#no. 25 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quietlyimplode · 6 months

Text

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: day 25 - buried alive

Warnings: thoughts on death

Word Count: 1.3k (gif not mine)

Summary: The tower shakes, and the avengers scramble.

A/N: 6 to go friends. Almost there.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

2014

NEW YORK

Yelena feels nothing as she plummets down.

Death, she thinks, should feel different; life flashing before your eyes, regrets, pleasures; something.

It makes her feel unbelievably sad.

She thought maybe in death, it might be peaceful, a release, not sadness and continued grief for what she doesn’t have.

Closing her eyes, she doesn’t bother to look down, waiting for the inevitable pain of death.

Instead, she hears a whoosh and warm body next to her and a tight grip underneath her armpits, then swinging them both into a nearby window with the momentum from a grappling hook attached to an arrow.

The bundle and roll into the building, enters them into the kitchen, as Clint breaks her fall.

He groans.

“Shit,” she repeats.

Glass everywhere, she picks it out of leg and shakes her hair, then goes to help him up.

“That would have been a stupid way to die,” she smiles at him.

He takes her hand and stands.

“It really would have,” he agrees.

The building groans, and she holds on to both Clint and the nearby bench.

“Do you think it will fall?” she asks looking towards the ceiling.

“Natasha’s up there somewhere.”

Clint nods.

“Yeah, she is, so is some of our friends,” he tells her.

“Oh,” Yelena replies, looking around at the Christmas decorations and stopping for a moment.

“How many do you think?”

“Six? If Bruce - the big green monster, has got out then it’s six.”

She nods.

She’s aware of Natasha’s powerful friends. The man of steel, the monster, the god, and the superhero.

She wonders just who will greet them when they make their way up.

Clint looks up and groans at the amount of stairs.

They both feel the shake, much like an earthquake, that rocks the building again; this time though, parts of the building move with it.

Clint covers over Yelena and raises his arms in protection of them both.

It shocks her, someone protecting her.

It’s never happened, not since Natasha.

She looks up at the man protecting her from debris in a stairwell and feels an intensity of emotion that she doesn’t really understand.

Sam smiles at the hole now opened up underneath him, and whilst he realises it can’t be good, he sees a way out and makes his way down the fissure of the tower.

He moves slowly and carefully down, trying not to make anything else move.

He’s surprised not to see Tony and the suits around him, and wonders why we hasn’t come across anyone just yet.

He looks around, dead worry sitting in his chest.

“Hello?” he calls hopefully.

“Sam?”

Peppers voice calls out and then she coughs.

He moves towards the sound of her voice, hoping she’s okay.

“Pepper?”

“Sam, we’re down here, I can’t move out and I can’t find Tony,” she says, slightly panicked.

Sam feels flashes to the war.

Picking bodies out of buildings.

He swallows hard.

“It’s okay Pepper, I’m coming,” he says, hopping further down.

“Keep talking to me, okay? Where’s Tony? When did you see him?”

He finally gets to where she’s stuck.

Sam smiles; trying to be reassuring.

“He’s somewhere here, we were in the room, the door was locked and he was trapped, Tony, he; he was stuck. I think… I think it had fallen on his arm.”

Moving some rubble from around her, he reaches and touches her arm.

“I’ll find him,” he promises, “grab my hand and we’ll try and pull you out, okay?”

He protects her head and helps her out to a clearing: she doesn’t look more worse for wear, just dusty and dirty.

“We’ll find him,” he says again as she hugs him.

Steve holds Natasha tight, grabbing Maria’s arm as the building moves.

“We need to get out of here,” he says redundantly.

“Tony, Pepper and Sam are somewhere here,” Natasha says, worried.

Maria nods.

“We’ll find them,” she says confidently.

Steve calls out their names, and they stop, listening for a response but don’t hear anything.

Natasha moves ahead, rounding the corner and calling again.

“Tony?”

“Nat?”

“Sam?”

“We’re down here!”

Maria moves with Natasha, carefully moving down the stairs and following Sam’s voice.

Natasha moves towards Pepper and gives her a hug, her panic visible on her face.

“We can’t find Tony,” she says, tears on her face.

Assessing the situation, Natasha notices the wings on Sam’s back and the fact that building has moved in twenty minutes.

“Do your wings work?” she asks.

Sam nods, “I think so.”

Natasha turns to Maria and Pepper.

“Do you think you can coordinate the fire and police on the ground?” she asks Maria.

Maria looks around and nods.

“I can send more help, I think,” she agrees.

Pepper shakes her head.

“I know what you’re going to say, I don’t want to leave without knowing he’s okay.”

Natasha nods.

“I know, but Clint’s down there too, and probably Bruce and we need to know they’re okay too,” she rationalises.

Pepper looks around to Steve and then Sam and finally nods.

“Okay…” she says, wiping at her face.

“Okay.”

The tower doesn’t move.

Sirens fill the air and she’s thankful that the fire below will finally be put out.

She wonders how Clint and Yelena are going and just where Bruce ended up.

Natasha trusts Maria to organise the emergency services, and Pepper to keep it together long enough.

“Tony!” Natasha calls.

“Tony!” Steve repeats.

There’s no response.

She drops down, hitting something soft. She thinks for a minute that it’s a bed or couch but when she sees two large eyes and a nose.

The stupid rabbit.

She laughs despite herself.

Pepper’s stupid Christmas rabbit stuck in between concrete chunks of building.

Tony had put a Christmas hat on it and everything.

She sighs, and then, she sees his hand.

“Steve!” she calls, “he’s here!”

She tries to find a way, to him, blocked by debris.

“Help me,” she says, as he drops down near her.

Steve’s strength is something else, and Natasha has never been so thankful for it.

They clear the way around Tony, and find him knocked out on Pepper’s rabbit.

Steve pulls Tony free, his arm bent strangely and gashes on his body.

“Why wouldn’t he have used his suit to protect himself?” Steve wonders aloud.

“EMP,” Natasha deduces, “killed the power of the entire tower, probably the suits as well.”

She checks he’s breathing and sits back next to him.

Holding his good hand, Natasha sighs.

“What happened?” she asks, “who came? What were they looking for?”

Steve shrugs.

“Jarvis would know,” Natasha says, looking up and around.

“I think the only reason the building is still standing is thanks to the reinforcements Tony put in after the attack.”

Steve checks on him again.

“Tony?”

Still nothing.

“Sam knows to come back right?”

He sits next to Natasha and places his hand on Tony’s leg.

“I think so,” she replies, squeezing Tony’s hand again.

Clint feels concrete fall on his head and just manages to stay conscious as he stares down at Yelena, covering her like a child.

Natasha would kill him if anything happened to her.

He moves and drags her with him to underneath a feels like a stable clearing.

“Are you okay?” he asks, resisting the urge to touch his head where he’s sure it’s bleeding.

“Are you?” she retorts.

There’s more commotion above and he hears Natasha’s voice.

“Come on,” he guides and pulls her to the stairs.

#whumptober2023 #no. 25 #buried alive #the avengers #avengers fic #natasha romanoff #clintasha #black widow #clint barton #my fic #hawkeye #natasha romanoff fic #clintasha fanfic #clintasha fanfiction #yelena belova

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ashintheairlikesnow · 6 months

Text

To Unchain Me

@whumptober 24 & 25, Neglect & Storm

CW: Gender dysphoria, captivity, nonhuman whumpee...

One hundred and fifty-one years later...

The last thing Kiraya Losna did before she left the boarding house was a little bit of magic.

Standing before the mirror in her walking shoes in a blue casual dress and with her straight black hair caught at her neck and pinned in place with a small stylish cloche to top it off, she still had to swallow back the depth of unease she felt at her reflection. This body simply had never felt fully her own, without help.

So she took in a deep breath and drew a symbol on the silver-backed glass, crafting a spell that was sent back out and smoothed itself into her skin.

She did it every day, the way some women dressed using complicated undergarments to enhance busts and hips or layered cosmetics to make their lips look like perfect bows.

Kiraya Losna needed a little more assistance than that to feel at home in her own body.

It wasn’t an optical illusion, either, and this was what she was most proud of. It was a true modification, and it never felt like a waste of the power the spell took to cast.

She had painstakingly created the symbols for it herself during her time in apprenticeship, a spell that existed entirely for her and would work on no other. Even as she looked at herself, she watched the magic create a shift at the bodice of the dress and a corresponding change beneath - the slight change in weight and shape felt like slipping into her real body. She exhaled, then, a smile playing around suddenly fuller lips. She added new curves to her hips, removed the unwelcome between her legs. Her center of gravity shifted, the line of her jaw softened. She even took the time to widen her eyes and smooth the skin on her hands.

The Kiraya in the mirror now reflected the one within her mind, and she felt finally at ease.

The spell didn't last after she slept, so it had to be redone each day. One day her continued research would unlock the secret to permanence, but she hadn't discovered it yet. Once she did, though, she would offer the spell to anyone who wanted it, throwing happiness around like paper pieces in a parade, and her name would be known.

Once the spell settled, she leaned forward to check her teeth, then rechecked her hair and her hat just to be sure. Everything looked good, and she felt good, and today was going to be a very, very good day that ended with a handful of very good gold coins in the jingling bag she kept hidden in the secret pockets within her skirt.

Coin by coin, she was headed towards riches.

Already she’d gone from boarding in ramshackle homes where supper consisted of thin soup and hard bread to the nicer ones with new paint only just starting to peel in sea air, the kinds of homes that often had fresh vegetables alongside the main dish.

Kiraya took a deep breath, fixed her usual slight smile on her face, and stepped out of her room, giving the woman who ran the boardinghouse a kiss on each cheek before she walked out the door, down the steps, and into the hustle and bustle of the city. The streets were muddy, but her skirt was a little scandalously high and so her hem stayed clean. Her boots she could spell clean, once she made it to her destination - no point in doing so before that.

People nodded, sometimes, and she nodded in return. Butchers hung fresh cuts of meat in the window, a man set fresh fish on pallets of magicked ice to keep them cold. Two women argued over which one was truly married to their shared husband while a handful of children watched with wide eyes.

Why such a high-in-the-world man as her new employer would choose to live in the largest city on the Continent was beyond Kira’s understanding, but she didn’t have to understand it. She only had to do her job, take the incredibly large payout he offered, and then come back in ten years if she wished.

She caught a cab, the man pulling his horses up short when she raised her hand to get his attention. When she gave him the address she had been given, he whistled through the gap in his front teeth. “His Lordship? That’s a fancy place to be going for someone coming from this part of town, Miss.”

As always, hearing herself called miss made her feel warm in ways she could never have fully explained. It made her smile wider and she sat back against the padded back of the cab’s seat and inhaled the smoke-smell of the city air. “He’s a very fancy man, so I’ve been told.”

“That he is. What’s he calling on you for?” His voice held a note of suspicion, and she nearly laughed at the idea that he thought she - with her sensible dress and shoes - might be a woman of some impure trade out here at barely midmorning. "Not meant to offend, Miss, just curiosity."

“No offense taken. I am a magician,” She answered, closing her eyes and pulling the slight, curved brim of her cloche down to block the morning sun from shining right on her eyelids. “His Lordship requires magic, I require his money, and so we both benefit handsomely."

The driver hummed, but he slapped the reins down slightly on his horses’ rumps and they began to walk, picking up speed until the cab bumped cheerfully along at something slightly less than a trot.

Kira smoothed at her skirt, taking the occasional glance at the endless ocean of people they passed. Her look was maybe a little too casual for an audience with his Lordship, but those she'd spoken to when asking around had said Lord Wentworth was too preoccupied with his obscene wealth to trouble himself with such things as propriety, and she wasn't exactly going there to look and act like some simpering noble lady.

Kiraya Losna had work to do.

She was going to write magic into the skin of a vicious sea serpent, and she was going to drown in money as a result.

She couldn't wait.

Lord Guilford Wentworth - he was the fourth of his name, a family much given to repetition, Kira supposed - lived in an enormous manor house.

His grounds took up two entire blocks of the city, his estate larger than most parks. Supposedly, his own great-grandfather, the first Lord Wentworth, had bought up acres of land and simply razed the buildings already there to the ground, scattering the inhabitants to the winds so he could cart in new trees and bushes and flowers and builders. Even, supposedly, wild animals for him or his houseguests to hunt.

Kira could see, as the cab made its way along the winding, tree-lined lane - the damn thing was paved, not cobblestoned, and the cab ride smoothed out into new realms of comfort - towards the enormous house slowly rising before her, where the scars of what had once been busy city streets could still be seen, if you knew what you were looking for.

Magic wound in and out of it all, and her fingers twitched, itching to jump down and touch each and every tree. She wanted to read the signature of the magic used to grow them so quickly, so that each seemed centuries old, even if she knew they couldn’t be. There had been strong magic used here, it must have taken a whole team of magicians hard at work to make it happen. What sort of payment had the Lord offered, to make it worth draining themselves so thoroughly?

As they traveled, clouds had begun to gather, wiping away the warm sunlight that had met her this morning. She shivered a little as the wind picked up a chill, casting a spell of subtle warmth that brought her back to what comfort could be found in a cab with an open top on such a day.

Finally, the cab driver pulled his horses to a stop in front of a huge house. It had two stories, but it spread out on each side like a great bird spreading its wings. Kiraya swallowed back a sudden rise of nervousness, clutching the leather strap of her bag, and took a deep breath.

When the driver held his hand out, she took it, and carefully stepped down from the cab and onto a well-paved driveway. A few coins, plus an extra couple, ensured he would return before the evening meal to take her back home. He tipped his own hat to her and she watched the cab’s horses make their meandering way back down the lane, leaving her feeling oddly like someone who had been dropped alone in the middle of a forest rather than standing in a busy city whose inhabitants were only a few treetops away.

Funny, how quiet it was here, right in the heart of the city. If she hadn’t known where she was, she’d never have guessed.

Then she turned, her eyes moving up to take in her new place of employment.

The house was white, with columns in the classical style over wide, shallow steps. A man with his hands behind his back, standing tall and straight, met her at the bottom of them. “Miss Losna?” He asked, his voice rich but somehow still without warmth.

“Yes, sir.” She let her gaze wander, just a little. The door behind him was wooden, with stained glass insets that showed mermaids leaping from water. It was beautiful work, and yet something about it made her instincts prickle with unease. “I am Kiraya Losna, the magician."

“Excellent.” The man stepped slightly to the side. “I am Heinri Babbage, His Lordship’s head of house. His Lordship is working on some correspondence of much importance now, but if you would follow me inside, I can see to your comfort until he is available.”

Kira fought back a frown. He had been the one to tell her to come at this time, and now he could not see her without making her wait? It seemed like a rich man’s trick, something to make him at ease and her uncertain. Why he would bother, she didn’t know - she wasn’t another noble, she was just someone hoping to work for him.

Still, she smoothed out her expression into something blandly pleasant and nodded. “Of course. I don’t suppose I could see the creature I am meant to work with-”

“Not yet.” Babbage - the butler, she supposed the head of house would be a butler, she hadn’t had all that much truck with the wealthier families who had handfuls of servants doing all the work for them - cleared his throat. “Apologies for interrupting you, Miss Losna. It is only that… well… it took some time to find someone able to take on the task, and…”

Kira waited. Then, when he didn’t finish his sentence, she frowned. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“... in a manner of speaking. The creature’s welfare has been... neglected of late. The magic must be settled once every ten years, and it has been eleven since our last magician tendered her resignation… The creature has become… unpredictable.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and she held up a hand, looking up at the clouds, but no rain yet fell.

Her eyes narrowed, looking over Babbage’s stern expression. Whatever his true feelings were he kept them well hidden. She nodded, slowly. “I understand. I should still like to see it, Mr. Babbage. If His Lordship wouldn’t mind, of course. I can spell protection for us both, and whatever has happened to it, it cannot harm us.”

“He… might mind.” Babbage winced, but after a moment’s hesitation, something flickered in his eyes and he nodded and moved up the steps, Kiraya following him. The door swung open with hardly a whisper, and she took a step forward into the grandest entryway she had ever seen.

Before her, a double staircase wound upwards to the second floor, with a chandelier hanging in crystalline grandeur from the high ceiling. Beneath her feet was expensive black-and-white tile. Even just the entryway seemed like a ballroom in size and magnificence. The sheer amount it must cost to maintain such a home nearly took her breath away, and made her heart beat faster at the promise of just how much this man could afford to pay her for her work.

Babbage led her not up the stairs but off to the right, and she followed, hurrying along. Around her, servants were hard at work. Again, everything seemed normal for the home of a rich man, and yet something in her intuition was ringing alarm bells at high pitch inside her mind.

It was something about how damn happy everyone here looked, maybe. They were all smiling and chatting and walking as if heading to a happy holiday. It wasn't at all like they were working a hard, laborious job. Something… something was wrong.

They moved down a long hallway, lined with portraits of the various Lords Guilford Wentworth and their families. The Guilfords all looked more or less identical to one another, and only the names and faces of the wives and children seemed to change. The wives caught her eye first.

Eliza, Neandra, Liselle, Marguerite… All of them had the same identical, dreamy smile on their faces, and all the children seemed oddly solemn and unsmiling by comparison. Kiraya found herself pausing by the most recent of the family portraits, the one where the wife was named Marguerite. This showed a young Guilford Wentworth the Fifth, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old at most.

Magic, coiled inside Kiraya, sparked at the sight of the young man’s flat eyes. She inhaled sharply. “Do... any of His Lordship’s children live here?” Kira asked, hoping it sounded like idle curiosity.

Babbage smiled, a little ruefully, where he walked beside her. “Sadly, no. His Lordship’s children are prone to flights of fancy, and he is far too indulgent after the death of their mother. I believe the eldest, Guilford Wentworth the Fifth - he turned eighteen this past September, you know - is in the isles looking after his father’s financial interests in the colonies. Her Ladyship Miss Nathalie, sixteen, is staying at the Lord’s home in Yawnee City at the Howe estate, and the twins are just now eleven and are still away at finishing school. It is a large and very lonely home His Lordship lives in, if you’ll forgive me the sentiment, since Madam Marguerite passed away.”

“No forgiveness needed,” She murmured. When she glanced sidelong at him, Babbage had tears in his eyes. What hired man had ever cared enough to cry over their employer’s sad family life? Her sense of unease grew. “May I ask what happened?”

“She-...” Babbage’s voice caught. He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “She took terribly ill… She did not recover. Tuberculosis. It is a family curse, I think at times."

Her sense of unease grew. “And he has no interest in remarrying?”

“No, the Wentworth fortune requires that each Lord marries just once to bear children, and not again.”

“... Huh. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of such specific standards for the inheritance of money, it’s quite common for men to remarry-”

“Not the Lords Wentworth.” Babbage stopped before a heavy set of double doors, locked with a chain and padlocked as well. “This is where the monster dwells. It has been too dangerous for any of us to step inside, it has become increasingly aggressive and prone to violence. Miss Losna, I must caution you against-”

“I want to see it,” Kira said, faking a strength she didn’t quite feel. Something about a locked door had always made her feel a stubborn need to see what was being kept from her. She’d been in trouble plenty as a child for learning to pick the lock to her father’s study, but eventually he’d learned if he didn’t lock the door, she lost interest.

“Miss, it could do you great harm-”

“It won’t.” She swallowed, and then drew a symbol over her own chest, pulling magic not only from within herself but from the very air around her. When it settled, she felt it - a film as thin as gossamer silk and impenetrable as heavy steel, yet equally invisible to the naked eye. “Open the door, please. I want to see what I am working with.”

“I am sorry, Miss Losna,” Babbage said, and he sounded so achingly sincere she couldn’t even be annoyed with him about it. “I… I must admit, I find the thing quite terrifying. We all do, none of us can bear to be in the room with it. If you go in…”

“I go in alone. I understand.” She squared her shoulders, reached up to set her hat just so again, and then folded her hands in front of her. “Unlock the door, Babbage, if you will.”

The butler paused, and then slowly nodded. He pulled a ring of keys out, searching through them until he found the one he was looking for. It scraped going into the padlock and took some serious fiddling - long enough, she noticed, for Babbage to flush with a hint of embarrassment - and then the padlock popped open. He pulled it away, rapidly unwinding the chain, and then opened the door. “Quickly, miss-”

“Of course.” She stepped inside, feeling humidity hit her like a brick to the face as soon as she did. The door closed behind her, the chain scraped back into place, and she exhaled slowly, heart pounding when she heard the click of the padlock closing again.

In front of her was an enormous swimming pool.

Well, no. It wasn’t a swimming pool - it was more like a perfectly rectangular pond, with lily pads and flowers, and dozens of ferns lining the walkway around it. Ferns, flowers, even small fruit trees in big pots, their fruits dropped to the ground, a little rotten. The smell made her nose wrinkle, but she licked her lips, looking slowly around.

There were windows, taller than she was and narrow, lining each side. They were fogged-over, and she saw nothing through them but a hint of light and shadows moving when wind blew through nearby trees. She thought there might have been a flash of lightning, and nodded when a few seconds later the rumble of thunder followed it.

The room was otherwise utterly silent and still.

“Hello?” She called. Her voice seemed swallowed by the greenery.

There was no answer, not at first, and she turned to look back at the door she’d come through.

She gasped as she realized the inside of the door was covered in scratches.

Kira swallowed, unease blooming for the first time into genuine fear.

The scratches dug deep, the marks of some animal having tried desperately to claw its way out. Old blood had dried here, too, in splotches and spots. When Kira followed the sight of the dried droplets down, she discovered there were stains beneath her very boots on the floor, leading right back to the edge of the pool.

She skittered to one side, staring at a bare footprint pressed in blood beneath her, gripping her bag of supplies more tightly.

What kind of sea creature was housed here? What sort of serpent had human feet and could try to break back down the door to get out?

There was a splash, and she spun back around, looking back at the pool of water. There was no movement, no ripple along the surface, no sign anything had been there at all. Kiraya took a breath, and then another, trying to calm her racing heart.

The water was utterly still, and yet she felt eyes on her like a heavy weight against her skin. Something, in here, was watching her - and yet she couldn’t see any sign of what.

“... who’s there?” She asked, and then winced. Stupid. Like it could, or would, answer her. She looked like quite the idiot being frightened of something that could do her no harm, not with the spell on her skin. What was the point of learning magic if she didn’t trust it?

Thunder rolled, and it seemed to last forever. Like kittens gamboling around the sky, playing with the ball of yarn that was the earth itself.

Kiraya steadied her voice.

“Come out, please. I want to see you. I am the magician here to care for you."

Plants rustled off to her right. She turned too quickly, tripping over her own feet and stumbling backwards, struggling to right herself. For just one second, she nearly had herself back in balance-

Then she slipped on a puddle.

There was a sudden pattering of footsteps on the stone.

She looked up as she fell backwards, arms thrown out to catch herself, to discover something leaping at her, its terrible maw was open wide.

She smacked hard onto her arse on the stone floor and threw her arms up before her face as she screamed. The sound echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls and around her mind.

It lunged at her throat and she jerked backwards, head knocking back against the floor.

The world around her spun, pain spiking where she struck, and she groaned. Clawed fingers closed around her wrists, not painfully tight but inevitable, and shoved her wrists back down at her sides. She tensed, head turned to the side and eyes closed tightly, waiting for the bite, the claws digging into her belly and pulling out her intestines for a meal, but…

But nothing happened.

She cracked open one eye, and then another. Some of her hair was stuck at the corner of her mouth and she had no hands to dislodge it.

The monster loomed over her.

Its breath came hot and heavy, panting against her neck, but her protection spell held.

Its rows of sharp teeth were an inch from her throat, but it could not bite. Its clawed, webbed fingers held her wrists but the tips did not even break the skin, they couldn’t break the skin. Its eyes were huge and dark, pools of ocean water too dark for light to penetrate. Its hair hung in tangled, matted clumps that reached past its shoulders.

It looked human, except for the parts that so clearly weren’t, and somehow that was more frightening than any sea serpent could ever have been.

It hissed in frustrated anger while Kira exhaled in slow relief.

“Let me go,” She whispered, voice trembling, barely audible. Her heart was in her throat, and she worried the creature could see her pulse fluttering, a whole new temptation.

Those dark eyes moved over her face, and she saw something about it changing. Something seemed to… smooth out, and the monster seemed even more fully a man. Its mouth closed and then reopened to show flat human teeth. She saw no rage or hunger in its face, but instead…

A kind of resigned and awful despair as it pulled away from her.

She saw now the magic symbols that ran down its neck, to its shoulder and arm and side, recognizing many of the symbols that had been so carefully painted into its skin. All the way down the right side of its body, fading with time and needing reinforced, to be sure, but still entirely visible.

She could see how they had begun to lose the crispness of their edges, bleeding back into its skin. It had hoped it could attack her, and it likely could have if not for her protection spell. Another year and those symbols would fade away entirely. Once that happened, the spellwork that kept any human safe from the creature’s teeth and claws would be gone with it.

Already, it could attack the defenseless, those without the magic to protect themselves. Another year, and even magicians would fall under tooth and claw.

And yet… she found herself caught by the look in its eyes. She saw one piece of this puzzle move into position, even if the rest of it was still a haze in her head.

“You’re afraid of me,” She whispered. "You’re not hungry, or dangerous. I mean, you are dangerous, but… you’re scared.”

It met her eyes.

She found herself looking at the single most beautiful man she had ever seen.

“Of course I am scared,” It said with a melodic, sibilant accent she had never heard before. When she jumped at the sound of its voice, it snorted, derisive, and looked away from her. “The monster speaks, hm? What a trick it can do. I know what you are. You have come to hurt me. Like all of them do.” She followed its gaze to the bag with her magic supplies inside. It looked at the kit with even more trepidation and disgust than it had looked at her. “They all come to hurt me, the ones like you. Every ten years… and yet you never let me die. Pain like that should end in death, but not for me.”

She hadn’t expected the creature to speak. But its voice was beautiful, thick and rich, mesmerizing, melodic. It shook its head - no. It was male.

He shook his head.

She thought of the portraits of the various Lords Guilford Wentworth, and the magic that crackled around her in the air, smelling like ozone as rain fell just outside the windows. How close they were to the ocean, and yet it was an impossible distance for something kept in a cage.

Even one full of water.

“What’s your name?” She asked. Names had power, names could be power with the inhuman peoples of the world.

“Areyto,” He spat, half-snarling the word. “He named me Areyto, because I dance to his tune. I had another name.”

“What-... what was it?”

“I don’t know.” There was a world of frustrated pain and rage and fear in his voice that she could hardly stand. She felt it shudder through her, and she found herself reaching her hand up to touch him without thinking.

Her fingertips brushed the line of his jaw, and felt warm, living skin beneath.

He flinched violently backwards as if she had struck him. “No!”

“Wait! Areyto-...”

“Don’t touch me!”

“Please, wait-” He scrambled away, and she tried to follow him - but pursuit only made him flee her more frantically. “Wait, whose tune? What are you? Why do you-... please, I need to know-... please! Areyto!”

He ignored her, and dove back into the pool as quickly as he had appeared in the first place.

He didn’t resurface, even as she stayed on her hands and knees, feeling the damp soak through her skirt, staring into the water, panting. The thunder cracked outside the fogged-up windows, and rain fell, slapping windblown against the windows as if the ocean itself had switched places with the sky to fall on them and drown the world.

“Miss Losna?” Babbage called, in a voice lined with panic, just outside. “Miss Losna, are you quite all right?”

“I’m fine,” She called back, getting back to her feet with some effort, smoothing at her skirts and staring at the place in the water where the creature had vanished. She had a sense, one that came from magic and not sight, that he lingered just beneath the surface of the slightly murky water, watching her right back. But she saw nothing. “Would you let me back out, please?”

She listened to Babbage hurriedly pulling at the chain and fled the room as soon as the door opened, cool air immediately making her skin tacky after her time in the humidity of the creature’s lovely, plant-lined and miserable cage.

She met Babbage’s gaze, some of her hair falling over her forehead. His look of concern seemed entirely sincere, and when he held out a handkerchief she gratefully wiped sweat from her forehead and used her hands to try and tuck her hair back into place. "Mr. Babbage, I was called to reset the spell on a sea monster,” She said, voice breathy. “A sea monster.”

“Yes…” Babbage trailed off, concern becoming confusion. “Did you not see it? When you screamed, I thought you most certainly had, it is a fearsome thing.”

“What? No, I mean. Yes. I saw him.” Kiraya went to shift her hat back into place, only to realize it must have fallen off her head when she fell and was still inside. She decided to leave it there, she’d have to go back in to work on him later. It wasn’t like he would have any use for a lady’s hat. “What I saw was no sea serpent, no monster.”

Babbage blinked. “Miss?”

Within the room, the creature screamed, thunder crashing around them, rattling the windows. Even the scream sounded like a harmony, as if even in his terrible rage and fear the creature kept here, who had been so frightened of merely a touch of her hand, could not be anything but song. They both jumped at the thud as he threw himself at the locked door. They turned to stare at the sound of scratching from the other side of the door.

The chains held. For now.

If those spells on his skin fully faded, and his full strength was something he could use again, she wasn’t sure that they would hold for long.

There was only one kind of sea creature the gods had crafted from melody. The children of the moon’s anger at men for trying to tame the tide. Kiraya knew all the old mythologies, the stories told to explain the way the moon pulled at the water and how sailors went down so often in deep water, never to be seen again.

She knew, now, what she had been called to work on.

Babbage’s mouth twisted with distaste and disgust at the noise, and he led Kiraya back down the hall the way they had come. This time, she let her eyes linger on the portraits of the Guilfords Wentworth.

They were all entirely identical-looking men. Only the style of their clothing and the family surrounding them changed.

Entirely. Exactly. Identical.

“Babbage, speak true to me,” Kira said, laying a hand on his arm. He stopped, looking back at her, and she saw - somewhere deep within him - a flicker of something other than the contentment that had been written on every inch of him. With the touch, she could feel magic wrapped around him, too.

She pulled her hand back as if burned.

“Miss Losna?” Babbage blinked at her. “Speak true about what?”

Kira would have run into the rain if it weren’t for the promise of the coins this job would give her, and the fact that she suspected if she did, the Lord Wentworth would only send men to find her, men driven by magical compulsion not to stop until she was brought right back for knowing too much.

Kira hesitated, trying to decide how to ask the question. “There has only ever been… one Lord Guilford Wentworth, hasn’t there?”

He swallowed. His eyes darted away and then back to her, tension rising in his shoulders. “I could not possibly understand what you’re implying, Miss. Guilford Wentworth is a family name…”

“Quite, because it’s the same damn man, isn’t it? What happens to his sons? There’s always a son named for him, what-... what happens to that firstborn son?”

A muscle twitched in Babbage’s jaw. “The lord’s eldest is away in the island colonies seeing to the management of certain properties…”

“Right, now he is. But… later…”

“I have no idea,” Babbage said smoothly, but he did. He knew exactly what would happen, and Kiraya knew it.

She pressed on. “That room I just came out of doesn’t hold a sea monster or a serpent, does it? It holds a siren. There are rumors about what you can do with a siren spelled to your willpower-... is that what he has hired me for?”

“His Lordship keeps a most fearsome serpent,” Babbage replied, and there was something strange and fuzzy about the quality of his voice. For a moment, his eyes seemed to cloud over, graying his brown irises. “Most fearsome… but His Lordship stands between us and the serpent…” Then he blinked, and the fog was gone. His calm and cheerful smile returned. “He does indeed. I should go and fetch him.”

Kira shivered with a sudden chill. “Mr. Babbage?...Heinri? Are you quite all right?”

“Of course.” Babbage simply walked away from her as if she hadn’t spoken. “I will go and see if His Lordship can see you now.” It was like she had never asked any questions at all. As if that flicker of some other man beneath the magic that wrapped his mind had never been.

As if she had imagined it.

Kiraya Losna had woken this morning in a lovely mood, knowing that things were going her way. Now, with the wind howling like the siren in the room behind her and her heart pounding, she thought about how the butler had mentioned the spellwork was done every decade, like clockwork, and yet this time it had been eleven years.

The spellwork, and what bound the siren, was fading fast.

Kira needed to find out why.

Tag list: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood

#whump #writing #captive whumpee #captivity #whumptober2023 #no. 24 #neglect #no. 25 #storms #nonhuman whumpee #monster whump #captured #magic whump #original writing #fantasy writing #trans oc

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ssa-atlas-alvez · 1 year

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Whumptober Day 25 (BAU X y/n Hotchner)

No. 25 SILENCE IS GOLDEN

Lost Voice | Duct Tape | “You better start talking.”

Warnings: cold/flu, illness

Word count: 1591

Please let me know if I’ve missed any warnings

”Baby Hotch,” Emily smirked, “Adult Hotch wants to see you,” You groaned lowly, coughing when it tickled your throat. You gave a weak sniff.

“Old Hotch can annoy me greatly sometimes,” You huffed before standing up and making your way to your brother’s office.

You gave another sniff and swallowed, wincing at the pain in your throat before you opened the door.

“Agent Hotchner Junior reporting for duty sir,” You grinned, hoping he didn’t notice that your voice was slightly deeper than usual.

��Go home, (Y/N),” Aaron said with a sigh, he pushed his paperwork to the side as he looked at you.

“I’m not ill,” You responded, voice deeper than usual, thick will the cold you currently had. "I've just got a bit of a tickle in the back of my throat," Aaron gave a deep sigh.

"You're ill,"

"Nu-uh!" You replied, sniffing slightly. "I'm perfectly fine,"

"Go home,"

"I'm not ill, I'm fine," You and Aaron stared at each other, waiting to see who would break first. Aaron sighed.

"If you won't go home, I'm benching you.”

“We don’t have a case,” You said, seeing Aaron’s face you groaned, “We have a case?”

“You're not to leave the police station when we get there,"

"What about coffee runs?" You asked, folding your arms.

"Take Morgan with you for coffee runs,"

"Aaron-"

"Ah, nope, don't want to hear it, those are my terms,"

"Fine," You said with a sniff, breathing through your mouth since your nose was blocked. "But I'm perfectly fine."

You left the room, holding back a pout as you did so. Honestly, your brother can be so ridiculous at times. You were perfectly fine, he was just dramatic.

"This is so unfair," You huffed, slumping in your seat next to Morgan, who gave a chuckle. You folded your arms close to your chest. “It’s just a cold,”

“Right,” Emily chimed, sharing a grin with Morgan. “Your brother benching you?”

“Yep,” You groaned, “It’s so unreasonable, I’m perfectly fine,” You clear your throat to avoid coughing, but it builds up and you give a deep cough. “That was acting,” You say, seeing your brother give you a look. Aaron rolls his eyes, causing you to scoff. "You believe me Derek, don't you?"

"Stay away from me man, I don't want whatever plague you've got,"

"I don't know, Aaron said you had to go on Coffee runs with me," You grinned.

"Aw, what? That's so unfair," Morgan chuckled, you flipped him off with a laugh, which quickly morphed into a cough. You rolled your eyes at the look Aaron shot you, trying to mask the wince that painted your face when a pain behind your eyes exploded due to the headache that was slowly beginning to make itself known.

You leant closer to Morgan, "You got any paracetamol?"

"Nope," You looked at your coworkers as they all shook their heads.

"Hotch normally carries some," Reid chimed. You thought for a moment before straightening up.

"Nope, that won't be necessary because I am not ill," You said, folding your arms. Your voice was beginning to feel scratchy and hoarse, which was annoying but you pushed it aside the best you could.

Boarding the jet, you huffed, pulling your hoodie closer around your body. It suddenly felt very cold. You ignored the look of concern Aaron gave you and the amused looks from your peers and sat down, sniffing as you did so.

You wince as the jet takes off, causing an immense amount in your ears. Your hands go to your ears and you wiggle them about, open your jaw, move your jaw side to side, swallow, cough, anything you can think of that might help relieve the pressure - you even try sniffing. But nothing works. Aaron silently hands over a boiled sweet. You think they’re discussing the case but you can’t tell, everything sounds like it’s underwater, a lot of water. You put the sweet in your mouth, sucking on it and hoping it’ll decrease the pressure. After a few minutes of nothing working you turn to Aaron, motioning angrily to your ears and then shrug. You don’t want to speak in case you start yelling. That would just be embarrassing. You watch as Aaron turns to Spencer, you assume he asks if there’s anything else that would help and you see Spencer say something before Aaron turns back to you. He says something, when he speaks you shake your head and shrug again - Aaron rolls his eyes, which has you glaring at him. Aaron puts his fingers over his nose, plugging it and mimes trying to breathe out.

You nod, you can’t believe you forgot that trick! You plug your nose and try to breathe out, feeling the tension build up before releasing. “You’re a lifesaver, Spencer,” You say.

You were hoping it wouldn’t get any worse over the course of the case, you had the tendency to get a little… clinging to Aaron when you’re ill. Which you knew the team would never let you live down. Ever. Luckily, you were sharing a hotel room with him, which meant you had easy access to stealing his clothes.

As the hours pass, you’re trying not to give in and show how ill you’re feeling, but you’re feeling rough. The team notice you sticking to Aaron where you can, they also notice Aaron watching you closely. You’re sniffing every thirty seconds, rubbing your eyes, unable to focus, but still pushing through.

You're two days into the case and you can't help but be relieved that your brother benched you. You were tired, you ached all over, and at about lunchtime, you began to shiver. Obviously, you weren't going to tell him that you were glad he did. You weren't going to give him that satisfaction. Instead, you wore a large and very warm hoodie and debated putting the hood up throughout the entire recap of the evidence collected thus far.

It didn't take you long after that to lose your voice. Not that that stopped you from talking. Turns out, talking only made it worse. Like a lot worse. And soon enough, your voice was simply a whisper.

“You got any paracetamol?” You croak as Aaron walks past.

“Let me grab you some-” You shook your head, he always goes into Mother Hen mode when you’re ill.

“I’ll get it,” You said, sitting up, pausing for a moment as you waited for the room to stop spinning. At this point, Aaron was already in front of you with a glass of water and medication. You gave him a thankful grin as you accepted the items.

“(Y/N), you need to go back to the hotel,” Aaron said, you were both in the breakroom, Aaron making a coffee for himself and a tea for you. You were sat at the table, resting your head on the cool wood.

“‘M fine,” You groaned, turning your head into your elbow as you coughed.

“(Y/N).”

“I don’t wanna,” You moaned.

Aaron would have laughed, if he wasn’t worried about your health. “You need rest,”

“I am resting,” You mutter.

“How about if I send Morgan with you?” Hotch offered, you shook your head, “Why not?”

“You’ll be here,”

“I have to be here,” Aaron sighs.

“I’m fine here,” You mumble, “I’ll just be ‘sleep here,”

Aaron shut his eyes, trying his best not to groan. You were already asleep. He poked his head out of the breakroom, “Morgan?”

Derek’s head shot up and Aaron motioned for him to come into the breakroom. “Can you take him back to the hotel? Maybe sit with him while you work?”

“You really do go Mother Hen on him don’t you?” Derek teased before nodding, “Of course Hotch,”

Aaron gently shook your shoulder, “(Y/N)? You need to wake up,” He said softly, “Derek’s taking you to the hotel,”

“No,” You mutter, waking up. “I don’t want to go to the hotel,”

“Well, you don’t have a choice,” Aaron said, folding his arms.

“Big brother boss man said you have to,”

“Told you he goes all mother hen when I’m completely fine,” You mutter to Derek as you stand up, Derek’s hand on your shoulder, steadying you.

“This is completely fine, is it?” He asks sarcastically, “I’m pretty sure if I let go, you’d go down like a ton of bricks.”

“You’re just rude,” You mumble, causing Derek to snicker, “You’re not allowed to laugh at me, I’m ill.”

“Ah, so you are ill then,” Derek replied with a snort, you huffed.

The team took shifts keeping an eye on you in the hotel room whilst working, all except Aaron, who had to stay put in the police station until the end of the case. He only went back to the hotel for a few hours of sleep each night and a shower. Soon enough, the case was finished and the team was back on the jet on the way home. Knowing you were still feeling rough, the team let you have the couch for the flight back.

Aaron sighed, watching as you curled into a ball on the jet couch, trying to conserve as much body heat as possible whilst you slept, shivering. He grabbed the spare blanket from the other couch, carefully draping it over you.

"Just a cold my ass," He muttered before returning to his seat.

Two days later, Aaron sneezed. He was going to kick your ass the next time he saw you, when he was feeling better that is.

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twigg96 · 6 months

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The Day We Lost You

Daryl X Reader (feat. Aaron and Phoenix)

Whumptober Prompt: 25 We’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave

Warnings: Angst, Blood, Gore, Death, Character Death, Clowns, Walker Bites, Dreams,

POV: Daryl

Pronoun: You, [Y/N], Wife, Partner, their, they

Summary: Escaping a massive hoard of walkers would be bad enough if they weren't trapped in a never ending twisting hallway with no escape and a crazed clown with a chainsaw at the other end. Daryl does all he can to try and help his family escape alive... but if he can't he prays with everything he's got that its all a dream.

Daryl’s heart pounded in his chest as he ran. The groans of the dead creeping ever closer. Their hands gripped at his vest through chain link fences that were far too tight for comfort. Why had Aaron taken them this way? Looking back at Phoenix then at You tailing not too far behind he tried to keep you all together. Keeping a tight grip on your teenage daughter's slender wrist he refused to let her be swallowed up by the horde should they break through the fencing. As the group stumbled into the vast openness of the factory basement Daryl tried to catch his breath. Tried to figure out the best course of action. “There’s two halls!” Aaron yelled out his voice echoing though the vastness as he pointed to the hallways at either end of the room. One hallway had lights that flickered and hummed ominously. The off-putting smell of medical supplies and cleaning products wafting through the air made Daryl feel sick in an all too familiar way. The second hall was pitch black and smelled of rot and decay. Groans and moans of the dead emanated from the hall as he stepped closer. “This one’s got walkers!” He yelled, pointing to the dark one. “Then we go in this one!” Aaron screamed, grasping ahold of Your hand as the four of you darted inside trying to keep as far ahead as possible.

The hall way in front of him seemed to stretch on for hours and hours. No matter how hard or how fast he ran he couldn't get away fast enough. The footsteps of the dead echoed down the hall behind him. Doors jutting from the sides all led to dead ends. Medical supply rooms and empty hospital rooms with empty gurneys covered in blood lined the walls. Dark red sticky drying blood leaked from under the doors as they passed screams echoing through his mind as he ushered his family through Hell. The windows were too high to jump through safely with no hope to shimmy down the walls. Keeping a strong grip on Phoenix's wrist he pulled her along, regretting ever bringing her along on this run in the first place. Her hand quaked in his own reminding him of just how fragile she truly was. "Daddy." She whimpered with every twist and turn the hall made, leading effectively no where. He wanted to answer... He wanted to be strong. But his voice failed him. Hitting the wall at the opposite end of the hall Daryl's heart dropped. Dead End. Desperately searching the doors on either side, one of them had to lead to stairs... even if they lead higher in this cursed building he'd take it at this point. They simply had to. But when he opened a supply closet and a room with a beautiful familiar blonde body, covered in a white sheet and blood laying on a gurney the archer felt himself shutter and retch.

"Daryl..." Your terrified whisper gave him no time to think. No time to register what he was staring at. Turning back to Aaron, [Y/N], and Phoenix, Daryl stared in awe in the direction where the wall once was which was now replaced with a dark stretch of hallway. No lights illuminated the ceiling here. No windows lit the dark. Just the overwhelming smell of gasoline was wafting through the air before Daryl could see the danger. The man with the pitch white skin practically peeling from his body stepped into the light from the shadows of the hall in front of them. The gas powered chainsaw dripped with fresh blood onto the linoleum and down the man's worn polka dotted clothing staining it in odd designs and patterns. His hair was matted and hung in long dreads that framed the smeared dried blood that was painted on his face like the mask of a clown.

Ice ran through Daryl's veins as the man laughed a crazed manic scream, yanking the saw in his arms to life, spraying the walls with a fine mist of blood.

There was no need for a command or an order. It was instinctual. Turning on their heels, Daryl pulled his daughter along, praying that his wife and Aaron could keep up and hold their own against the hoard they were about to face.

The cut off scream. The horrific, grotesque sounds told Daryl all he needed to know... Aaron couldn't.

Tears rolled down Daryl's face as he pulled Phoenix along. "Oh God!" He heard her gasp. She was looking back, tripping over her own feet as Daryl pulled her. Slowing them both down. "Daddy, we nee-" She begged. Her innocent belief that Daddy could save them all was going to be shattered... And how Daryl wanted to keep it all wrapped up in a box. Just let her hold onto that shimmer of hope. He wished with all he was that he could be that man right now. Keep her safe and warm like he promised when she was born... But now he knew the only way to do any of that... was to break her heart. "Phoenix!" He screamed, yanking her up beside her and cutting her off. "Ya can't look back! Just run!" He screamed at her, moving his grasp to nearly bruising her upper arm.

Fear. It was a look Daryl was used to seeing in other's eyes when they looked at him. A trait he picked up from the Dixon side was a stone cold expression and a proclivity to push people away. But when his own flesh and blood looked at him like that… terrified, hurt, scared. He knew that he was in deep shit.

But he couldn't just fix this one... and Phoenix wasn't just scared of what was around them. Not just the clown. Not the screams of her mother begging them to run faster. Not even the hoard charging right for them. No... she was scared of him... and it killed him.

But he couldn't let himself be swayed or overwhelmed. That was an issue for later. Pulling his knife from the holster on his side he jerked Phoenix. "Knife! Now!" He screamed. There was no stopping. He couldn't take the clown. He couldn't risk slowing his family. But maybe... he could slow him down for them.

Slowing down to let [Y/N] catch up he pushed Phoenix forward. "Keep moving! I'll be right behind you!" He ordered, placing his hand on [Y/N]'s back they shared a loving but worried look. He cherished it. That one heartbeat of a moment where his skin met their’s. When their eyes met for the last time before they and their daughter were swallowed by the heard.

Turning to face the clown he tried not to react to the towering man thundering towards him. Aaron's lifeless corpse, sliced and mutilated dragging behind him like some sick trophy. Daryl cursed mentally backing away, bringing his knife up to his chest. But the clown's manic laugh resonated there anyway. Step by step he was being slowly surrounded. The walkers clawed at his back. The clown revved his chainsaw and Daryl refused to let that crazed gleam in his eyes be the last thing he'd ever see.

"What'cha afraid of?" Merle's voice resonated through his mind, like a fog. Aa sly smile plastered on his young face as he jingled the plush clown in front of his face through the dead of night. His older brother didn't look older than twelve... "Just a toy, little brother..." He whispered over the the sniffles. His large calloused thumb felt rough against Daryl's sensitive tear stained face. "Tell you what... if ya want ta beat this mother fu... this creep," Merle corrected, chuckling softly tapping Daryl’s head, "Ya gotta be smart. Use that head o' yers." Merle whispered. "We both know you'll be smarter than ol' Merle one day. So make sure ya use yer head like ya should and you'll be jest fine..."

Glaring up at the clown as he dropped Aaron to the ground, and grab the chainsaw with both hands. Daryl felt his body tense preparing to go into action. Slowly, the clown lifted the saw ever higher, the hands of the dead grasped Daryl's vest and jeans as if holding him in place, reminding him he was doomed, he was going to die.

"I'm a coward..." Something he'd said so long ago that it felt like another life entirely. "You're not a coward..." You had whispered from your place in the field beside him the summer of their senior year. "Just not using that brain of yers." You teased him for dropping out. "Get out... Live a life, Daryl. It's ok, I understand. I'll be waiting for you when you come back."

His body moved on it's own. If he could choose he would have stood still. Been a martyr for his family. But as his knees gave out and the clown swung the spinning blades above his head, he didn't know if it was an act of cowardice or a refusal. A refusal to die. To be a lamb for slaughter. Looking to the mangled meat behind the clown, Daryl felt everything begin to bubble up.

"I know you feel like an outsider... It's not your fault ya know..."

Aaron's soft voice chimed through the darkness. He was his first friend. The first real one in Alexandria at least... The first man he could really truly trust.

Anger. Pure fiery rageful boiled inside of Daryl's chest as he pushed himself off of the floor, rolling to the side letting the clown miss once more. "Fuck you..." He growled, pushing to one knee. "Fuck you. FUCK YOU!"

Fast it was faster than he'd even perceived it. Bolting into the heard, Daryl sunk his knife into the heads of the walkers that posed too much problem. Shoving away the walkers that got to close he ran on pure adrenaline. The sounds of the chainsaw revved behind him but were quickly stopped as the machine was overwhelmed and gummed up with the flesh of the undead. While Daryl would have loved to have plunged the knife deep into the head of the clown, the sounds of screaming as the hoard moved toward a common goal was enough for him to push forward with out fear.

"[Y/N]! Phoenix!" Daryl cried out when the heard started to thin into the stragglers. "Babe!" His scream echoed down the halls eerily. "Daryl..." [Y/N]'s shaky tearful voice called out. But with the damn echo it could have been from anywhere in the damned hallway. Opening the doors on the wings of the hall, Daryl paused when one was locked. "[Y/N]..." Daryl murmured worry filling his chest. With a click the door unlocked and swung open. "Daryl..." [Y/N] whimpered. Fresh blood covered their hands and was dripping down their arms. She was pale and shaking soaked in walker blood. "I-I-I..." They stuttered. That ice that filled his chest was back but more painful and gripping than before.

Looking her over for any obvious wounds, Daryl moved past her into the hospital room. Like a spotlight, the operating lights were the only ones shining on his little girl. Pale and sleeping like a princess on the opperating table, blood pooled and bloomed all around her like rose petals. Daryl shook his head. "No..." The whispered word fell from his mouth like a prayer as he rushed to her side, his wife right beside him. "I-I-I think she got bit..." You whimpered, your hands moving to press the only wound on Phoenix's body. A bite to the thigh just deep enough to nick something vital. From the amount of blood it was too late. Logically, Daryl knew that... "Not my baby... Not my little girl." He whimpered. But Phoenix... his little Phoenix. His body moved on it's own. Like watching a movie his hands were folded over her chest pumping just like he was taught so so many years ago.

"If you ever find yer brother or daddy passed out like that again ya need to do this." The paramedic instructed him after his father bitched about the medical bill. "Hand over hand, put as much pressure as you can on the center of their chest as fast as ya can muster. We want one-hundred beats a minute but just go as fast ya can ya hear?"

"Daryl..." You whispered, your hands falling from your daughter's thigh after several minutes. No... NO... Daryl shook his head, sweat mixed with tears dripping from his face onto the floor. His hair clung to his forehead, back of his neck, and cheeks. "Daryl." You called once more. But Daryl refused, a rush of adrenalin pushing him to move faster and harder despite the sickening cracking of ribs, despite the lack of blood that came from her open wound. "G-Get somethin' ta wrap that up for when she wakes up!" Daryl screamed, gesturing to the wound with his chin. "Daryl!" You finally screamed, pulling him away with a broken sob. "Stop! Stop! She's going to turn! You need to stop!" You screamed, clinging to his chest heaving heavy heartbroken sobs. Daryl's arms wrapped shakily around his wife as he watched his little porcelain doll lay sleeping on the operating table. "We... we need to... before she..." Daryl sobbed at the mere suggestion but he knew it was true... he'd hate himself if his little girl became... one of them. "We-we're not delivering a perfect body to the grave!" Daryl hissed defensively, looking away. But his partner’s strong hold on his middle grounded him... enough.

Pulling his knife from his holster he stared at his partner who held their’s. "Let me..." You whispered. He wanted to object. To let them leave and not have to worry about this... but he also knew if he watched this... he wouldn't be able to live his life again. Closing his eyes he nodded. Kissing his daughter's forehead one last time he couldn't help but notice how cold her skin was as he walked away but the sound that sound that was burnt into his mind by how often he heard it resonated in his mind as he sat outside the door. Hearing not only one gunshot... but two.

"No!" Daryl screamed, sitting straight up in bed, gasping for breath and covered in sticky cold sweat. You jerked awake beside him, staring at him with a wide fearful gaze that told him you were no where near awake yet. The room around him was dark too dark to be comfortable but the bed. It was recognizable enough to begin to sooth the pounding of Daryl's heart in his chest. "What's wrong baby?" You whispered softly, moving to sit beside him. Reaching out to you, Daryl pulled you close taking slow deep breaths. "You're ok... You're ok..." He whispered over and over, rocking you both rhythmically. "It was a dream Dare. It's over." You whispered, combing your fingers through Daryl's graying hair. "I know..." He whispered as you swiped the tears away. "B-but I need ta- I need-" Daryl sobbed, moving to get out of bed. "Ok... Ok..." You whispered, moving to follow him. Daryl sniffled trying desperately trying to keep quiet as he grabbed the battery powered lantern off the table in the hall and flicking it on. Popping his head in on his youngest he sighed. Lillian was curled around her favorite purple teddy, her sheet covering her but her comforter long since kicked away. Her long hair was a tangled mess he knew her mother would have to tame the same way she did every morning: bribery and food. Closing her door he moved to Beau's room. The tween was twisted like a pretzel in bed, is feet at the head of the bed on the pillow and his head down at the bottom of the bed laying on a ball of crumpled bedding that he was supposed to use to make his bed with three days ago. Daryl shook his head at his son and closed the door moving over to his eldest's, his heart pounding in his chest as his shaking hand touched the knob. Opening the door he searched the room for her. Her room was amazingly clean compared to her siblings. A few maps were spread across the desk and a marker laid haphazardly with it's cap off next to her hand as she slept slumped over at her desk, curled around her latest strategical masterpiece. Stepping into her room, Daryl touched her shoulder lightly, watching as she blinked into consciousness. "C'mon. Ya should sleep in yer bed there, girl." He whispered, kneeling next to her. He may have been way too old to lift her. She may have been too old to be carried to bed. But she was safe... she was alive. Daryl wasn't going to let this or any more opportunities slip from his fingers.

"Are you sure? It's so late..." You whispered, meeting your husband at the door. "Yeah... gotta check." He answered, pulling on his jacket then his vest. He knew normally you'd press harder. That you would have begged him to come back to bed. Done anything to calm him down. But this was something he needed to do. And you would be damned to keep him from doing what felt right. "Alright... wish him my best." You whispered, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "I will." Daryl whispered back. Into the cold winter night Daryl trudged down the street. He was grateful that he and Aaron didn't live too far apart in the grand scheme of things but in times like this he really missed communal living. Aaron and Eric's house was always nicely decorated. The decorations now looked like lumps in the snow... it was surreal. Stepping up to the door he knocked loudly but swiftly. It wasn't long before he could hear swift footsteps from behind the door. "Daryl?" Aaron asked a little surprised as the door swung open. "W-What's wrong?" He whispered, glancing behind him for any others. Daryl felt himself unravel. He didn't want to. He wanted to just tell Aaron about the dream and be done with it. But that feeling came back. That one where his body was moving on it's own without thinking. He stepped forward and pulled Aaron into a tight hug, burying his face in Aaron's neck. "I- Sorry." He sniffed feeling the hot tears stinging his eyes once more. "Nightmare." Was all that came out through his broken sobbing voice accepting Aaron's arms around his body. "Oh... Oh Daryl." His sweet voice cooed, as his friend rubbed his back. "C'mon. Lets get you warmed up. I was just about to make some coffee." He was a shit liar... but Daryl's best friend.

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