wasn't a holding cell, but it definitely wasn't the Ghost either. It looked like... some kind of lab? There were storage lockers lining the grimy walls and tables haphazardly strewn with parts and wiring. Sabine frowned as she glimpsed one of her explosive grenades disassembled and spread apart on the closest surface. Everything was covered in grease and oil stains—maybe this was a maintenance room—and a glowing yellow heating unit clunked loudly in one of the corners.

She couldn't see a door.

Sabine got to her feet slowly, noticing with some dismay how her weapons and equipment had been stripped off. Her holsters were bare, her belt empty. Sabine's arms came up around her elbows a little self-protectively, a dry feeling in her throat. The sigil from the pirates' armor flashed before her mind's eye. The White Talons. A particularly murderous group of raiders; even the Empire marked them for death and didn't bother making under-the-table deals with them.

Though she wasn't restrained, she was clearly a prisoner. In a locked room, presumably. Disarmed.

Okay. What did she have to work with?

She was just beginning to eye the cluster of metal and wires on the nearest worktable when footsteps sounded outside the room. Sabine started, cast her eyes about for some kind of weapon but didn't get a chance to grab anything before a brightly-lit crack appeared in the far wall, and a heavy slab metal door squeaked open.

Sabine stepped back carefully, narrowing her eyes at the Devaronian who stepped into the room. He was huge, towering at least two feet above her not including his horns, and his burly arms wrapped around a bulky shortrifle that pointed straight at her. She leveled a glare at him as he stepped into the room, stopping a couple yards away and casually studying her.

His eyes raked over her, probing. Sabine's face soured and she put her hands on her hips, indignantly.

"Well, what d'you want?" she demanded.

The man began speaking, an inelegant mix of badly butchered Basic and another language. Huttesse? She was pretty sure she knew it, picked up words here and there as he gestured from her to the worktable.

"You make?" came the first coherent fragment.

Slightly confused, Sabine glanced back at the worktable. It took her a moment to realize he was referring to her paint grenades.

Wary, she turned back to the pirate.

"Yeah. I made those," she answered cautiously.

The Devaronian's eyes lit with a keen excitement, and his words became faster now, almost incomprehensible. He looked uncomfortably like how Vizago would when he'd made a sweet bargain, and Sabine found herself wishing she could be dealing with him instead. At least Vizago had never sold them out.

She tried to keep up with the rapid string of words. At the helpless straining in her eyes, the pirate slowed down, enunciated more clearly.

"Bigger?" he offered in Basic, towards the end.

Sabine felt a slight twinge of creeping horror. Praying she was translating wrong, she took a step back from the work table, pointing first to the pirate and then splaying her palm across her breastplate.

"You... want me..." she asked hesitantly. "To make you something?" Alarms twinged on her temples. Her eyes and features pinched. Her hand slowly drifted to point towards the worktable. "Those?" she questioned, indicating her dismantled grenade. "Explosives?"

There was that eerie excitement again; the pirate even lowered his blaster shortrifle as he gestured emphatically. "Yes, yes!" he confirmed. "You... weapons make!" He switched back to his first language breathlessly. Sabine caught her own name with a sinking drop in the pit of her stomach.

This man knew her, or knew of her at least, knew something about her work at the Imperial Academy—she heard a word that sounded roughly equivalent to "burning" and felt the horror and disgust solidify in her stomach.

She crossed her arms firmly, fixing a scowl at him.

"No," she growled.

Confused, the man repeated his request.

"I said no, sleemo," Sabine replied back.

He repeated his request a third time, as if thinking she'd merely misunderstood.

Sabine stared him down stubbornly, making her uncooperative intentions plainly known on her face.

She wasn't going to be used like that again. Never again.

The Devaronian became agitated. His blaster jabbed between her and the table, along with his pointed hand. He snarled a command at her, clearly irritated by her defiance.

"Weapons make!" he insisted.

"No I will not 'weapons make'!" she shot back, her hands pulling stiffly from around her elbows and forming tight fists by her thighs. She trembled hotly with anger, unflinching.

The pirate gripped his shortrifle tighter, aiming it straight at her heart. "You dies!" he screamed, furious.

"Kill me if you want to, I don't care!" Sabine said, throwing her hands out in challenge.

The Devaronian wrestled a moment or two and then pressed a button on his gauntlet and opened some kind of comm channel, yelling angrily into it for several moments. A staticky response came through the line, garbled and incoherent.

Sabine stayed where she was, glaring and stubbornly defiant, giving the pirate her sourest stink-eye.

He turned sharply on his heel, stalking towards the door and reaching back to slam it behind him.

Sabine exhaled slowly as the reverb began to fade. Worried tingles coursed on her arms. She wasn't afraid to die to prevent the White Talons from using her weapons expertise for their own ends, but that wasn't her ideal outcome.

She turned and studied the items on the worktable again, cataloguing parts, piecing them together in different combinations inside her head.

She hadn't been at it very long before thumping footsteps sounded outside her makeshift prison. Sabine bristled as the door opened again, tensing.

This time several pirates filed in, Devaronians and Gamorreans and Trandoshans and all sorts of motley individuals. A couple stalked up uncomfortably close to her, their blasters trained on her every movement and twitch. Two particularly large men closed in on either side of her as the Devaronian from before—the leader, ostensibly—filed back into the room.

His expression was cold and angry. He came into the room and then stepped aside, leveling an even glare on her.

Shuffling footsteps sounded just outside the door. Sabine peeled her hostile glare away from the leader in time to see two large pirates enter.

Dragging Ezra between them.

A wordless cry escaped her throat as she lurched forward, only to be caught by the raider next to her, grabbing her arms and yanking her back, restraining her from her desperate charge forward.

Sabine wrenched and squirmed in his grip, watching with abject horror.

No no no!, came her frantic, terrified thought. Her mind screamed in denial. He was supposed to be safe, he was supposed to be safe, hadn't he gotten out with Chopper? Wasn't that what she'd heard as she was fading?

But no, of course he wouldn't have left her, stupid Jedi idiot that he was. Sabine felt bile rise up in her throat as she watched the raiders drag him forward and then push him to his knees in front of her.

He was barely conscious, his head drooping, his half-lidded eyes glassy like he was heavily sedated or drugged. His hands were bound behind him and he didn't even seem to be aware of what was happening, chin down and gaze swimming blankly.

The Devaronian leader fixed her with a chilling glare, making sure he had her full attention.

"Weapons make, or..." The blaster rifle was cocked ominously, pointed straight at Ezra's head. "...he dies," the man threatened.

Sabine wavered for half a second, heart pulling in two inside of her, and then she crumpled, sagging limply in her captor's grip. She would endure any manner of trauma or torture if it was only her, fight stubbornly through whatever the raiders decided to inflict on her...

But she wouldn't, couldn't, let them hurt Ezra. Heat stung at her eyes as she looked at him, dangling limp in the grip of his captors, insensate and helpless. There was a purpling bruise already showing across his cheek, a split lip, a cut on his forehead that hinted that the raiders had already gotten to him, hurt him.

She couldn't let him be hurt any more. Not if she could stop it. He... he was too... she had to protect him.

She lowered her eyes, heat and shame flaring across her cheeks. For several horrible seconds she couldn't unclog her throat.

"All right..." she finally strained out, hating every word and yet forcing them out desperately. "I'll do it."

That seemed to please the Devaronian leader, who relaxed on one leg, lowering his rifle slightly and giving instructions Sabine was certain were probably important, but she couldn't hope to focus on, biting her lip anxiously as she looked at Ezra.

His breaths were so thin...

A command was given; the raider holding her released her arms and Sabine crumpled forward.

She scrambled towards Ezra and none of the pirates stopped her, letting her crawl up to him and take his face in her hands carefully, tilting his blank hollow eyes up to meet hers.

"Ez?" she called softly.

Her heart wrenched as his distant gaze slid past hers, loose and unseeing, only a keening moan given in response.

"What—" Her voice choked on the emotion clogging her throat; she swallowed thickly. "What did you do to him?" she demanded, in quiet horror.

The Devaronian leader's face twisted with a sneer. "He make trouble. Try escape. Try come get you."

Sabine closed her eyes in quiet acceptance, gripping Ezra's head tighter to her.

"Don't worry," she told him softly. "I'm going to get you out of here. I promise."

He didn't respond, didn't give any indication he heard her, but she didn't expect him to. Inhaling to steel herself, she let go and stood up.

She faced the Devaronian leader, a simmering look festering in her eyes.

"I'll make your bombs," she declared. "But you don't lay a hand on him again."

A sneer was all that she received in return, and a barked order to get working. The two raiders nearest her grabbed her shoulders, shoving her towards one of the worktables. Sabine looked over the pieces, now recognizable as bomb components, with a sick feeling in her gut. She wanted to pull away, shove back, smack their dirt-caked hands off her.

Throat tight, she craned her head back in time to glimpse the others dragging Ezra out of the room, still limp, still clinging to consciousness by the barest thread. Despite her warning, they weren't bothering to be gentle with him, hauling him like oversized luggage through the door and out of her sight.

Worry crawled up her back as soon as he was gone, festering like an itch on her spine. Sabine stared down at the worktable, her mouth like cotton, a sick tickle at the back of her throat.

Her hands shook with small tremors as she reached into the pile to begin sorting through the materials, keenly aware of the raider's hostile eyes on her.

With resignation, she switched her mind into work mode, shutting everything else out, and focused on the task at hand.

-SWR-

It was a painstaking, slow-going process. They didn't have nearly enough of the right tools for her to use, and Sabine was forced to take several workarounds or argue back-and-forth with the guards in her room until they brought her something moderately useful.

Several times she had to stop, overwhelmed by the pressure, dropping her tools and bracing her temples on her fingertips, sagging helplessly on her elbows. She indulged in half-seconds of misery and self-pity before she forced herself to continue, to remember what was at stake, to remember that the only way she could have a prayer of getting her and Ezra out of here was to make at least one functioning bomb.

They never said she had to give it to them, after all...

Her attendees got bored watching her, slowly moving towards the corners of the room. Sabine's heart pounded as she carefully soldered wires and clamped pieces together, hoping fervently the raiders weren't savvy enough to understand what she was doing, making careful, precise choices as she worked.

All the while, she worried. She hoped that what she was doing was enough to keep the pirates from turning their intentions towards Ezra.

She wondered how he was doing,

-SWR-

Ezra felt like he was slowly emerging from a thick, dense fog.

Sounds had been... watery... for a while, coming to his ears from some kind of far distance... but slowly began to grow clearer. The slippery, disconnected feeling around his head began to fade. Ezra grew slowly more aware of himself, all his senses returning to him one by one.

His grasp on the Force was still... elusive. Retreating from him when he tried to reach for it, tried to use it to orient himself.

All he was really aware of was that his right shoulder ached a bit and his head hurt.

The weird ringing, static sound inside his ears subsided gradually, letting him hear the slow intakes of his breath, the tick-tick of a chrono mounted somewhere, and the scuff and rustle of his clothing as he shifted, testing out long-numb limbs, getting a sense of bearing.

His head was still floating a bit, but he could feel some sensation in his body now.

He was on the floor. That was the first, and most solid, thing he was aware of. He was on his side, if the rising ache in his shoulder was any indication.

Ezra groaned, turning his head closer into the floor. He pried his eyes open and blinked, repeating the motion several times as he tried to focus on all the blurry images.

The sight of a raider's ankles blurred and unblurred in his eyes.

Ezra pinched his eyes closed a moment and groaned again, then tried again to focus through the spinning images his dizzy eyes provided.

There was someone standing above him. He was in a very small room. Some kind of cell? It looked like it was sparse enough, not really furnished, gray and blank walls.

Some kind of commotion seemed to happening outside the room. The person above him stiffened, there was a click and rustle as if he was gripping his weapon tighter.

Ezra was too tired to really think about it, only vaguely noticing through his Force Sense that his guard had left the room, leaving him spinning there in his thoughts, quiet and confused.

The sounds from outside seemed to be getting louder. Ezra felt a keen sense of urgency pulling at his mind, trying to get him to wake up, wake up.

He winced, the pain his head sharpening, as he slogged back to awareness.

The tussle outside his cell seemed to be over—Ezra had heard a few grunts and cracks and assumed a fight was happening—and the the door was opening all over again but this time a warm presence was on his senses, familiar hands were pulling up his face.

"Ezra?" came the concerned, feminine call and he grinned in spite of himself.

"Hey 'bine," he said, only slightly delirious, trying to focus on the blob of colors in the center of his vision that must have been her. "Nice to see you. You here to rescue me?" he asked cheekily.

A soft huff, tinged with annoyance and fondness. "Someone has to," came the muttered response. A little louder, the voice that was Sabine's said, "Are you okay?"

Ezra grimaced, acutely aware of his own disconnected senses and the throbbing in his head. "Force feels funny," he admitted. "Dunno what they hit me with but wow."

Her hands were behind him, fiddling with the binders.

"Apparently 350 milligrams of Bendozi does that."

He squinted, feeling his hands come loose from the binders and Sabine's warm arms steadying under his. "That... seems excessive," he commented.

She gave a low laugh, helping him to his feet.

"You're the one who apparently 'made trouble' for them, you tell me."

Ezra felt himself drooping slightly on his feet, and resolutely pulled himself upright, using Sabine's hands to steady himself.

"Buncha bastards..." he mumbled, sagging slightly against her, aware that they were moving but too incoherent to say where. "Took my saber."

"I know, " came her tremulous reply, full of heartfelt emotion he could feel buzzing on his dazed senses. "It's okay, I've got it. Just hang onto me."

Warmth flooded through him. He leaned into the warmth he felt off her body, uttering a dopey but heartfelt, "Okay." and let her guide him towards what he assumed was the exit.

#star wars #star wars rebels #bad things happen bingo #sabezra #ezra bridger #BTHB #fanfiction #prompt fics

[wolfeyedwitch]

Current writing mood: wanting to continue the PP AU of WBOH, but its all been BTHB prompts so far and yes I have another prompt requested but there needs to be a chapter in between and aaaaaaaahhhh

#ill probably just write it #without doing a bthb card square for it #i have a request for stitches for bailey #but there needs to be another chapter before that can happen #one where they actually ESCAPE #cant get stitches til we're back at hero hq and somewhat safe #i have Plans #for the team seeing the full scope of what happened to them #mwahahaha

[livingforthewhump]

Ooooo could you do stitched mouth shut with Caroline and Palidan? I am LOVING the series!!

- @cherrywhump

Blue for requested; red for posted.

First Previous Next

—

“I think it’s safe to say you’ve learned your lesson,” Paladin said, standing over her crumpled form. She whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut.

Then he kicked her, for no reason at all than to hear her paIin-laden gasp. To watch her curl in on herself again, arms hanging uselessly behind her, pulled too far that way so that even with the rope gone, she couldn’t right them without causing her unbearable agony.

“Just to be sure,” he knelt down and swept her hair out of her face, cradling it in her hands and studying her uneven breaths, her heavy-lidded eyes, the crease between her eyebrows, the tears glistening just beneath the surface. She was beautiful, broken like this.

“Just to be sure,” he repeated, watching her eyes struggle to focus, “why don’t you tell me what you’ve learned, hm?”

“I belong to you,” Caroline said stiltedly, tears tracking down her face as her eyes fell away from Paladin’s. He tutted warningly, and she instantly looked at him again, taking a deep breath. “I don’t get to ask for things, or argue, or pull away, or fight you. You know what’s best for me and my job is to be obedient- to be good for you.”

He nodded, eyes twinkling. “Very good, doll. You’re here to be used, yes?”

“Ye-” She started, interrupting herself with a sob. “Yes.”

“Good. Now, are you ready to get back out there?”

Caroline whined. “Will, will you heal me first?” she asked softly.

Paladin raised an eyebrow, the gentleness leaving his expression, and the crease between her eyebrows deepened.

“I don’t see that as any of your concern. Is it, doll?”

“No, no, I’m sorry. I’m ready, I’ll do it.” She swallowed. “I won’t fight you.”

“I didn’t think so,” Paladin said, reaching down to grab her by the shoulders and turn her onto her stomach. His hands wrapped around her tremoring shoulders, his power sinking in and mending what was broOken. “There, see? You need to trust me to give you what you need.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, flexing her fingers and aching to work out the soreness in her arms, but she dared not move without Paladin’s permission.

He nodded, admiring her obedience. “Sit up, now, doll.”

She pulled her arms in front of her, gasping weakly at the feeling returning to her sore muscles, and propped herself into a sitting position. Everything ached, but honestly, she was used to that by now.

Paladin was examining her, something in his expression that she definitely didn’t like. “Here’s the thing, doll.” He reached out and took her chin in his hand, fingers digging into her cheeks. “Even though you’ve said you’ll be good, I don’t have any reason to believe you. You had been perfectly obedient before your recent lapse, so I want to make sure.”

She made a pathetic whining noise in the back of her throat. Oh, she had been a fool to think he would leave her alone now.

A small smile crossed Paladin’s lips. “I have an idea,” he said in a tone that made ice shoot down her veins. He stood up and disappeared for a still, silent moment, then returned with a needle and black thread tucked neatly in his palm.

She stared at him, disbelieving. In shock and horror.

“I figure black would mark as a good reminder of who you belong to.”

“What are you about to do?” she asked with a quavering voice.

Paladin knelt in front of her and she shied back on instinct before forcing herself to sit still. “I am going to teach you to close your mouth, doll. You don’t speak unless I let you.”

Caroline didn’t talk back. That didn’t stop him, though.

He said something about not trusting her to sit still as he straddled her legs. She couldn’t hear him very well over the terrible roaring in her ears. She wasn’t pretty sure she was crying, but she couldn’t feel it.

Paladin wiped her cheeks with his sleeve. “You look precious, doll, but I do need you to be still for this.”

He threaded the needle deftly, cupping one hand behind her head to stop her from leaning away. His face hovered in much too close to hers, the relentless pound of her heart disrupting her breathing. Paladin licked his lips, looking horribly focused- which, she supposed, it was better to have this done by someone focused rather than someone distracted. Then she amended that that was a pathetic thought to have.

The needle pressed against the edge of her lip, a pinpoint of cold. She screwed her eyes shut.

“There you go, doll,” he murmured, breath hot right where the needle sat, and instantly there was a piercing heat as it pressed through her skin. She instantly tried to pull away, but Paladin’s hand held her head still.

The thread went through easier after the first stitch which soaked it with blood. Each second was a horrible pain, followed by the unsettling sensation of thread being pulled through her skin. A kind of itchy tugging, and then there was only the continual pulling that kept her mouth shut. He pulled the thread tight, so there was no room for movement.

Paladin released her head and leaned back to admire his work. “That looks beautiful,” he said, wiping tears off her face. “Do try not to cry too much, doll. I wouldn’t want your nose to get too stuffy for you to breathe.”

Caroline ducked her face down in an attempt to smother her tears and was unprepared when Paladin seized control.

--

Hugo thought there was something off about the villain. He was watching her from the top of a two-story building, trying to work it out. She hadn’t responded to him even once. She’d barely looked at him. Maybe it was only a matter of wounded pride, but that seemed odd to him. And then there was the matter of Paladin showing up.

She’d looked at him. Although, who wouldn’t? Snake though he was, he was unfairly attractive.

But then she’d looked at Hugo too.

Don’t leave me.

Why would she say that? She didn’t say anything after that. In fact, she’d cried out and reacted like she’d been hit, then gone right back to ignoring him. It was unsettling. Her movements seemed strangely rehearsed, too, though he was probably just imagining it.

She was walking along the building he was on, now, and he slid down a drainage pipe to meet her. After all, dramatic entrances were key. And maybe if she was afraid of Paladin (which was his current and only hypothesis), she would talk to him before Paladin got here.

“I see you’ve managed to escape our city’s dear hero and his wiles yet again,” Hugo commented. “You may want to stop while you’re ahead.”

The girl faced away from him, not responding or reacting at all.

He put on a wounded expression. “Of course, I’m not saying he’s more powerful than you. There’s no reason to give me the silent treatment.”

Without looking, she shot a blast of power at him. He rebounded it back onto her, taking her off guard and knocking her over.

Hugo walked over to her, reaching a hand out to help her up.

And stopped dead in his tracks.

Her hair was splayed across her face, but he could still see the tear tracks running down her cheeks- and the thick black thread holding her mouth closed.

He stared, feeling sick to his stomach even as he knew with a horrible certainty that Paladin was behind this. And that this was not the first thing he had done to her.

But Paladin had already threatened his family if he didn’t leave her alone. And as tempting as it was to let Paladin have them after all they had done, he knew he wouldn't.

And so, like the coward he is, Hugo ran.

—

Tag list (message me if you want to be added or removed): @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @twistedcaretaker @lonesome--hunter @poppys-writing @endless-whump @jkoo7jkoo5-baby-susan @multifandoms-multishipper @shadowylemon @cherryblossomskye @utopian819 @whumpkitty @whole-and-apart-and-between @written-to-death @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @villain-enthusiast @hurting-fictional-people @kixngiggles @onestopheroxvillain @lave-whump @bibliophilelifestyle @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams @1phoenixfeather

#bthb #bth bingo #bad things happen bingo #mouth stitched shut #mouth whump #paladin series #my writing #mine #my ocs #superhero whumper #superhero whump #vigilante caretaker #whumper #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #possessive whumper #whumpee #scared whumpee #breaking whumpee #caretaker #injury reveal #injury reveal whump #mind control #mind control whump #straddling #begging #crying #punishment

[galaxywhump]

✂ Is there a plotline that you'd planned to write but for whatever reason has been abandoned?

🥇 Pick one aspect of your story that you are particularly fond of. Anything at all.

Both for SV-240?

-verkja

Thanks, @verkja ❤️

✂ Is there a plotline that you'd planned to write but for whatever reason has been abandoned?

There were some scenes that didn't make it into the final versions of chapters, but I'm not sure there were entire plotlines? There were some scenes in Movie Night that just ended up not working, like the one where, after being used as a footstool, Wren helps Daniel in the kitchen (making pretzels) and struggles with thinking that this actually feels kind of nice and homely, especially after how Berkeley had treated him.

The Backhand Slap BTHB piece was originally completely different, it took place during Wren's time with the slavers and was the lead-up to Wren's concussion, but I didn't like how it turned out so it was scrapped.

🥇 Pick one aspect of your story that you are particularly fond of. Anything at all.

Being able to incorporate the mouth stitched shut trope into the story, honestly. I still like it a lot and I'm kinda proud of the way I wrote it.

#asks #thanks again! ❤️

[hopeintheashes]

i have an BTHB prompt well two combine , anger born of worry and stitches

Hi! The BTHB rules are that you can only count one square per fill, so combining won't work for that particular challenge. Also, I'm planning to fill every square, so for a prompt I'd need some info on what characters/dynamics/scenario you were hoping for. :-)

ETA: At first I said in the tags that there was more info on prompting linked in my bio, but Tumblr has broken that link again, at least for me. Here it is: Info on prompting.

#blog stuff #hopeintheashes replies

[pixieposts]

Bad Things Bingo

AO3

The first fill I did for my BTHB card was: Mouth Stitched Shut!

TWs: Description of injuries Blood Referenced PTSD symptoms

Fjord paced the dinning room again, the same way he had every day for the last month. If he wasn’t pacing then he was searching, and if he wasn’t searching than he was training. Anything to trick his brain into believing they were making some kind of progress towards getting Caleb back.

“You’re going to wear a groove into the floor.”

“We should just go get him”

“He’s in literally the most secure place in the Empire Fjord, you remember how well that went last time.”

“We got out, didn’t we? He’d do it for us!”

“I’m with Fjord on this one” Beau growled from the where she was sitting with her feet up on the table “we managed it last time, we can do it again.”

“We barely managed it last time” Jester corrected her, taking her hand gently “we could totally have died in there, we almost got stuck.”

He felt the frustration burn in his chest; they were missing the point! Beau was the only one who got it, the fact that they knew how bad the place was made it even more important that they go.

“Yeah, and how do you think—”

Before he could finish his sentence, there was a familiar popping sound from the front hall. They looked at each other briefly before jumping up and bolting for the door. Standing in the hall were three figures, well, two were standing while they held the other up. Fjord summoned Star Razor immediately, stepping closer to the trio.

“Wait” Eodwulf’s voice was rough, almost desperate “please, we cannot stay, or he will notice our absence.”

They stepped forward, pushing the unconscious Caleb towards him as he dropped Star Razor back into the ether. He caught Caleb, wrapping an arm tightly around him and supporting his weight as he slumped against Fjord's chest.

“Please, we got him out as soon as we could, help him.”

“Wha—” Beau started forward, but before she could reach them, they had disappeared again.

Fjord paused for a moment as the air settled, Caleb’s scarf fluttering slightly on the hook it still occupied. Caleb stirred slightly against him, and he tightened his hold automatically, leaning to lift Caleb into his arms.

“Fucking hells” Beau cursed, and Fjord couldn’t help but agree.

Caleb looked awful, deathly pale with deep bruising around his eyes. He was lighter than usual, the bones of his hands clearly defined. It looked as though his nose had been broken and reset at least once, and there was dried blood all over his face and in his hair. The worst part by far though… the part that made Fjords stomach flip in distress and disgust, was his mouth.

Someone (he was sure he knew who) had stitched it closed with some kind of rough spun black cord. Nine neat X’s all the way across, with more blood dried all around it, and dark bruises around each of the punctures.

There was a gagging noise from beside him as Beau looked Caleb over, and a horrified gasp from Jester on his other side. He turned, looking them both in the eye to make sure they would follow, then made his way to the happy room. He laid Caleb on the couch as gently as he could, worried about any unseen injuries he might have hidden under the tattered clothes.

“Beau, get Caduceus… Jester, grab the healers kit from the kitchen, would you?”

They ran off, Beau towards the garden and Jester back down the stairs, as Fjord got Caleb as comfortable as he could. He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over Caleb’s shivering form, and tucked his messy hair back behind his ears. Heat seemed to radiate off his skin, and Fjord worried about the possibility of infection. He felt a tug in his chest, a tight sort of pain at the sight of Caleb lying like this. They had been through a lot together, literal death a few times… but there was something particularly difficult about seeing just how much he had been through alone. He hadn’t had any of them to help, no one to lean on or turn to… they had failed him.

Jester got back first, kneeling next to him and popping open the kit. Fjord reached in, grabbing the sharp gauze scissors that were kept in there.

“Oooh” Jester whispered “good idea Fjord! The kitchen scissors are way too big for…for…”

She trailed off, going pale as the reality of Caleb’s issue hit her yet again. Fjord rubbed a hand down her back soothingly for a moment before turning back towards Caleb. He took a breath, steadying his hand as he slid the thin scissor blade under the first X, relieved to see that it fit… though just barely. He was too nervous to try and cut the center of the X, so he settled for just snipping the threads individually. He was halfway through the second one when there was a pounding of feet from the hallway. He held his breath as Jester jumped up, throwing open the door and shushing the others. Caleb didn’t need his hand to slip and add another scar to this new collection. He felt Caduceus and Jester settle next to him again and heard a horrified gasp that he recognized as Veth. Beau was whispering now, explaining what had happened he assumed, but he ignored them. It likely only took a few minutes for him to finished snipping through the cords, but it felt like much longer as he worked from one end of Caleb’s mouth to the other. Jester took the scissors from him and handed him a pair of tweezers automatically. He nodded his thanks and set to work carefully removing the now-loose strings.

Caleb winced as he tugged the middle ones out, brows furrowing in discomfort. Fjord heard himself apologizing, whispering nonsense as he kept going. The others were silent now, watching as he dropped the blood crusted strings to the floor. Finally, finally, it was done.

He sat back, moving on reluctant legs so that Jester could start healing the re-opened punctures. He watched with relief as they closed over, and the other bruises and cuts faded into nothing. Caduceus had stepped in to help as well, healing unseen injuries along Caleb’s torso and limbs, frowning in concern. Once they had done all they could, they stepped back, nodding to the others. They all crowded around the couch, and Fjord reached out, gently pressing a hand to his forehead. The fever he had felt before was gone, and Caleb’s face had relaxed.

“Now what?” Veth asked quietly “he’s still out…”

“He’s been through a lot, maybe we should move him to his bed?” Caduceus mused, looking at Fjord.

He felt a slight shock at being so directly asked what to do… but he shook it off and nodded at Caduceus.

“Yeah, yeah that seems like a good idea… at least he’ll be more comfortable.”

That decided, they stepped back and allowed him space to scoop Caleb up again as gently as he could. Despite his care, Caleb stirred in his arms, eyes fluttering open with a grimace. Everyone froze for a moment as Caleb stared at him, blinking slowly.

“H-hey there Cay… you can go back to sleep if you want, you’re safe now.”

Blue eyes, hazy and confused, stared into his for a moment more before Caleb nodded once, turned his face to press against Fjords shoulder, and shut his eyes again. Fjord stood still as his breathing slowed and evened out, half of him glad that Caleb trusted him enough to fall back to sleep… and half even more concerned about just how much he had gone through in order to be this out of it. He led the group back down the stairs, pausing at the library door so Veth could slip past and open it for him, then open the door to Caleb’s room as well. As he walked in, Veth pulled down the sheets and laid out extra pillows, watching him with concern as he laid Caleb out and pulled the blankets up. He caught her eye and nodded, forcing a tight smile onto his face which she returned. If there was one thing they agreed on, it was keeping Caleb safe and comfortable.

They filed back out of the room, leaving both doors ajar automatically and heading for the dinning room again.

“I’ll go make some tea I think.”

“Wine, definitely wine” Beau added, following Caduceus to the kitchen “to drink… not to make, um...”

The rest of them sat around the large table, expressions ranging from stoic and concerned, to just plain sad. Fjord took a deep breath, sighing as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. There was nothing else they could do right now, they just had to wait for Caleb to be up and ready to talk.

“This sucks, it just really really sucks you know?” Jester glared at her sketchbook “I am going to send Astrid such a mean message when I figure out what to say.”

“At least they brought him back” Veth ventured “but… yeah, definitely send her something mean… yell at her in infernal or something.”

“I would like to go pay them a visit” Yasha said, her voice that dangerous level of quiet “go and thank them for everything they did.”

“Well, I guess we don’t really know that they like… actually did any of it right? Maybe it was all Icky-Thong”

“Doubt it.”

There was another space of silence as Beau re-emerged with two bottles of wine and a plate covered in glasses. Fjord took one with a nod, sipping slowly at it as Jester went back to writing, occasionally showing the page to Veth. They had been sitting there, talking quietly and trying to calm their nerves for just over an hour when they heard it.

A scream, blood curdling and terrified.

Fjord and Beau were fastest up, both out the door towards the library and Caleb’s room. They burst through and Fjord felt like his heart would break. Caleb had stopped screaming, a hand pressed firmly over his mouth as he sat up in bed with his back to the corner, eyes wide in the dark. Beau lit a candle on the desk as Fjord approached the bed slowly, hands outstretched.

“Alright, you’re alright Cay… we’ve got you, you’re home. Just—just breathe with me okay?”

Caleb stared at him for a moment, fear evident in his face before moving his hand and copying Fjords slow, even breathing. Veth climbed up onto the bed, reaching a hand out questioningly. Caleb seemed skittish but reached a shaking hand back to her slowly. Fjord sat on the edge of the bed, trying to calm his own racing heart as Beau let out a sigh from where she was leaning against the desk. Caduceus walked in, setting a cup of tea quietly on the bedside table and offering Caleb a small smile.

“Perhaps we should ah… take turns saying hello? I think we might be a bit overwhelming all at once.”

“Good idea” Yasha stepped forward, patting Caleb’s knee lightly before whispering a soft “welcome back” and heading out into the library.

Slowly the others did similar, making sure not to move too suddenly, until it was just Caleb, Fjord and Veth left in the room. Fjord watched Caleb the whole time, concern growing like a buzz in his head. Caleb hadn’t spoken a word since he had woken the first time… the only sound he had made was that ungodly scream.

“Is that okay?” Fjord indicated the space next to Caleb on the bed, waiting until he nodded before moving to sit there “Can I get you anything? Does anything hurt?”

Caleb shook his head, but looked down, worrying his bottom lip until it started to bleed and Fjord put out a hand to stop him.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you—are you upset that we didn’t get there faster? I’m so sorry Caleb, we tried but that place is hell to get into and—well you know that I guess—I… I’m just so fucking sorry you had to go through that again.”

Caleb looked back up at him, shaking his head slightly, and Fjord felt his chest constrict. Of course he would be upset with them, they had left him with that monster. Left him to suffer and be in pain all alone again. Caleb seemed to read his expression, because his eyes went wide and he shook his head harder, placing his free hand on Fjords knee and squeezing gently.

“Talk to me Cay, tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours” Fjord pleaded “I want to help.”

Caleb sighed, focussing on where his hand met Fjords leg for a moment. Fjord could tell by his expression that he was trying to decide on something. Eventually, he nodded to himself and looked back up at Fjord. His expression was… almost apologetic, and Fjord was confused.

Until he opened his mouth.

Fjord felt nausea rise in his stomach instantly, followed very closely by a wave of unimaginable anger. Fjord had been angry before, had felt that surge of heat that lead to a particularly good punch or the end of an enemies life… but he had never felt anything like this.

“Veth… go get Jester, quickly”

“What? Why? I thought they--”

“The fucker cut out his tongue Veth”

Veth gave an indignant shriek that made Caleb jump and curl in on himself, mouth snapping shut. Fjord reached out without thinking, wrapping an arm around him and rubbing up and down his arm. Veth’s whispered apologies where the only sound for a few minutes before she climbed off the bed and headed for the library. Fjord pulled Caleb in tighter, squeezing his bicep gently.

“It’s gonna be okay Cay, we’ll get this sorted out, you’re gonna be okay.”

Caleb had stopped shaking by the time Jester poked her head around the doorframe, concern on her face. The look she gave Fjord told him that Veth had explained what was going on already, so he sent her a tight smile. She walked in with much less energy than she usually would have, perching on the bed the way Fjord had initially.

“Hey there Cay-leb” she singsonged quietly “do you might if I take a look? I’m totally sure that me and the Traveller can fix you right up, but I just need to see the um… the damage.”

Fjord felt Caleb go still next to him, and then the light movement of him nodding slowly before he leaned away from him. Relief washed over Jesters face and she scooted closer, carefully concealing whatever negative reaction the sight of Caleb’s tongueless mouth caused in her. She inspected it for a moment, then nodded slightly.

“Oookay, the Traveller totally says we can fix this up… but it might be sort of uncomfortable, okay?”

Caleb sent her a look that clearly indicated that he was already uncomfortable, so this couldn’t be much worse. She smiled at him, a softer version of her usual beam, and laid her fingertips against his cheek.

“Promise my hands are like super-duper clean.”

He closed his mouth but nodded. Fjord could have sworn he could feel the nervous energy coming off Caleb. He moved close again, setting a hand between Caleb’s shoulder blades. Caleb’s eyes darted to him, and he could see gratefulness there… but also fear. Fjord frowned slightly, Caleb wasn’t afraid of pain, he had never shied away from it before… And he had definitely never been nervous about healing. Something was wrong, it set Fjords nerves on edge, either some kind of instinct or just having spent so much time around Caleb made him certain this was—there was something very wrong.

As the pink and green glimmer of Jesters magic started, the fear in Caleb's eyes only grew more pronounced. His hand flew out and clung to Fjord's knee as his breathing picked up speed. Fjord rubbed his back, feeling at a complete loss as he watched the panic set in. Caleb’s heartbeat was pounding rabbit-fast beneath his skin, his pupils dilating in too-wide eyes. Not knowing what else to do, Fjord set his free hand over where Caleb’s was clinging to his knee. Caleb gripped it tight, and he squeezed back when Caleb’s nails bit into the skin of his palm. After two minutes the glimmer faded and Jester pulled her hands away. There were tears on her cheeks now as Caleb flinched away from her, still breathing too fast. Fjord sent her a grateful look, and she sniffled as she responded with a sad smile.

“I’m sorry Caleb” she whispered as she stood up “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Caleb was shaking now, shifting back towards the wall with Fjord's hand still clutched in his own. Fjord turned to Jester and shook his head.

“You’re alright Jes, I don’t think even he knew… you know he doesn’t mean it”

“I—yeah I totally do, I just don’t want him to be like… scared of me” she looked at Caleb, then back to Fjord “I’m gonna go, let him calm down and stuff”

“Okay, thanks Jes.”

She left, closing the door behind her with a soft click, and Fjord turned to fully face Caleb on the bed. The semi-darkness of the room cast him in shadow, tucked away in the corner like he was, blue eyes glowing in the candlelight. Fjord shifted forward slightly, moving into Caleb’s space and taking his other hand gently.

“Can you talk to me Cay?”

Caleb opened and shut his mouth a few times, before shaking his head with another violent shiver. Fjord could see easily enough that Jesters spell had worked… but the panic was still in his eyes. He chewed his lip for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“Okay, that’s alright darlin’ you don’t have to talk. Let’s just breathe a bit yeah? Nice and slow” Fjord demonstrated and smiled when Caleb started to copy him “there, just like that. Squeeze my hands if you need to, I’ve got you.”

It took the better part of a half hour before Caleb was calm again, his hands loose in Fjords. Fjord smiled encouragingly at him, earning a small smile in return.

“That better?”

Caleb nodded, then looked down at the bed. Fjord could see the colour rising in his cheeks and held back a sigh.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about Cay, you’ve been through hell again… there was no way to know how you would react.”

Caleb looked up at him with an expression that, to Fjord anyway, clearly said he surprised and confused by Fjord picking up on why he was embarrassed. Fjord just smiled again, feeling his own expression soften as it so often did around Caleb.

“We spend enough time together; I know what you’re like.” He chuckled as Caleb glared half-heartedly, lips pursed in a familiar annoyed expression “Don’t give me that face, I’m right and you know it. Now c’mon, you should eat something if you’re feeling up to it.”

Caleb nodded, allowing Fjord to support him as they stood up. He went to open the door, only to feel a slight tug on his other hand. He turned to find Caleb standing very close and tried to slow his heartbeat. Now was not the time for silly infatuation, Caleb was going through enough. He focussed on Caleb’s expression, on the subtle way his eyebrows quirked, the tightness in his jaw.

“They won’t mind Cay, they’re just glad to have you back same as me. We were worried sick while you were gone and… well, if you’re not up to talking yet then don’t talk. We’ll make it work right?”

His jaw relaxed, and Fjord felt the brush of the familiar scar across his palm.

“We understand each other”

Caleb’s eyes widened minutely, and he seemed to be searching Fjord's expression. For a moment, he was certain he had given himself away… but as usual the moment passed, and Caleb just nodded. The others had moved from the library it seemed, but once they got into the hallway the sound of hushed voices reached their ears. Caleb’s hand slipped from his as they reached the entryway, and Fjord fought down a disappointed sigh, leading the way in. The others were clustered around the table, most sitting in chairs, but some sitting on the table in stead. They looked up uncertainly, tentative smiles all around (other than Caduceus, who wore his usual serene expression). Caleb shrank back slightly, bumping into Fjord's chest in the process.

“Good news Jes, it worked.”

“That’s super awesome Caleb, I’m glad” her smile still wasn’t quite it’s usual brightness, tempered by the apologetic look in her eyes “I really am sorry I scared you though, really.”

Fjord watched as Caleb shook his head smiling ruefully, he didn’t blame her of course. Fjord figured he was probably still blaming himself for whatever that bastard Ikithon had done. The concerned looks had returned to everyone’s faces when Caleb didn’t immediately respond. Fjord steered him towards the table, pulling out a chair next to Cad and smiling encouragingly at him.

“I’m starved, I’m gonna grab something for both of us from the kitchen.”

“I’ll help” Beau said immediately, standing to follow him.

He looked back over his shoulder to see Caleb watching him, brows furrowed and hands fidgeting in his lap. He felt a tug of guilt in his chest, but he pushed it down, he was just getting lunch… not abandoning him with enemies. Beau’s arm crossed his vision, shutting the door and blocking his view of the dinning room.

“What the fuck happened?”

“No idea… well—” he paused “I have some theories… but he hasn’t confirmed anything.”

“Has he said anything since he freaked out at Jester?”

“Nothing, and I don’t plan to push him to do so.”

She stared at him, sharp eyes searching his face as he crossed his arms and frowned. He meant it; he wasn’t going to push Caleb. Clearly, he had been through enough, he didn’t need them pressuring him too. Beau seemed to come to the same conclusion, sighing and turning to grab some food out of the icebox.

“Fine, yeah. He’ll talk when he’s ready I guess.” She handed him a plate “and until then I guess we just—”

The door to the kitchen flew open with a loud crack, and Caleb stood, eyes wide and face pale. Fjord set the plate down and stepped towards Caleb.

“Cay…”

Caleb just shook his head; he was shaking all over again and Fjords heart sank at the sight. What the hell had Ikithon done to him? Beau took the plates and stepped past them, whispering a quiet word to Caleb as she did.

“What happened?” Fjord asked, stepping closer slowly “Cay?”

Caleb swallowed and looked behind him, towards the table where the others were still sitting. Veth was standing next to where Caleb had been, holding his spell book and component pouch. Fjord furrowed his brow and turned back to Caleb.

“Want us to put those away for a while?”

Caleb gave one jerky nod, wrapping his arms around his own torso protectively as his eyes wandered back to the book he had loved for as long as Fjord had known him. Fjord wondered just how many times a persons heart could break on another’s behalf.

“Alright, come sit down and try to eat something… I’ll go put them away.”

Caleb looked back at him, blue eyes full of an awful mix of sadness and gratitude. Beau came back over, tugging Caleb over to where she had sat the plates and sitting with him. Fjord made his way to Veth, who held out the book and pouch sadly.

“I… thought he would be happy to have them back… I found them in the front hall after Eodwulf and Astrid poofed.”

“It’s not your fault, he usually would have loved it… whatever Ikithon did this time around really fucked with him” he paused, settling a hand on her shoulder “you did a kind thing Veth, I think he just needs some comfort right now, no one does that as well as you.”

She gave him a weak smile but headed over to where Caleb and Beau were sitting. He left the room, pausing in the hall to try and decide where the best spot to put them away. He made his way into the library, scouted out a spot high up enough that Caleb wouldn’t notice it without actively looking. Temporary contraband stowed away, he found himself moving immediately back to the dining room. There was a pull, stronger than even his usual pull towards Caleb; some deep-rooted instinct that was yelling at him to get back there.

He needs you.

----

A week went by, and Caleb still wouldn’t speak.

Jester and Veth were beside themselves, trying to coax him into it as kindly as possible, while Yasha and Beau had taken to trying to work with him. Admittedly, working with him looked different for each of them.

Yasha would sit in the quiet with him and learned to respond to a lot of the non-verbal cues he had developed; they had taken to spending the afternoons in the garden with Cad, who also seemed fine to just let Caleb sit.

Beau took a more… active role, vocalizing anything that the others hadn’t picked up on yet, and having conversations with him despite being the only one talking.

The one habit they had all picked up, without exception, was coming to Fjord when they weren’t able to understand or help Caleb themselves. When he spaced out and couldn’t be contacted? Fjord. When he would start to shake around anything arcane? Fjord.

When his eyes went glassy and his breathing picked up, and no one could calm him? Yep, Fjord.

Not that Fjord minded, he had taken to sleeping in the library in fact, just to be sure that he was there when (not if: when) Caleb woke screaming.

The screams and incoherent Zemnian babbling in the dark of the night were the only sounds he had made.

Fjord worried, he worried about Caleb’s sleep, and he worried about Caleb’s eating (he wasn’t doing enough of it, in Fjord's opinion). He worried about the awful, banded scars around his wrists, and the tiny puncture scars around his lips. The scarring didn’t seem to hurt, but Fjord had never liked seeing new ones on the wizard to begin with.

They had quiet moments too of course, Fjord would sit with Caleb pressed against his side while they read or go for little walks around the neighborhood. As long as Fjord was there, Caleb seemed calm. He tried not to look too deep into that fact, this wasn’t the time for it.

Near the end of the first week, Essek came by. Luckily, Beau caught him at the door and seemed to go over everything with him. The concern on his face was visible even from the other room as he immediately stopped floating, popped his bag into existence, and hung up his mantel before coming in.

“Good evening everyone, I hope I am not interrupting?”

There was a general call of greeting from the others assembled there, even Caleb looked up and offered a small smile. Essek came and sat down, searching Caleb’s face for a moment before smiling sadly at him.

“It is good to see you back Caleb, I am sorry I did not come to say hello sooner.”

Caleb smiled back and shook his head in a way that said Essek shouldn’t worry about it, which he seemed to understand.

“I brought… well, I brought a few things over, but I worry this may not be a good time for them now…” pale purple eyes turned to Fjord questioningly, and he shrugged. The only way to find out was to try. Essek nodded, reaching into the bag and pulling out a stack of three books. He laid them tentatively in front of Caleb, who eyed them curiously. Fjord felt his heart skip at the sight, Caleb looked almost like himself again.

“This one” Essek taped the first book “is a rare history of the Dynasty, before the Calamity” he shuffled the book off to the side “this one… you may not like right now, but please feel free to hold onto it as long as you like. It is a book of Dunamancy, higher levels than we had been working on before.” He paused to see how Caleb would react, and the whole room seemed to hold its breath.

But… Caleb picked it up, examining the inlaid title for a moment before turning to give Essek another tentative smile.

There was a collective release of breath, and Fjord rubbed his hand up and down Caleb’s spine briefly in congratulations. Essek was beaming, or as close to it as he ever got, and he reached out to tap the last book. It was plain black leather, well made but with no title across the front.

“This one… well, it is nothing quite so exciting I suppose, but I noticed that your secondary notebook seemed to be getting full last time we were together. The paper is not spell quality, but as a journal or for note taking before transcription…” he trailed off, cheeks a darker purple than usual and eyes locked on the cover of the smaller book.

“Thank you.”

Caleb’s voice shocked the room, it was rough from disuse, and quieter than usual. But he was looking at Essek, smiling at him, as he traded the magic tome for the empty notebook. He fought back a frown at the way Essek’s face brightened as he nodded. Caleb looked down, the rounded tips of his ears going red as he pulled the book to his chest protectively.

Fjord didn’t get jealous, he didn’t.

He just… maybe he did a little bit.

----

Three more weeks, it had been a month in total since Caleb came home.

Things had improved, at least a little bit.

He still didn’t speak most of the time, still woke in the night screaming, and hadn’t cast so much as Dancing Lights. But... most of the time is not the same as always, or never. He spoke to Fjord in the night, when he couldn’t sleep, and Fjord would sit holding him the same way he had that first day. He told him of his nightmares, a few snippets of what had happened to him bleeding through into his unconscious mind. It hurt to hear, but Fjord listened.

One such night, Fjord sat with his arm wrapped snug around Caleb's shoulders, and his free hand clenched in both of Caleb's, humming softly as he came back to himself. It had been a bad one, Fjord knew that by the way Caleb had hidden from him, tucked deep into the farthest corner of his bed and barely visible in the dark room.

“I... I am sorry Fjord”

He still whispered most of the time, and Fjord's name sounded more like a prayer than anything else.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for Cay, you know that”

“You say it, but I--” he stopped, hand twitching slightly around Fjords “I still... I am not--”

“You’re not who you were when they took you?”

“How can I be?”

“Without magic? Or with the added nightmares? Or because talking is difficult?”

Caleb shrugged against him as if to say all of the above and Fjord nodded.

“I get that, but here’s the thing Cay” he pulled away slightly, so he could look him in the eyes “you’re still you. I know you don’t feel like it right now, but that’s alright. You didn’t feel like you when you met Veth did you? Or when you met us, all covered in mud and just looking for any excuse to run off.” He leaned it, resting his forehead against Caleb's “I still see the same good man I saw back on the ocean, I still see the ridiculous genius who can backwards engineer magic he didn’t even know existed weeks before. You’re still here darlin’, I see you, you’ve just hidden for a bit” he smiled slightly as Caleb's cheeks darkened “no one blames you for tucking yourself away, and we’ll be here when you’re ready to come back to yourself.”

He leaned back, giving Caleb more space to think over what he had said. His thumb was tracing little swishing movements against the inside of Fjords wrist as he thought, until he finally spoke again.

“If I cannot?”

“Then we’ll help you figure out who this new Caleb is, and love you just the same”

Caleb's lips parted in a little “o” of surprise, and Fjords heart seemed to constrict in his chest as the surprise shifted into a small, grateful smile.

“Danke Fjord, truly”

“Anytime sweetheart”

----

Something shifted after that night, some fearful part of Caleb seemed eased. He tried to talk more, spent more time out of the house with the others. He even started casting again, small spells like Dancing Lights and Find Familiar at first... but that was something. Frumpkin had been overjoyed to be back with his master and followed Caleb everywhere. The mood of the house had lightened extraordinarily, Caleb’s growing happiness infecting everyone. He had picked up the Dunamancy book, and read through it in a day, even making notes on which spells he wanted to discuss with Essek later. Fjord had come to terms with the fact that once Caleb was feeling more himself, their nighttime talks would end... along with the comfortable closeness that they had developed.

Simply put, Caleb wouldn’t need him anymore.

That thought was bittersweet, because of course he was overjoyed to see Caleb healing, talking, casting... doing all the things that made him happy and made him feel like himself again. But if he was honest, and he could be honest with himself at least, he would miss the way Caleb turned to him when he was looking to be understood, or comforted...or held. He would miss that quiet intimacy of always knowing what he was thinking.

Of course, he mused as he flicked through one of the few fiction books they owned one evening, he would still know most of the time... the thing he would miss would be the ability to act on it. The chance to reach out.

He sighed, turning the page and debating just heading to bed early. He would have to start sleeping in his own room again, he supposed.

“May I join you?”

Fjord looked up and smiled, nodding at Caleb as he smiled back. He settled on the couch next to Fjord, who balanced his book on his knee and threw one arm over the back of the couch. Caleb shifted close, book in his lap as he leaned over to peek at what he had been reading.

“Fairytales?”

“Wasn’t in the mood for history, and you know your magic books are incomprehensible to the rest of us” he teased, turning to look into eyes that only looked more magical up close “so, fairytales it is”

“A good choice” he said quietly, reaching out to tap the page “though I never thought you were much of a romantic”

“I could be, if the opportunity arose”

“It has not?” there was a teasing tone to his voice now, matching the little smirk “I am surprised”

Fjord shrugged, there wasn’t much he could say here without just completely giving himself away... if he hadn’t already. Caleb searched his face, and his expression softened before he shifted to lean against Fjords side and opened his own book. They read quietly for a while, the soft sound of pages turning and the crackle of the fireplace the only noise. Maybe he could still have this after all? Caleb seemed just as comfortable as he had lately, maybe these quiet moments could continue.

“I... have been thinking about what you said” Caleb whispered, his hand stilling on the page “about seeing who I am now” he clarified.

“Oh? Do you have some ideas?”

“I think I am... who I was, to a point” he shifted to look up at Fjord “but I have been thinking...”

“You’ve always done a lot of that” Fjord teased, letting the fondness slip into his voice

“Ha-ha” Caleb poked his thigh and rolled his eyes “I mean specifically about—about changes, and how much this has shown me about what I want to be”

“And what is that?”

“Yours”

Fjord stared; eyes wide as he processed the statement. He had to have misheard, or Caleb meant something else or... but Caleb was smiling at him, waiting as the gears turned in his head. Caleb was giving him the same look that Fjord knew he wore when he knew exactly what was going on in Caleb’s head.

“Mine?”

“Yes, if you’ll have me” he stated, rather than asking.

“That wasn’t a question”

“I know”

Bright, sparkling warm joy bubbled in his chest and he found himself smiling along with Caleb as he leaned in and rested their foreheads together. They sat that way for a moment, before Caleb tilted his head forward and captured Fjord with a kiss. Fjord slid the hand that had been on the back of the couch up into Caleb's hair to cup the back of his head as one of Caleb’s hands came to rest against his jaw. The warm slide of their lips had Fjord's head spinning, and by the time they broke apart he was sure he had forgotten how to breathe. Caleb smiled at him fondly, thumb stroking his cheekbone lightly as he spoke:

“Then we understand each other.”

“We always do.”

#Bad Things Happen Bingo #BTHB #Mouth Stitched Shut #Hurt/comfort #brief description of injuries #referenced ptsd #widofjord #caleb widogast #fjord #critical role fanfiction