#clincal whump

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Unintentional 19

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As always, beta-read by @alittlewhump <3

CW: BBU, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization. Explicit language. Surgical/medical whump and subsequent side effects and trauma. Blink-and-you'll-miss-it implied whump of a minor. General suicidal ideation/hopelessness. Drugging mention, being held down. hospital setting.

A part of him had been expecting this, had known failure was his fate. He was beyond mourning the loss of his volition. That had been signed away by his parents before he’d even had a chance to come into it. The handful of deviations he’d managed since had seemed just as pre-determined as the original. He’d been born into this current and there was no getting out of it. Fighting might create ripples on the surface, in the right conditions, but they never reached the undertow. There was no chance of planting his feet. To find relief, was to give up something in exchange for being held.

But waking up back on Harrison’s table, no matter how much he’d been prepared for the outcome, still felt like he’d been washed into a perilous current. He came into it heart racing, fear coursing through his veins, gasping for air as he struggled to surface. 

Hands were pulling him out of it, holding him against the table. He struggled beneath them, kicking and thrashing. He wasn’t ready to be anchored down. “Mmmm’nnnn—” the sounds slurred, even worse than usual.

“—if he makes too much noise, I’ll have to put him under again.” 

A whimper escaped his lips. “Nnnn—Nononono—please!” He didn’t want to feel it when Harrison started but it would only get worse, he’d rather they save the drugs for later. He never got enough. He hoped Harrison would underestimate what a lightweight he was now. The heart monitor picked up its efforts, loud enough to drown out his continued pleas. 

“Leo. What do you want me to do?” 

His eyes flew open. It was bright, clinically bright, but he let that all wash into the background. Leo was standing over him. It wasn’t Leo at all. He was wearing a surgical cap and gown, matching blue mask covering his face. No, it wasn’t Leo holding him down, those weren’t his hands in the gloves. 

Not Leo. 

Aiden knew he’d given him no choice but to return his fundamentally-defective purchase. He’d been able to imagine Leo disappointed but never anything else. Never angry, never vengeful, never violent. It wasn’t in his eyes. No matter how fitting it would have been. No matter how many times Aiden had received worse for less. Even with the constant ambiguity Leo had tested him with. 

Those same eyes searched his face now, exactly as he’d remembered if a little bloodshot. “Aiden—”

He cried out to cut off Leo’s gentle voice.

Leo wasn’t capable of this. He’d never laid a hand on Aiden. He wasn’t like Harrison. He wasn’t a monster.

He couldn’t be. 

“Nnnnn—” He shook his head and tried to pull away but there was nowhere to go except to cower against the table. He couldn’t push Leo away either, he held him fast by the wrist and shoulder. Pinning his arm down. Just like the doctor at his side, a woman he didn’t even look at long enough to try to recognize from last time.

“Leo.”

Leo looked away from Aiden to make eye contact with her for a moment. “I know.” His gaze returned to Aiden’s. “Please, Hon. I need you—”

Another cry tore out of his chest as he struggled. They were running out of time. 

Harrison could always hear him. Harrison was always watching. Harrison was coming to punish him. To cut him apart, piece by piece. Peel skin from muscle, muscle from bone. Slice through tendons and ligaments. Until he was a different kind of monster.

Not with Leo. Thinking about Leo being there forced the air from his lungs.

Leo had to leave. 

He had to leave and take whatever this feeling was with him. It was worse than the sadness and regret that he’d failed and had to leave, one way or another.

This was greater, wilder. Fragile and terrifying.

He hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t known. He’d thought this simply wasn’t for him. It just didn’t make sense.

There had never once been a time it had been something valued or appreciated, not even in himself. It already felt like his chest was imploding, he couldn’t breathe under the weight of what he’d freely given.

Aiden couldn’t fathom how it could possibly find a way to hurt even more and that frightened him more than whatever unimaginable physical pain Harrison had planned for him. He was breathless and sobbing, begging for Leo to leave but all the words were incoherent. All his twisting and fighting against their hands lit his arms on fire. 

“Fuck it.” Leo lifted his hands. 

Aiden froze, cutting off mid-cry. Would this be it? He squeezed his eyes shut, couldn’t bear to see the change as Leo broke the terrible aching trust Aiden had mislaid between them. 

But Leo just slid one hand under his knees and the other behind his shoulders. 

His eyes flew open. 

Leo wasn’t wearing the mask or cap anymore and was lifting him off the table.

No, it was a bed.

All along a bed and Leo was taking the blankets with them. He took a few steps back and sat down in a chair against the wall, beneath a window.

There weren’t any windows at WRU. If he wasn’t at WRU, where was he? What if Harrison was here, too? And if Leo hadn’t returned him, what would his punishment be?

He started trembling, breath growing ragged again. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Easy, Hon.” Leo pulled him closer. “It’s okay. You’re safe, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Leo had never held him like this.

He could remember just shards of a moment with only fragments of a person, the only one who had ever held him like this. He’d felt strong in those arms. 

Even though he’d been given no indication or permission, Aiden reached out to put his hand on Leo’s shoulder. When Leo didn’t push him away, he leaned his head toward the opposite shoulder, stopping just shy of resting against it. He steeled himself before looking up to check, certain it might be too much, but Leo’s gaze was already on him. 

“Yeah, Aiden. That’s okay,” Leo breathed. He cleared his throat but his voice still only came out as a whisper, “Come’ere.” He lifted his shoulder to meet Aiden’s temple, hand coming to cradle his cheek.

Aiden held his breath, waiting for Leo to let go. 

But he didn’t. 

Underneath his right ear, he could hear Leo’s heartbeat. It was slower than his. He gathered a fistful of Leo’s shirt in his hand and the rhythm remained steady. Leo still didn’t let go. 

Maybe Aiden didn’t have to let go of anything either. 

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#bbu #box boy whump #box boy universe #box boy rescue #surgical whump #bbu whump #whump #whumpblr #whumpee thinks caretaker is new master #conditioning tw #institutionalized slavery tw #dehumanization tw #clincal whump #medical whump #hospital whump #drugging mention tw #restrained tw #Aiden's capital-T Trauma #there are some other fun blink and you'll miss it breadcrumbs #this is all feeling uncomfortably hopeful #ugh what if i like actually write fluff now #i hope you're all happy with this unicorns and rainbows post

[psifitopia]

help please?  whump fic

Could I get some feedback on the fic I’m writing for MacGyver May?  It’s Mac whump, where Murdoc does the comforting.  No non-con.   If you want a link to everything I’ve written on this, I’ll send it to you, but what follows is just the part where Murdoc shows up and what has happened so far after that.   General feedback is welcome, but I need to know if the emotional tensions I’m trying for are coming through or if it’s too clincal? Flat?  idk  lol  Thank you for any help! :D

Someone unexpected was coming.  Murdoc had woken up in a hotel room.  Along with some warm clothes, including a heavy, leather jacket, someone had left a letter, giving him directions to this place and the keys to a truck.  Supposedly, the person was interested in helping Murdoc destroy the Phoenix Foundation and had promised he would find something of interest here.  Well, Murdoc was certainly intrigued.  He had parked a few yards back from his destination and was stealthily making the rest of the trip on foot.  Fortunately, his supposed benefactor had left him a gun and some bullets.  Murdoc had thoroughly inspected both, taking the gun apart and cleaning it, before deciding it was safe to use.  

Hearing the roar of a truck approaching, Murdoc disappeared into the shadows of the surrounding trees, waiting until the truck was gone, before moving ahead.  He approached his destination from the side, noticing movement in the back.  Murdoc crept around, watching as a man shoveled dirt into a grave.  Gregory.  Murdoc recognized him from his own past, doing jobs for the Organization.  Gregory's task was about half done. Weirdly, a hollow tube was sticking up from the site.  Noticing the cross, Murdoc crept around to read what it said:  Angus MacGyver. Laid to rest November 24th, 2019.

Without thinking, Murdoc aimed and fired his gun, killing Gregory instantly. Murdoc ran forward.  Surely the tube was for breathing?  The thought that MacGyver was already dead was...unacceptable.  Murdoc ignored his own racing heart, telling himself it was just from exertion.  Grabbing the shovel, he began removing the dirt from the grave, working furiously.  He forced himself not to think or examine his own motives.  He'd get his boyscout out and come up with excuses later.  After a couple of feet, the shovel hit something softer than dirt and a cry of pain could be heard clearly.  Tossing the shovel away, Murdoc began clawing the dirt out with his bare hands.  

The cry of pain echoed through Murdoc's mind in an alarming way, as he worked, the icy soil tearing at his fingers.  The closest comparison he could find for the sensation was the way he felt, whenever Cassian was crying.  Not fitting at <i>all</i>, he told himself, scornfully.  

With enough dirt cleared, MacGyver struggled into a sitting position, taking deep, gulping breaths from the tube.  Murdoc drew a knife, then cut away the tape holding the tube in place and the ties around his feet and hands.  Uneasily, Murdoc took in MacGyver's state.  The boyscout was nearly naked and shivering violently.  Even through the light layer of dirt on MacGyver, Murdoc could see his injuries, the dirt, mixed with blood, clinging to the cuts.  Fierce anger and protectiveness welled up in him.  No!  Not protectiveness, <i>possessiveness</i>, Murdoc told himself angrily, but he didn't listen, not even to himself.  

Murdoc froze, eyes wide, when MacGyver's gaze focused on him.

"Murdoc?" MacGyver asked, confused, almost not believing it.

He was too cold, tired, and wounded to hide his vulnerability.  He gazed at his nemesis and trembled, waiting for whatever would come, shoving away the part of him that wanted to hope.  Murdoc just nodded slightly at him, a strange expression blazing in his dark eyes.  He looked...alarmed?  MacGyver winced, as icy water started falling on him, the sky opening up and delivering sheets of sleet on their heads.  Murdoc gave an angry hiss, launching to his feet.  Too weak to fight, MacGyver wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to control his shaking.  To his surprise, Murdoc scooped MacGyver up into his arms, holding him close.  They made it to the door in just a few strides of Murdoc's long legs.

Fortunately, Gregory and Mason had left the door unlocked.  Murdoc got it open and carried MacGyver inside, like a groom carrying his bride over a threshold.  The thought made MacGyver giggle hysterically.  

"Don't you lose it on me, Boyscout," Murdoc said, fuming.  "You're going to explain what's going on to me!"

MacGyver nodded, though he wanted to tell Murdoc he didn't know.  What did Murdoc have to do with any of this?  Shouldn't he already know, himself?  The questions became unimportant, as Murdoc found the bathroom and set MacGyver on the sink.  Murdoc grabbed the box of handi-wipes sitting on the back of the toilet and began cleaning away the dirt that clung to MacGyver.  MacGyver cried out in pain, surprised, when Murdoc stopped for a moment or two, before continuing.

"I know, Boyscout, but we have to get you warmed up and those cuts and burns tended," Murdoc said, grimly.  "Just take it easy."  

MacGyver nodded, too confused to be worried, as Murdoc cleaned him.  Once that was done, Murdoc grabbed a towel from the rack and dried MacGyver's hair.  MacGyver let him, his thoughts rolling around.  Why?  Why was Murdoc helping him?  How had the assassin even <i>found</i> him?   MacGyver wasn't as surprised as he wanted to be, that Murdoc had managed to escape.  It was kind of his thing, really.  MacGyver tried not to be touched by the care he was receiving.  He couldn't afford that.  

"I'm not thinking clearly," MacGyver told Murdoc, the words trying to twist his tongue into knots.

He was fairly certain it was a stupid thing to say, anyway.

"You're in no condition to be thinking," Murdoc said, dryly, going through the medicine cabinet, then the drawers on the side of the sink.  "Just...worry about it later."

Murdoc found a thermometer and popped it into MacGyver's mouth, then continued rummaging. He managed to find antibiotic ointment, dressing, and bandage tape.  The thermometer went off and Murdoc took it out, studying the reading, with a grimace.  

"Ninety-five point nine," Murdoc announced.  "You are on the verge of hypothermia."

"Fun," MacGyver replied.  "Explains the exhaustion, shivering, nausea..."

"Shut up, Boyscout," Murdoc advised.

He liberally slathered MacGyver's burns and wounds with the ointment, then bandaged them.  MacGyver gave a sigh, still shaking from cold.  He sneezed, the sound almost startling him into falling off the sink.  Murdoc chuckled, catching him.

"Easy, Angus.  You're gonna end up with a fever, if we don't get you warm, soon.  Stay right here.  I'm going to find you some clothes."

MacGyver considered obeying.  He felt weak and disoriented.  But, breathing deeply, he caught the faint scent of wood smoke.  Stumbling and catching at the walls for balance, he followed it and found himself in a cozy living room with a blazing fire roaring in the fireplace.  Had Murdoc had time to do that?  Or was it Gregory?  Would he have doused the fire, before leaving?  Or, had he left?  Shivering, MacGyver sat as close to the fire as he could stand, staring into the flames and listening to the crackling of the wood.  Something glinted and caught his eye.  A sliver of glass was at the edge of the fire, surrounded by black plastic.  

His cell phone.  His cell phone was in the fire.  It must have been there for a while, he mused.  It was almost all gone, melted away.

"MACGYVER!" Murdoc shouted from the bathroom.

MacGyver started, then blinked.  Wow.  The man certainly had a good set of lungs.  He ignored the note of concern in the man's voice.  MacGyver was probably just imagining it, anyway.  He took a breath.

"Here!" he called, the sound coming out weakly and inducing a coughing fit.  

Murdoc strode into the room, his face set into hard lines.  His expression softened a bit when he spotted MacGyver and the fire.  He held up MacGyver's leather coat, which was on top of a pile of MacGyver's clothes.

"Looky what I found, Boyscout.  Your ridiculous jacket!  Come on, get dressed," Murdoc ordered, dropping the clothes beside MacGyver.  

Nodding, MacGyver reached for his pants, but his fingers weren't cooperating.  It took him a try or two, before managing to snag the pants and draw them closer.  Once he had them, he sat, looking at them, feeling clumsy.  He looked up, when Murdoc sighed.  Reaching out, he took the pants back and grabbed MacGyver's foot.  MacGyver peered owlishly at his own extremity, wondering what Murdoc wanted with it.  Murdoc drew the foot into the pants' leg, then grabbed the other one, repeating the move.  MacGyver picked at the bunched up cloth around his knee, making Murdoc laugh.  He slipped MacGyver's feet into his socks, then stood.

"Can you stand on your own?" Murdoc asked.

"I don't know," MacGyver answered mildly, making no move to find out, too tired to care.

"Well, then," Murdoc said dryly, putting his hands under MacGyver's armpits and lifting him to his feet.  

"You're strong," MacGyver told him, blinking.  

"Yes, I am," Murdoc agreed, somewhere between amused and alarmed.  

The cold was definitely getting to his boyscout's magnificent brain.  Murdoc lifted MacGyver's hands up above his shoulders.

"Keep those there," he ordered.

MacGyver obeyed, head tilted in curiosity.  Murdoc slipped MacGyver's sweater over his head, placing his hands into the sleeves and tugging them into place.  

"There.  Now, you're all cozy and ready for bed," Murdoc said, cheerfully.

"Bed?  It's not dark out.  I haven't even had lunch!"

"I'm going to get some food together, while you take a nap and warm up."

"I'm thirsty," MacGyver complained.  

"I'll bring you some broth."

Murdoc led MacGyver into a bedroom, maneuvering him into the middle of a king-sized bed.  He started to drape the blankets over MacGyver, but the boyscout began thrashing, shoving the blankets away.  

"Stop it, Angus.  You need to get warm."

"No!  I don't want them."

"Tough," Murdoc said ruthlessly, shoving MacGyver back.

"Murdoc, please!" MacGyver begged, his breath coming in heavy gasps.  "Shoot me first."

"Beg your pardon?" Murdoc asked, warily.

"Don't bury me alive.  Please."

Murdoc froze, the blankets still in his hands.  Well.  Hell.  Okay, he supposed that made sense, sort of, psychologically.

"Okay," Murdoc soothed.  "We'll find a way, without the blankets.  Lay down and I'll see what I can find."  

"Okay," MacGyver agreed, laying down.

Well, great.  Now what?  Murdoc fumed.  He ought to just strip down and use his own body heat to warm MacGyver up, but...he really did need to get them both something to eat.  He looked around, opening the bedroom closet.  Inside was a microfiber bathrobe, obviously meant for someone taller and heftier than MacGyver.  He also found a heavy, wool beanie.

"All right, these should do, in place of blankets.  Stand up and put these on."  

MacGyver struggled to his feet, wrestling with the clothes.  Murdoc disappeared for a couple of minutes, coming back with a large mug of broth.  Thoroughly layered, MacGyver drank the broth, then laid down on top of the blankets, curling in on himself.  Whatever Murdoc did next, MacGyver planned on sleeping right through it.   He fell into a blessedly dreamless, healing sleep.  

MacGyver drifted reluctantly awake, as his stomach protested being empty.  Groaning, he forced himself to sit up, rubbing at his eyes.  A warm, pungent smell that hadn't been there before drifted into the bedroom.  His stomach rumbled hungrily, as MacGyver breathed in the scent.  He wasn't sure what he was smelling, though he thought he detected carrots.  He just knew he wanted some.  MacGyver followed his nose, making his way to the kitchen and dining area.  

Murdoc sat in a chair at the heavy, wooden table, placing a spoonful of stew into his mouth.  Looking about, MacGyver spotted a large pot, being kept warm on the stove.  

"Help yourself, Angus," Murdoc invited.  "I didn't drag you out of that hole just to poison you."  

"Guess not," MacGyver agreed, roughly, going over to the stove and spooning stew into the bowl left out for him.  "How did you escape?"

"I didn't.  I was kidnapped," Murdoc claimed, amused.

"I beg your pardon?" MacGyver asked, confused.  "What does that even mean?"

"It means, my evening meal was drugged.  I fell asleep in my cell and woke up in a hotel room.  Someone left me a letter, directing me here."

"Mason," MacGyver clarified, bitterly.  "It had to be him, but why?  What does he want with you?"  

"I don't know.  Apparently, he thought I'd find your death of interest."  

"I was kind of under that impression myself."

"Oh, c'mon, MacGyver.  I'm not going to kill my best bud!" Murdoc claimed, boldly.

Somehow, he didn't think MacGyver was going to believe any future threats against his life, not that Murdoc didn't intend to still make them.   He had to have some fun!  

#feedback #whump #MacGyver #murdoc #macdoc #fanfiction #fanfic