Wrong Place, Wrong Time
Whumptober 2021: #7. Helplessness, #14. Crush Injuries, #20. Lost & Found, #21. Pressure, #31. Disaster Zone
Fandom: Batman, Batfam, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd
Word Count: 1822
“I don’t know, I thought it was pretty good.”
“Pretty good? That movie sucked! I am so sick of these endless reboots and pointless sequels. You told a good story. It’s over and done, move on and give us something new.”
You chuckled. “Yeah, this coming from ‘Robin 2: The Adventure Continues’.”
Jason glared at you, but Dick burst out laughing. “Oh, oh! How about ‘Robin 2: The Second One’.”
“‘Robin 2: Electric Boogaloo’!”
“‘Robin 2: The Rise of Jason Todd’!”
“And the gritty reboot ‘The Red Hood: Return of Jason Todd’.”
“Alright, alright, I get it. Very funny. Make fun of the dead guy.” Jason rolled his eyes as you and Dick high-fived each other. He jammed his hands in his pockets and began storming off.
“Formerly dead guy. You can’t keep playing that card forever.” You said teasingly, reaching out and linking your arm with Jason’s. You felt Dick link arms on your other side, so the three of you were all connected as you walked down the sidewalk.
Crime had been surprisingly low the last few days, so you had decided to enjoy yourselves and catch an afternoon movie. It wasn’t often the three oldest of Bruce Wayne’s wards managed to find time to hang out, and it felt like old times.
Jason had reluctantly dropped his scowl. He glanced over at the storefront on his right and stopped abruptly in amazement. He scoffed, “Oh my god! Did you guys see this?”
As you and Dick turned, you let out a small chuckle of surprise as you saw display after display of merchandise bearing a variety of bat symbols. All of you were represented in some form or another. Bruce’s Batman on a shower curtain, Dick’s Nightwing on a blanket, Jason’s Red Hood on a bathrobe, Tim’s Red Robin on a coffee mug, and Damian’s Robin on a coloring book. But the thing that really caught your eye was the hoodie that looked like a replica of your costume, complete with mask built into the hood and your signature Bat-Insignia across the front. Glancing at the sign, you chuckled again at the name. The Bat Cave.
“Did either of you know about this?” you asked.
Dick and Jason both shook their heads in disbelief. Then Jason snorted, “I think somebody owes us some royalties or something. Those things are trademarked.”
You laughed, but knew he was probably right. Suddenly, you realized something was missing. Cursing under your breath, you turned and hurried back towards the theatre. Both boys turned to watch you speed away.
“Where are you going?” Dick called after you.
You yelled back over your shoulder. “I forgot my sunglasses. I’ll be right back.”
Just as your hand reached the door to the theatre, you heard Jason yell, “Hey, dumbass!”
Glancing back, you saw Jason smirking as he pointed to the top of his head. Reaching up to your own head, you felt the sunglasses perched there. You blushed as you placed them on your face, sheepishly turning back to the boys. You shrugged dramatically and took a step in their direction. That’s when the theatre exploded.
Jason and Dick were thrown backward by the blast, landing in a heap about ten feet from where they had been standing. Groaning, both boys struggled to sit up and regain their bearings. People were screaming all around them and smoke curled out of the scant remains of what had just been the theatre.
All the blood rushed out of Jason’s face as he muttered, “Y/N.” He scrambled to his feet as Dick paled and frantically followed suit. They took off running towards the area they thought they had last seen you, but it was almost impossible to tell where anything had once been. When they thought they are in the approximate area, they began shifting desperately yet carefully through the rubble, screaming out your name. Jason couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Bruce had felt as he searched for Jason’s body years ago. Finally, Dick moved a hunk of cement and saw as a hand appeared from underneath of it. He instantly recognized the bracelet that he had given you for your birthday on the wrist.
“Jay, over here! I found her!”
Feverishly, the two boys moved pieces of rock and debris, slowly uncovering more and more of your broken form, until the only wreckage that remained was a large section of the theatre wall that was too heavy for them to move. It was still pining you to the ground from the waist down, but there wasn’t any more they could do at the moment, so they began assessing your injuries.
You were laying awkwardly, half on your side, half on your back. Every inch of you was covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. The left side of your face was skinned raw where you had skidded across the asphalt. Your sunglasses were destroyed, the remains of which dangled haphazardly from your face. Dick carefully removed what was left and noticed that they had been rammed against your nose with such force, they had shattered bones and blacked both of your eyes. The rest of your body was littered with bruises, burns, blood, and small cuts while your breathing was irregular and strained. Dick and Jason both crouched down next to you and tried to rouse you but at first you barely stirred. Finally, they watched as your eyes flickered open with a pained groan.
“Wha – what happened?” Your voice was hoarse and weak.
Dick and Jason exchanged a worried glance before Dick said, “We’re not sure. There was an explosion in the theatre. You were still at the door and it seems like you took a pretty bad hit. You were completely buried when we found you and we still can’t move that big piece off your legs. It is too heavy for just the two of us. Jay, you stay here and I’m going to go get help.”
“Sweetheart, we have to get you out from under that thing. You need medical attention immediately. Who knows what kind of internal bleeding you have or if there are any worse injuries this piece of wall is concealing.”
“You’re right, which is why it won’t matter. I can feel it. My leg…. Well, I’m pretty sure the pressure from this wall is the only thing keeping me from bleeding out immediately. As soon as you move it…. So, yeah, it’s too late to do anything.”
Jason sat back on his heels, horrorstruck, as Dick shook his head vehemently refusing to believe what you had just said. “We can at least try. As soon as the paramedics get here, they can help us. They’ll know what to do.”
You smiled hazily up at your brothers. “It’s okay, Dick. I’m not in much pain at the moment, it’s more numb than anything, but if you move that piece of wall, it’s going to be utter agony. And it still won’t matter. So, please, just let me go in peace.”
Jason hissed in fury, “We can’t just sit here and watch you die!”
“I don’t want you to. It might be too late for me but you two can go help the other people who were injured. You might still be able to save them.”
“We’re not leaving you.”
“It’s what we do. We’re heroes, Jay.”
“Not today we aren’t.” Dick said through a clenched jaw. You furrowed your brow in confusion. “Today we are just three siblings who wanted to spend the day together. Who just deserved a goddamn break for once in their lives. And instead, this happens. So, no. Today we aren’t heroes. There are enough other people walking around helping right now. We’re going to stay with you for as long as we can. I don’t care what that makes us.”
You grabbed Dick’s hand as tightly as you could manage as tears began to flow down his face. “It makes you a good brother.”
You smiled up at him and started to say something else, but a chest rattling cough cuts you off. Your brothers held you down, so you didn’t hurt yourself more as your body was racked with the intense hacking fit. Finally, when it subsided, you relaxed, blood dripping from your mouth. You looked up at Dick and weakly said, “I guess you were right on both accounts. Internal bleeding and a concealed wound. Huh, who knew?”
Before either boy could answer, you gave a dry chuckle and said, “You know, I always thought I would die in the suit. Going down swingin’ with my Bat Symbol proudly on my chest and my mask firmly on my face. Instead, it’s going to be flip flops and Jason’s old t-shirt.”
Jason thought for a minute, then stood up. “I’ll be right back. Dick, stay with her.” Dick just nodded numbly.
A few moments later, Jason came rushing back carrying the hoodie resembling your suit you had seen in the souvenir shop what seemed like a lifetime ago. For the first time since the explosion, tears filled your eyes.
“It’s not your suit, but it’s the best we’ve got at the moment.” As carefully as he could and with Dick’s help, Jason gingerly wrapped the oversized hoodie around you and zipped it up as much as he could. Then he pulled the hood down over your face, so the built-in mask framed your eyes.
You slowly lifted your fingers and traced the familiar emblem that rested over your heart. “Thank you, Jay. It’s perfect.”
“Least I could do.” Jason kissed you knuckles and smiled sadly down at you. Keeping ahold of your hand, he began rubbing his thumb lightly over the back of it, a constant reminder he was with you. Dick shifted so he was behind you and lifted your head so it was resting comfortably in his lap. You felt that the tension was so thick with all of the unspoken things between the three of you, that it was almost suffocating. Or maybe that was just your blood filling your lungs.
You felt your head starting to get fuzzy as your vision began to blacken around the edges, and you knew you didn’t have much time left. You nuzzled your cheek softly into Dick’s leg and gave Jason’s hand another squeeze. After taking a few deep breaths, you managed to croak out, “Hey…. I love you guys.”
“Back at you sis,” Jason tearfully bent down and kissed your forehead.
You smiled up at them as your world went black. Jason felt your hand go limp in his, and he frantically looked to Dick, hoping beyond hope his older brother would make this all betters. But Dick just gazed down at your empty, staring eyes, tears streaming down his face. All he could think in that moment was, “How the hell are we supposed to tell Bruce?”
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Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier
No. 14: CRUSH INJURIES
2K notes · View notes
No. 14 - UNDER PRESSURE
crush injuries | beaten | force
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Day 14: Under Pressure
crush injuries | beaten | force
Evan Buckley gets his leg crushed under a firetruck after it explodes
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Whumptober Day 14 - Beaten
Abyss - Ep. 5
Crows Zero (2007)
Double Mints (2017)
Hot Blooded Youth - Ep. 14
Local Hero - Ep. 9
Never Say Never - Ep. 22
Sweet Home - Ep. 7
Tale Of The Nine Tailed - Ep. 7
The Uncanny Counter - Ep. 2
Wanted - Ep. 13
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DAY 14 - Beaten
Hey Albedo gets some time to shine! xD
-NO ROMANCE INCLUDED-
miHoYo is the owner and creator of Genshin Impact
Please do not REPOST, EDIT, or USE this art without Permission.
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TW: Crushed, broken bones, left behind
"Is anyone down there?"
The villain's sidekick could hear Hero calling down. If they didn't make themself known, they knew they'd likely be left, but— oh— Villain was gonna be pissed.
"Anyone?" Hero's voice came again.
Sidekick drew in as deep a breath as they could. "H-help— 'm st-stuck." Sidekick winced, a feeling of panic starting to rise.
"Hang on! I'm coming down!"
Sidekick whimpered as their vision started to darken. "Please..."
"Sidekick?" Hero said, bewildered as they reached them. "What are you doing here? Villain left ages ago. You're stuck?"
Sidekick was trapped under a huge slab of rubble. "C-can’t breathe..." They pressed weakly against the stone with their free hand. Their other hand was trapped along with most of their body.
Hero gently stopped Sidekick from pushing on the slab. "Hey. Don’t do that. It's not stable. I just need to call a couple of the other heroes to help me move this off you."
"P-please don't... don't leave me here— 'm sc-scared..."
Hero knelt next to Sidekick. "You're gonna be fine. Just try and focus on breathing, okay?" Hero pressed a button on their costume. "This is Hero, requesting backup in the tunnels. I need at least two heroes with strength. Someone's trapped."
Sidekick allowed their eyes to drift closed.
"Hey. I need you to stay awake for me. Can you open your eyes?" Hero brushed their fingers gently through Sidekick’s hair. "Help is coming." Sidekick forced their eyes open again.
Two more sets of footsteps sounded. "We're here." Superhero said.
"Is that Sidekick?" Mentor asked.
"Let's get this slab off of them." Superhero stepped up to a side and Mentor mirrored them.
"I'll pull them out when you lift." Hero said their hands under Sidekick’s shoulders.
On the count of three, Superhero and Mentor lifted. Sidekick took in a sharp breath as they were pulled out. Superhero and Mentor put the slab back down.
Hero knelt next to Sidekick again as the other heroes left to alert the paramedics to come transport Sidekick out. "You okay? No— don't try to move. You need emergency medical attention."
"Don't worry about getting back to them in a hurry. Let them think you're dead for a bit, hmm? They left you. Let them feel bad about it. Besides, you're in no condition to move yourself anywhere— no, don't try and look. You need to be still. Superhero is sending a med team down here to move you safely."
Sidekick stopped trying to move. They had caught a glimpse of the damage before Hero stopped them. They felt sick. Sidekick could feel that the damage was bad, but looking somehow made it worse. Their costume was shredded and they were bleeding badly. Their limbs were at wrong angles— clearly broken.
"Are you having trouble breathing?" Hero asked, watching Sidekick’s chest rise and fall.
"Mhm..." Sidekick whimpered.
"Alright... are you feeling anything else wrong besides pain?"
"I feel s-sick..."
The med team arrived. Once they got Sidekick on a stretcher and an oxygen mask on them, Medic turned to Hero. "Where are we taking them? Hospital? With the civilians?"
"Take them to my base. I'll contact my med team and have them ready to meet you."
At this, Sidekick started to struggle weakly. They had been strapped down to keep their spine aligned. "N-no— no, I c-cant..."
"Hush." Medic said softly. "You're going to be fine. Hero won't hurt you. Go to sleep."
Sidekick hesitantly relaxed, giving in to the permission to sleep.
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Whumptober 2021 | No. 14: UNDER PRESSURE
crush injuries | beaten | force
Unstoppable (2010): When the train’s locking pin will not engage, Will kicks it into place, but his foot gets crushed in the process.
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I Would Simply Not Die
Whumptober Day 14 & 15 - Force and Delirium
This one is short ’n sweet, and honestly more humorous than anything. And yes, it was in fact inspired by that one TikTok sound.
(Read on AO3 Here)
Wild seemed to have a bad track record with head injuries. This was the second time, at least, that he had gotten whacked in the head. At least he wasn’t trying to use his head as a shield this time. A bokoblin had gotten in a lucky shot in the middle of a battle, its club clipping the champion’s head. The force of the blow sent him stumbling back into a tree, hitting his head yet again. Four had quickly raced over to cover the fallen hero.
The fact that Wild remained seated where he fell, instead of trying to get up to continue fighting almost worried the rest of them more than the fact that he was injured. Once the fighting was mostly over, and Hyrule was free to do so, he rushed over to Wild’s side. Four had cleared all the monsters on that part of the battlefield. Once he saw Hyrule was hurrying over, the smithy left Wild in his capable hands, and went to help Time with a particularly stubborn lizalfos.
Hyrule knelt down, helping Wild sit up against the tree. The champion was blinking around, dazed, and didn’t even try to withdraw from Hyrule’s hands that were feeling his head for lumps. Hyrule didn’t get a reaction from him when he prodded at several large knots on the back of his head. Wild tried to push him away, but to Hyrule’s concern, Wild missed Hyrule’s arms by a wide margin. Hyrule met Wild’s eyes, unhappy to see that one of them was dilated rather severely, while the other was normal.
Lack of coordination, confusion, dilated pupils, and several head injuries. It was a textbook concussion.
Wild really did have horrible luck with head injuries. And this one was shaping up to be much worse than the first time. It was likely the group would have to stay here for a day or two at least. Wild was in no condition to be traveling.
Hyrule’s musings were interrupted by Legend jogging over. The Vet was still wiping monster blood off his sword, and Hyrule restrained himself from telling Legend to be more careful with sharp objects. Legend was plenty capable.
“How is he?” Legend asked, still panting slightly from the fight. “Is he dead?” Hyrule rolled his eyes at the Vet. Privately he chuckled at Legend’s dramatics, but wisely decided to not say anything out loud.
Surprising both of them, it was Wild who answered. His voice was soft and slightly slurred, and he paused several times in the middle of his statement. “No… If someone tried to kill me I would simply not die,” Wild gasped out, forehead pinched in pain. “What would they do… kill me? I’m already not dying. The fuck…”
“I- Okay.” Stuttered Hyrule, not totally sure how to take that. “I think he has a concussion.”
“You think?” Legend snarked, rolling his eyes.
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By Your Side (Bucky Barnes x reader)
Whumptober Day 14: Under Pressure
Summary: After being captured by John Walker you’ve been plagued by constant nightmares. You never realised that you would find comfort with an unlikely person.
Pairing: Bucky x reader
Warnings: character injury
Marvel tag list: @geocookie21, @greeneyedblondie44, @purebloodwitch
Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @imjustassaneasyou
“You should be in bed.”
You glanced at Bucky out of the corner of your eyes before quickly looking away. It was early in the morning, judging from the state of Bucky’s hair, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t sleep anyway, your nightmares saw to that, so you wanted to at least try and do something useful.
“So should you.” You said
Bucky didn’t reply but you heard him walking towards you. You didn’t want to face him, not after all you had been through. You hand shook as you tried to fill your glass of water but your broken arm made it impossible.
Bucky eased the glass from your grip and filled it. You kept your gazed lowered even when Bucky held the glass up to you. You slowly took it and took a large gulp.
“Easy,” Bucky put a hand on your shoulder, “You don’t want to choke.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
For a second Bucky’s grip tightened on your shoulder but he quickly relaxed it. This time you did turn to face him and your gaze hardened. You knew that you looked a mess- black eye, a broken nose that was being set, your arm in a sling and your ribs bandaged up- but you didn’t care. You needed to make your point.
“I don’t care that he’s Captain fucking America,” you spat, “He did this to me. I’m going to kill John Walker and you’re not going to stop me.”
“I know you are.”
You blinked in surprise at Bucky’s words. His gaze softened as he reached up to touch your face but he stopped halfway up. He dropped his hand and you quickly looked away as the look on his face. The pain was clearly etched upon it but there was an anger in his eyes that you had never seen before.
“When I saw you,” he said, “I thought you were dead. I was ready to rip him limb from limb. I understand why you want him dead but promise me one thing.”
“Don’t let the desire for revenge consume you,” Bucky leant down and pressed his forehead against yours, “Please.”
“Just promise me.”
Hearing the crack in his plea made you relent. You pursed your lips and nodded. Bucky flashed you a brief smile and you felt your cheek grow warm. You had never realised just how beautiful he was until now as he was caring for you.
“But now you need to get to bed,” said Bucky, “You won’t be able to do anything until you’re better.”
You grabbed Bucky’s biceps and shook your head.
“I can’t,” you said, “I can’t.”
You didn’t need to say anything, Bucky just knew. You buried your head against his chest and after a second of hesitation Bucky wrapped an arm around your shoulder.
“Even time I shut my eyes I see his face.” You said quietly, “I can’t go to sleep without seeing him.”
“Do… do you want me to stay with you.”
You breath hitched and immediately Bucky said,
“Only if you want me to. If you don’t we can pretend-“
“I’d like that.”
You looked up and smiled at Bucky, assuring him that he hadn’t crossed a line. Bucky’s lips twitched as he gently pressed his lips against your forehead. You instinctively leant into his touch and whined as he broke it.
“Come on,” he said as he led you back to your room, “Time for bed.”
“And hopefully no more nightmares.”
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No. 14 - UNDER PRESSURE
crush injuries | beaten | force
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One Bad Day....
Whumptober 2021: #1. Bound, #2. Choking, #12. Torture, #14. Beaten, #24. Revenge
Fandom: Batman, Batfam, Joker
Word Count: 1760
You hadn’t expected to get this much enjoyment out of the experience. Relief? Maybe. Some form of catharsis? Most definitely. But the overwhelming pleasure you are feeling with each swing? That is a surprise. But there is just something about the way the crimson red blossoms across his bone white skin, mattes up his greasy green hair, and stains that hideous purple suit that fills you with pure joy. As you take another swing, you realize that the laughter currently filling the room is no longer coming from the man bound to the chair. It is coming from your lips.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Joker. Maybe you were on to something all these years. This is a hoot!” Your impact to his leg shatters bones. A wheeze escapes his busted lips but you can’t tell if it was supposed to be a cry or a chuckle. You slam your weapon into the same place on his leg. That time it was definitely a whine of pain. Your smile widens.
“I don’t know if I mentioned this little fun fact when we started. This handy piece of equipment I’ve been working you over with, any idea where it came from?” No response. “They found it buried in what was left of that warehouse in Ethiopia. It’s the same exact one you used on my son.” You slam the crowbar into his face once again. One of his teeth goes flying across the room along with a spray of fresh blood.
The Joker looks up at you and chuckles. “Uh-oh, Daddy Bat’s not going to be happy about this. You know how he detests this level of violence. This isn’t the kind of thing your side normally does.”
It is the first time he has spoken in almost an hour. You know he is just trying to rile you up, maybe try to make you reconsider your actions, but you know it’s not going to work.
“You’re right. And that’s the thing isn’t it. Everyone thinks I must be a good person. I mean, I have to be, right? I’m married to Batman after all. Mr. Unbreakable-Moral-Code, Mr. We-Don’t-Cross-That-Line. But that’s not me. That’s never been me. I’ve tried fooling myself for years into thinking I could be different, that I could be good. For him. For us. But at the end of the day, I know who I am.” You slam the crowbar into the Joker’s ribs, reveling in the harmonious crack that follows.
“You see Joker, I didn’t always play for the good side. When Bats found me, I was well on my way to becoming like you. But he pulled me back from that abyss. Tried to help me come back into the light. But I think we both know, once that darkness takes ahold of you, it never truly let’s go. And sometimes, all it takes is one event, one bad day to send you hurdling back into that darkness.”
“So, it is true that my husband has a code. That line he won’t cross. But you took my son from me. And for that, you deserve what’s coming to you.” You let the crowbar fall from your hand and you watch as it clatters to the floor, still dripping with blood. Then you pull out the gun you had tucked into your jacket and point it directly at the Joker’s head.
He laughs maniacally. “What? That’s it? A gun? After all of this? That’s no fun! I mean, be a little creative! At least I used a bomb. With that, we had such a blast!”
Your grip tightens on the handle, and you turn off the safety. But still, you hesitate. As much as you want this, you know the consequences if you carry through with it. The Joker sees your hesitation and laughs again. “You know he called out for you as I beat him. Not for the Bat. For you.”
You freeze. Just when you thought there was nothing the Joker could say that would bother you, he found the one thing that could. And he knew it. He smiles callously up at you.
“At first I thought he meant the other one. You know, the one who sold him out, the one tied up next to him. But it became pretty clear he meant good ol’ Batmom. ‘Ma, Ma, I’m so sorry I let you down. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. Oh Ma, if only I could see you one last time, tell you that I lov-’”
You tackle him hard causing you, the Joker, and the chair he is bound to crash to the floor. Sitting up, you straddle his chest with a knee on either side of his body. Discarding the gun, you begin pounding your fist repeatedly into his face but with each punch, his smile just grows wider. Finally, you reach your breaking point. It is time to end this once and for all.
You wrap your hands firmly around his throat and you squeeze. Using all the strength you have gained from training with Bruce, you manage to close off his airway. As you use your body weight as leverage to press harder, you see the Joker’s smile start to droop. You think it has finally sunk in that you really do intend to go through with this, that it isn’t just you lashing out in anger. He starts to claw at your hands, desperately trying to pry your fingers loose as he begins gasping for air, but you refuse to relax your grip. Behind the pale whiteness of his face, you see tinges of blue starting to spread around his lips. With the last of his remaining breath, the Joker somehow manages to rasp out, “Is this… really what… you want?”
You hesitate for a second, your mind suddenly flashing back to the first night your son had arrived at the manor.
You and Alfred had tried everything you could think of to make the newest addition to the family feel welcome but nothing seemed to work. And the worst part was that no matter what either of you tried, the kid would barely even acknowledge you unless he was being directly asked a question. Even then, it was followed by one- or two-word responses. You remembered this all going so much smoother on Dick’s first night here and you couldn’t figure out what you were doing wrong. Then again, you could already see the differences between the two boys even after a few hours. So maybe a different approach was necessary.
That night, when you went to tuck him in, you had a book with you. Without saying a word in explanation, you sat down on the end of his bed and started reading out loud. The boy had just stared at you for the first few pages, clearly confused. However, as you read on, you could see out of the corner of your eye as he snugged down in the bed, getting more comfortable. You continued reading for about an hour until your voice became hoarse and your throat was dry. The boy appeared to be asleep so you finished the chapter and quietly snuck towards the door.
A quiet voice behind you stopped you in your tracks. “What book is that?”
You turned back to the bed. “It’s called The Princess Bride.”
“What made you want to read it to me?”
“My dad used to read it to me when I was a kid. It was my favorite book growing up and I thought you might enjoy it. I wasn’t quite sure what kinds of things you are interested in, but this book has a little bit of everything.”
“Do you think…. Do you think you could read more of it tomorrow?” he had asked shyly.
You gave him a warm smile and nodded as you replied, “As you wish.”
Reading time soon became a nightly tradition between the two of you. Soon, you were no longer seated at the foot of the bed but snuggled closely next to each other under the covers. When you finished that book, another took its place. Then another. And another. And even once he became Robin and would leave on nightly patrols, the two of you would find time during the week to read together in some form or another. But it had all started that first night, with that first book.
And now, as you stare deeply into the black void that constituted the Joker’s eyes, you know in the deepest parts of your heart what you truly want. And it is the one thing no one can ever give you.
“You want to know what I truly want, Joker? I want my son back, you son of a bitch! I want Jason Todd!” And with one final squeeze, you feel something snap and his body goes limp.
Taking a few deep, ragged breaths, you stare down at the lifeless form beneath you. You slowly remove your hands from his throat, but it is far too late for that to matter. You sit there, resting on his motionless chest, waiting for it to truly hit you. What you have done, what it will mean, what you have just destroyed. But the horror, the panic, it doesn’t come. You slowly realize that you just don’t care. This vile, heartless monster took Jason away from you and he deserved every single thing you did to him. And even knowing what comes next, you can’t feel sorry. You did what you had to do to make sure Jason was the last person he ever hurt. You did what you knew Bruce would never do, what he would never forgive you from doing. But you don’t care. Because now, your baby can finally be at peace.
As you hear the sirens approaching the warehouse, you stand up, giving the body between your legs one final kick before walking away. Your knuckles are a gory mess and you are sprayed in his blood but there is little you can do about it now. The red and blue lights from the squad cars cast eerie shadows throughout the space as you take one last look around. One last look at freedom.
With a deep breath, you slide open the door and walk out with your hands above your head. Three officers have climbed out of their cars, guns raised. In a strong, steady voice, you announce, “My name is Y/N Wayne and I have just murdered the Joker.”
I have a second part in mind so if anyone is interested me in continuing the story, let me know!
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Whumptober Day 14: Under Pressure (crush Injuries)
I find myself thinking of the end of season 2 constantly. Juno unable to move under the weight of that freakish tower and Rita, being Rita the whole way and sticking with the lady until they got some help.
How many people got caught up in that tower collapse-. I guess only Dark Matters knows XD
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pressure building until i can't breathe
for the corn silo anon 💚 i've been a bit blocked and not doing so great these past couple of days so i'm not really happy with how this came out, and also i think it diverts a lot from what you originally wanted, but i hope you like it at least a little anyway.
@whumptober2021 day 14 - under pressure, beaten, force
title from anger by sleeping at last
ao3 | 2k | 2.03 rewrite, hurt tk, mentioned mental health issues
As pissed off at TK as Judd is at the moment, he can’t help but be worried about the way he’s carrying himself. There’s a stiffness to his shoulders that could easily be attributed to his own rage, but Judd has been a firefighter long enough to know when something is up. He would ask about it, but the one time he tried, he’d been met with a mutinous glare that suggested TK was more likely to bite his head off than to talk civilly.
So Judd resolves to keep an eye on the kid, much as it irritates him to do so. Except, from the moment he stepped into the firehouse, TK seems to have made it his personal mission to make Judd’s life as hard as possible, which is infuriating on days when they don’t have a close call.
Today, it’s almost the final straw Judd needs to go directly to Owen and tell him what a prick his son is. Judd’s not a snitch, but TK’s is a classic case of nepotism, and he refuses to watch any more members of his team die just because one dumb kid wants to play hero and knows he can get away with it.
But Judd refrains, because there’s still that voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Grace telling him to give him another chance.
The rest of shift is fairly light on calls, but Judd notices TK moving more and more stiffly with each one. It’s enough to make him actually worried, so he immediately approaches the kid when he reappears from whichever corner he’s been hiding in.
“Hey, TK!” he calls, but TK ignores him and keeps walking. Judd grits his teeth, taking a second to breathe before catching up to him in two quick strides. He grabs TK’s arm and forces him to a halt, but the strength and speed with which TK instantly jerks away almost sends him to the floor.
As it is, Judd doesn’t miss the full-body flinch TK lets slip at the movement, but he doesn’t get a chance to so much as open his mouth about it.
“Back off!” TK yells. “I don’t care what you want to say to me, so why don’t you save us both some time and leave me the fuck alone? Fuck, man.”
And Judd’s done. He shakes his head, lip curling, and steps back, watching as TK gives him one final glare before turning and limping off. And, this time, he doesn’t care how injured the kid may be; in fact, he wonders why he ever bothered caring in the first place.
TK made his bed. Now it’s time for him to lie in it.
Captain Strand, 03.36: Judd, sorry to do this but I need you to take over for me next shift. I’ll explain later.
Oh, hell no. Judd respects Captain Strand, but when he wakes up to a cryptic-ass message like that, he draws the line. He pulls up the captain’s contact info and dials, quietly making his way out of the bedroom so as not to wake Grace.
“Judd.” Owen’s voice sounds tired, but Judd doesn’t care to dissect why.
“Cap,” he replies, trying to sound at least a little respectful. “Wanna tell me why you want me to be captain for you all of a sudden?”
Owen sighs, and Judd imagines him shaking his head. “Now is really not a good time.”
“Well, tough. Look, all due respect, but you text me in the middle of the night asking me to fill in for you with no explanation? No, Cap.”
“I said I would explain—”
“Later, yeah.” Judd checks the clock on the wall. “Well, it’s about five hours later now.”
Owen sighs again, but this time it just sounds defeated. And old, which is a word Judd wouldn’t normally associate with the captain. But now it fits perfectly—he sounds old, and tired, and on the verge of giving in.
“TK was hospitalised last night,” he says after a long moment. “It’s not serious—well, not anymore, they don’t think—but I need to be here, at least for the next day or two. Maybe a little longer. I— Shit. I’ve gotta go, Judd. Thanks for this.”
Then he’s gone, not even bothering to ask if Judd is okay to fill in for him. Just assuming, which Judd suspects isn’t unusual for Owen Strand.
Judd wants to question it more, to be angry at Owen for not trusting him to even work a few weeks ago, only to now turn around and thrust all this responsibility on him just because it suits him. But he can’t, because he’s kind of stuck on something the captain had said.
Which means that, at one point, it was serious.
The same worry he’d felt when TK and Marjan went down, the same worry from when he saw TK limping, comes roaring back, and before he realises, Judd is scribbling a note to Grace and grabbing the truck’s keys.
This way, at least, he might get some answers.
Owen looks surprised when Judd appears in the hospital, even though he’d texted ahead to let him know he was coming. He’s hanging out in the corridor next to what Judd assumes is TK’s room; Judd’s confused by this until he gets closer and sees Officer Reyes in the room, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline at that.
He turns to Owen, but the captain just shakes his head and sighs, slumping in his chair.
“He’s the one who brought TK in last night,” he explains, though it makes the picture no clearer.
“What, so they met in the street, or…”
“TK was arrested,” Owen says, and Jesus Christ. Judd has well gathered by now that TK is reckless and a hothead, but he hadn’t pegged him for the getting arrested type.
Some of his shock must show on his face, because Owen snorts and grimaces.
“I couldn’t believe it either,” he continues. “But apparently the other people involved don’t want to talk and TK was sober, thank god, so there aren’t any charges against him. I think that’s what Officer Reyes came by to say.”
Judd cranes his neck to look into the room. Carlos is bent close to the bed and TK is watching him intently, eyes wide. “Kind of intense for just that,” he remarks.
“Yeah. I think…” Owen trails off and shakes his head. “I don’t know what to think. That was a call I was not expecting to get last night.”
“What even happened?”
He blows out a long breath. “He went out to a bar on the edge of town—The Trap, I think? I don’t know why it started, but there was a fight, and it pretty much ended up being TK against anyone who wanted to take a swing. That would have been bad enough on its own, but he must have gotten hurt back at the corn silo and just not told anyone, because he collapsed at the police station.
“Doctors say that he inhaled a lot of dust when he went under so his airways were pretty clogged, and the pressure of the corn did some damage to his ribcage. The fight last night pushed everything over the edge, I think. They had him on oxygen for a while, but he’s doing better now; hopefully he’ll be out in a day or two.”
Judd can’t believe what he’s hearing. He doesn’t know The Trap that well, but he knows its reputation, and starting a fight there… Well, being honest, he’s kind of surprised that TK isn’t in the ICU or worse right now. Especially considering he had other injuries that he was hiding.
It’s suicidal, and it makes TK even more dangerous to both himself and the team.
Judd purses his lips and tries hard to control his breathing as he looks past Owen into the room. TK at least looks a little chastened, and it’s hard not to be concerned when his face is pale and covered in bruises, but Judd reminds himself that it’s entirely the kid’s own fault that he’s in that bed.
Owen sighs. “Just say it, Judd,” he says.
“I know what you’re thinking, so just say it, please.”
This could be a trap, Judd knows. But he’s also definitely reached his limit of TK Strand bullshit he can put up with, so if Owen’s asking Judd to tell him what kind of man his son is, then Judd will oblige.
“I don’t think you’re gonna wanna hear it,” he warns, “but okay. Your boy is arrogant, and reckless, and he’s a danger to this team. Honestly, Captain, after this, I don’t know if I feel comfortable working with him.”
Owen raises a brow. “Is this you resigning, Ryder?”
“Hell no. It’s going to take more than one brat to get me to leave the 126 behind.”
“So you want me to fire TK.”
Judd doesn’t answer, but his silence seems to prove answer enough for Owen. He smiles ruefully and nods, seemingly more to himself than to Judd.
“I know how this looks,” he says. “Me coming down here and getting TK a spot on the team. We both know. There are reasons behind it, reasons I can’t explain to you, but I promise you that I wouldn’t have hired him if he weren’t a good firefighter.”
“I’m not saying he ain’t!” Judd protests. He knows he can’t argue that point; he’s seen TK work, and it’s clear that he can handle himself in the field. That doesn’t make him feel any better about this behaviour. “I’m saying, he’s clearly not in a fit state to be working. I mean, Cap, you made me jump through all these hoops to get my job back, but your son gets himself in a hospital bed and you let him off with, what? A slap on the wrist? If that?”
Owen frowns and, for the first time, there’s something sharp in his expression. “There’s no special treatment going on here. I’m monitoring TK just as much as I am you—probably moreso, in fact, because I am his father and I can do that. If he wasn’t fit to be working right now, he wouldn’t be.”
“Really.” Owen nods firmly, but Judd still can’t believe in his certainty. “What happened at the silo… I know my son, and the only thing on TK’s mind would have been helping Marjan. I know he disobeyed an order, and that can’t go unpunished—and it won’t—but I get the feeling that he’s already punished himself some. I get the feeling that, if he’d saved Marjan and still gone down himself, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
That gives Judd pause, and he frowns down at Owen. “What do you mean?”
Owen shrugs. “Like I said, I don’t know all the details of what happened last night. But I’d bet anything that TK purposely provoked guys he knew he couldn’t beat, at least in part to punish himself for yesterday. He wanted to hurt. Maybe not as much as this, but I’m not sure he even cares.”
It’s a strange combination, Owen’s resigned tone and the blatant fear in his eyes. It lets Judd know that there’s more to this story that he’s clearly missing, but, looking at Owen now, he’s not sure he wants to know the entire story yet. He chances another glance over at the kid, who seems to be saying his goodbyes to Carlos, and some of his anger dissipates.
“I’ll talk to him,” Owen says, standing as Carlos makes his way out of TK’s room. “But I think you should too. I think he’d appreciate it.”
Judd barely suppresses a snort at that. He thinks TK is more likely to spit on him than listen to a word he says.
But maybe he’ll give it a try.
Just in case.
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The Way Home
Whumptober2021 (Masterlist) (Chapter 3)
Chapter 4 (Day 14 - Force)
(Gif not mine- warnings for torture, truth serum, violence)
He starts with a simple question.
“What is your name?”
But for Natasha it’s not easy. Her name is Natasha, but it wasn’t always.
The truth wants to come out, and so she lets it fall out.
“Natalia,” she starts, but that’s not right. “Widow.”
There’s one more and it’s drawn from her lips. “Natasha.”
She wants to seal her lips shut.
“Who is he?” His head is flicked towards Clint.
She stops herself saying more. At least she can do that.
“Who is he to you?”
That’s something she definitely doesn’t want to tell this man, but the words come anyway.
“He’s my…” she bites her lip to stop the words.
“Come on Natasha. Say it. Say what he is to you,” he gets close and slaps her cheeks.
“Hoooo. Good!” He claps, “Now we are getting somewhere.”
She looks across to Clint who’s still out. She hopes that he didn’t drop that pieces she painstaking got to him.
“Do you remember Riyadh?”
It’s going to be met with pain, her answer. Whatever he wants, she doesn’t remember.
“You do, bitch.” He backhands her hard.
Seeing stars, she spits blood onto the floor.
“Okay. Lets make this easier.”
“Do you have money you’ve hidden?”
Natasha understands now, she tries to talk around it, answer the question without actually answering it.
“There’s hidden money all over the world,” she says tiredly, she feels other answers at the forefront of her mind, “my money is everywhere.”
The man paces.
“Where is my money?”
If Natasha could answer she would but she honestly has no idea, no memory of what he wants. What is inconsequential to her, has defined his life.
“I don’t know,” she replies honestly.
His anger bubbles and she sees it on his face and in his body as he back hands again.
She loses her balance and her feet slip. She can’t maintain her position and she feels he shoulder dislocate. She cries out in pain, unable to suppress it.
Her brain registers the question and she answers affirmatively, the answer pulled out with shuddering breath.
“I just want my money,” he says. And drops her down. She can’t even put her hands down to stop her descent.
Clint wakes up but keeps his eyes closed. He can hear the man asking questions, and if Natasha can keep him occupied, he can work on his bonds.
He flinched when he hears the clear sounds of skin hitting skin, and anguish that’s pulled out of Natasha’s mouth as he hears her crash to the ground.
The man asks more and more about his money, questions Natasha can’t answer.
Clint’s hands are bloody as he tears them apart and cuts through the rope, his grip becoming tenuous on the glass shard.
When he feels the first rope fray, he feels nothing but elation. As the second goes and then the third, his hand is free, and then his other.
I’m coming Nat, he tells her telepathically.
He finally opens his eyes, sees her sprawled on the floor; her eyes shut tight.
The man is facing her, and he takes the opportunity to reach for the bonds around his feet.
He’s glad that the knots are familiar military knots. He feels desperate as he has one leg free, tries to ignore the man kicking Natasha.
Body free he launches himself at the man, rage and fury in every punch as he tackles him to the floor.
As he punches his face the photostatic veils breaks and Clint recognises him as a friend from his military days.
“Williams?” He says incredulously.
The man grins a bloody grin as he pushes Clint off him, and punches back.
“You left us, went to shield and picked up a Russian whore…”
Clint sees red. Not only has his former friend betrayed his country, betrayed his oath, he’s insulted Natasha and everything he believes in.
All for what? Drug money? Blood money? Clint doesn’t even know. He rolls to the left and reaches up under the side table, the man has his gun drawn but Clint is quicker.
Two shots and he’s down. A third to the head means that this will never happen again.
Rolling on his back he breathes heavily, adrenaline pumping through his body.
He crawls over to where Natasha is sitting up, no words spoken as he unties her, picks her up and deposits her on the chair he just vacated.
He brushes her hair out of her face and smiles shallowly at her.
“He’s dead,” he says redundantly.
“Shoulder?” He asks.
“Dislocated,” she confirms.
“Ready?” Ignoring her wince he places her hand on his shoulder and presses on her upper arm, moving it slowly back into place.
“No,” she cringes biting on her lip as the shoulder sinks back.
“Fuck,” she follows up, though the discomfort is gone.
He inspects her.
Bruises on her face, glass shards embedded in her skin, heat radiating from her body, which he’s not sure is for dehydration or something more sinister.
“Your nose,” she says, reaching up.
He lessens the distance and puts his hand to his face. It’s clearly broken, but he doesn’t care. He wants to examine every part of her and make sure she’s ok.
He puts a hand on her thigh and stands, walking to the kitchen to get her a drink.
All their glassware is gone. He has to bite on the side of his mouth, to stop the sadness showing on his face, and he moves the bathroom.
He takes their toothbrushes out of the cup, washes it out and fills it with water.
He walks over to her, watching her as she picks glass out of her skin. Passing her the water, she takes it and downs it.
“More?” He asks.
“Yes,” she says almost immediately.
Fuck. He’d forgotten that questions will lead to truths.
He chooses to ignore the anguish that plays on her face.
“Sorry,” he apologizes.
It’s met with a shake of her head as he leaves again and gets more water.
Passing it to her, she takes it and he sits on the floor in front of her.
“You need to contact Fury,” she says, looking at the dead man bleeding out on her floorboards.
He hates to ask but he wants to know.
“How much do you want them know?”
Sighing, she shrugs. The answer is drawn out though.
“Nothing. Take the body. No hospital,” she admits.
He gets a cloth and washes his bloody hands; his hands are littered in cuts but he knows it’s nothing compared to how she must feel. He wets it and hands it over.
He goes into the bedroom, reaches for his nose and sets it with a crack and wince and finds a burner phone in the vent and calls Fury directly.
He turns off the heater, the quiet beep startles her and she stares at the vents closing off, shuddering.
He walks back towards Natasha who changes position and starts picking glass from her feet.
The phone answers with a word and a call sign that Clint responds to immediately. Putting him on speakerphone he looks sadly at Natasha.
“Sir. There's been a incident.”
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Whumptober Day 14 - Crush Injuries
A New Leaf - Ep. 2
Angry Mom - Ep. 14
Basketball - Ep. 10
Black - Ep. 7
Blue Birthday - Ep. 11
Designated Survivor: 60 Days - Ep. 4
High & Low 3: Final Mission (2017)
See You Again - Ep. 42
The Legend Of Qin - Ep. 5
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Crush injuries / beaten / force
They were only supposed to do one run. The Fight for Air Climb was a charity event for the American Lung Association, a mile(ish) run up and down one of the tallest buildings in LA. Buck had heard about it from a friend of his, a transplant recipient named Kyle who went to his gym and ran harder and faster than anyone Buck had ever seen. The event was a series of three races and Buck had bullied the rest of the 118 into signing up for the first responders’ climb, a race in full gear up to the top of the skyscraper and back down again. They’d trained for it for months, took donations from other shifts, even had special LAFD shirts made up with a pair of lungs drawn in flame on the back.
Buck and Albert were the only two dumb enough to shed their gear and turn around and go back up for the civilian’s run. Eddie had laughed at him when Buck tried to needle him into going.
“I’ll have the icy hot ready for you when you come back down,” he said, placating Buck with a quick kiss. “If you don’t collapse halfway.”
The warning shout had come when they were nearly three quarters of the way to the top and spread through the crowd as quickly and easily as fire through dry tinder. Buck tried to urge calm, tried to get the runners around him to move slowly, be careful, but he couldn’t reason with panic. All around him a steady marathon pace quickened into a frantic run, people who had previously been traveling up turned and traveled down, crashing into other runners who had no idea what was going on and it was only a matter of time before someone fell.
“I don’t smell smoke, do you?” Albert asked as the two of them jogged with the flow of the crowd, trying to keep pressed against the wall and out of the way of the dozens of people pushing past them.
“No,” Buck answered. “Who yelled?”
No one who ran by seemed to know who had been the first to yell “fire,” but they’d all heard it and they were all responding.
Bodies came thundering down the stairs, racing and shoving, alarm more palpable in the air than the imaginary smoke they were all running from. There were race aides stationed on various floors, people with vests and water and clipboards who maybe could have calmed the crowd, but they were at least five floors from the closest one.
“LAFD!” Buck tried to yell. “Everyone stay calm. We’ll get out faster if we all go slow and steady.”
The words didn’t make any difference and he didn’t dare put an arm out to grab anyone and risk a fall. More runners came down from behind them, pushing them forward into the backs of those ahead. Buck hadn’t even realized they were behind that many others when they were running. Obviously the first run had taken more out of him and Albert than they thought.
Rounding another landing, Buck crashed into the door, leaning hard on the bar to open it and hopefully give the runners behind them another path out. There’d be another set of stairs on the other side of the building.
The door was locked.
Buck threw himself against it just to make sure and shouted as he bounced off of it and Albert had to steady him.
“Come on,” he said, “We’ll try the next one.”
But the story was the same on the next landing as well. The door didn’t budge and the crowd of runners was morphing into a sweating, terrified mass of humanity that was barely budging either. As he looked down, Buck was starting to see the crowd mesh together in a tangled knot, the descending runners collided with the ones still climbing and panicked cries were rising like smoke.
“Go up,” Buck urged. “We’ve got to keep people from coming down here. We have to thin this crowd or-”
A high pitched shriek echoed in the stairwell and the group stumbled forward a half step and then stopped and Buck knew with a sinking terrible feeling what had just happened.
“Stephanie!” someone shrieked. “Get off of her. Get off! Get off! Steph!”
Without thinking, Buck hauled himself up onto the railing. His running shoes gripped the metal bar, one hand coming down to steady himself as he tried to see where the screaming was coming from. Around the next corner, he saw her, a dark-haired girl struggling to keep her own balance as she reached down to someone that Buck couldn’t see. She was braced hard against the throng behind her, but she couldn’t stay on her feet and keep reaching at the same time. Whoever was underneath was being crushed, would die if no one did anything.
It was a narrow stairwell and Buck could easily drop from his position down to the next railing so he did, ignoring the faint tug Albert gave his t-shirt. Once on the next level, Buck scooted further down the stairs, his heart slamming against his ribs with every jostle he got from the crowd.
Above him, Albert had started yelling, “Hey! Hey! LAFD. Stop shoving! There’s a girl trapped down there! Hey!”
Buck yelled too, trying to get the attention of the people he passed, trying to get them to stop, but as he caught the eyes of one terrified teenager, he realized they couldn’t anymore. The crowd was a living thing, moving of its own volition, headed inexorably forward toward disaster. He heard the sound of more people slamming into the doors on the landings, banging on them, screaming, finding each and every one locked. They shouldn’t be locked. One was an accident. But every floor…
Finally he reached the shouting girl. She had a white knuckle grip on the railing and she was still stretching her other arm forward, trying to reach her friend. Buck could see a flash of a yellow t-shirt on the ground, a wave of black hair. The girl was conscious, fighting, but she was trapped upside down on the stairs and she couldn’t get free. He had a half second to decide what to do, how to help.
“Hey,” he said to the one who was standing. “My name’s Buck; I’m with the LAFD. What’s your name?”
“Cherie,” she answered, her voice shaking with strain. “Please help her. Stephanie-”
“Cherie, I’m going to climb down in front of you and I’m gonna get Stephanie off the ground. Can you hold on or are you going to fall?”
It was an impossible ask on a staircase with a thousand pounds of force pushing on her from above and gravity pulling on her from below. But rising above the fear in her eyes there was a steely determination. “I can hold on,” she said. “Please help her.”
“Alright,” Buck said. “I’m coming down.”
He stepped over where her hand clutched the rail and lowered himself down. Cherie teetered and stumbled forward as the crowd pressed behind her, around her, but she held her ground. Taking a deep breath as if diving into a wave, Buck squatted low, letting go of the railing, risking his balance, risking his life, because he was only going to get one shot at this and he needed both hands.
Buck was straddling Stephanie’s legs, bent and bloody, and he couldn’t see if anyone was standing on her other limbs, but he had no way to move them if they were. Praying to god she didn’t have a spinal injury, he did the only thing he could do: He grabbed Stephanie tight around the waist and lifted. She fought to help him, her feet running forward, trying to find an edge on the stairs to push up on as Buck used every inch of the muscle he’d spent years building to rise, lifting them both and holding his balance.
“Oh my god,” Cherie said from behind him. “Is she-?”
And Stephanie groaned in his arms before saying, “I’m okay.”
It was all she managed to get out before Cherie crashed into Buck’s back, finally wrenched loose from her position on the stairs and all three of them slipped quickly down two steps. Buck didn’t even think Stephanie’s feet were touching the ground. She was wedged between his chest and the back of the man in front of her. He couldn’t see what her injuries were but his arms were covered in blood.
“Buck!” Albert yelled from up the stairs.
Buck wanted to yell back, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lift his arm to say that he was okay. The wave lifted and shoved him forward until it broke on the landing and everyone stumbled in the spare few inches that they had available to move. Other people were climbing on the railings now, desperate souls following Buck’s example without Buck’s athleticism. Time seemed to stretch out, every moment swollen with desperation and lingering on and on, but it really couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before someone else fell. Then another.
The screams all blended together in a loud hum. Buck reached again for the railing, but he was well and truly part of the ocean now and he couldn’t stop long enough to get the leverage he needed to hoist himself up. He lost track of Stephanie as they turned a corner and he was jostled, thrown across the landing and nearly hitting the opposite wall, but Buck didn’t really start to get afraid until his feet lifted to descend the next stair and didn’t come down again.
He wouldn’t panic; he couldn’t. The only real difference between first responders and everybody else was that sense of purpose. Buck had a mission. Get everyone out. Get himself out. That focus let him run in when every survival instinct in his body should have been screaming at him to run out. He clawed for that purpose now but he couldn’t seem to reach it. His body was lifted in the air and his chest was crushed together with other desperate chests and Buck started struggling hard to get out get out get out get loose.
Every breath he took seemed shallower than the last as he was squeezed tighter and tighter. Buck didn’t think the crowd was moving anymore. Maybe they’d hit one final locked door at the bottom and there was nowhere else to go. Buck imagined himself being squelched like a watermelon in a hydraulic press. He imagined himself being scraped off the stairs by the teams of paramedics who were waiting just a few flights down, who had no idea any of this was happening. He thought of Eddie.
Oh god, Eddie. Eddie who had just started relaxing into the permanence of Buck’s love for him. Eddie who would force his way into the stairwell the second he heard something had happened. Eddie who would find him. Eddie who would be crushed just as thoroughly as Buck was about to be. The thought of it hurt, it hurt so much but also what else was Buck supposed to think about in the last moments of his life? Nothing but Eddie.
Drawing a breath into the last of the room in his lungs, Buck summoned all of the strength he had to fight, just to try and carve out a little bit of room for himself and as he shoved, he felt something give way in the horde around him.
There was just enough time for Buck to remember that he was still suspended before he wasn’t anymore. He crashed hard to the ground, his knees hitting first and then his outstretched hands before his chest slammed into one of the cement stairs, knocking all of the hard-won air from his lungs. Buck shouted as he scrambled, grasping at the stairs, trying to push himself up and then he felt the thud of a kick to his ribs. It wasn’t intentional--nothing anyone was doing was intentional anymore--but it bruised all the same. There was another thud and another as someone passed over him, stepping hard on his hip as they did and before he could cry out, another shoe crushed his fingers.
Buck was nudged, steamrolled, rammed, squeezed, tumbled down the stairs. He was like a stone at the bottom of the ocean, destined to be sanded down, rocked back and forth for eternity until he was filed down into nothing. And he had just enough time for the horror of that to overwhelm every one of his senses before another flailing foot connected with his jaw and everything went black.
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Okay, thought of a request for the bingo card! I'm going to with "Please Don't Leave Me". Hurt Keith, caretaker Allura.
Heyyy look at me, I came through with another BTHB fill and combined it with Whumptober! Surprise!
Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender
BTHB Prompt: Please Don’t Leave Me
Whumptober Prompt: Crush Injuries
Warnings: tunnel collapse, mild lady whump, pinned down, mild blood, referenced internal bleeding, discussion of death
The collapse is both sudden and loud. One moment Allura and Keith are walking silently through the dark of the underground tunnel, watching for any signs of the glowing mineral that is supposed to be found there, and the next the ground is shaking and rocks are raining down on them. She tries to keep up with where Keith is in the chaos, but quickly loses sight of him. Small rocks pelt her helmet. Another, larger one hits her shoulder, and she cries out.
There’s a flash of blue light, and Keith’s shield is covering her from above. Swiveling her head, she locks eyes with him. “We gotta move, let’s go!” he shouts, his voice barely audible even this close to her ears. She can see his arm shaking with every stone that falls on top of them.
They’re too late to escape the tunnel, though. She’s skeptical that any path won’t be blocked, but they don’t even make it far enough to find out. There’s a horrendously loud cracking sound above them, and suddenly Keith disappears and she’s falling, tumbling across the rock-covered ground.
The rumbling finally stops. Allura squeezes her eyes shut and coughs out some of the dust in her lungs, only to inhale more with the next breath. It’s so thick in the air that she can’t see any better now than she could a few dobashes ago.
“Keith?” She coughs again and drags herself up to sit, wincing and clutching at her wounded shoulder. “Keith! Are...are you alright?”
There’s no answer. A growing feeling of dread begins to gnaw at her insides, and she forces herself to her feet, looking around her, trying to find any sign of red armor or black hair in the wasteland of brown rocks and dust. “Keith! Can you hear me?”
A groan answers her from somewhere nearby. It simultaneously fills her with relief and fear. Holding her arm against her side, she scrambles over the rubble in the direction it came from.
She almost steps on his arm.
“Keith!” she gasps, dropping down on her knees beside him, frantically looking over what little she can see of his body.
His eyes open to slits, tongue running over dust-coated lips. “‘Llura...you ‘kay?”
She sits back on her heels, surprised. “Am I…? I’m fine, Keith, it’s you that’s not okay!”
“Yeah.” The hand she’s kneeling beside, the only one of his hands she can see, clenches into a fist. “It...hurts.”
The admission softens her, makes her want to gather him up in a hug if only she actually could. She settles for resting her palm on his arm. “I know. I’m sure it must hurt quite badly.” Her eyes flicker over the pile of rocks that rest on top of him. “I should be able to move these.”
“Be careful,” he grunts as she rises, and while she’s more concerned about potentially making his situation worse, she has no doubt based on his tone that he’s only worried about her safety.
The pile, thankfully, is not so large that she has to climb on it to reach the top. The last thing Keith needs is more weight on top of him. She’s easily able to remove the first few, smaller rocks using only her good arm, tossing them away, but the biggest problem is obviously the huge boulder that’s sitting right on top of him.
Normally it wouldn’t be a problem for her, either. But right now…
She pushes her doubt aside and braces her arms underneath the stone. “I’m going to lift this. If you can possibly move back at all, do.”
Before he can protest, she bends her knees and lifts. And screams, in unison with her shoulder.
Stumbling backwards, she drops to the ground, clutching at her arm. “I’m...I’m alright. I...believe I may be more injured than I originally thought. I’m sorry, Keith.”
“‘S not your fault.” Sucking in a sharp breath, he closes his eyes in a grimace. “It’ll...it’ll be okay.”
But what if it isn’t? She has no way of knowing just what kind of shape he’s in underneath there. Human bodies are so...fragile. The other paladins are nearby, of course, and will know something is wrong soon, but what if it’s not soon enough?
Her attention is brought back to Keith when he begins to cough. It looks painful, curling his head and shoulders up off the ground. When it passes, he drops back down, trembling, and a thin stream of red trickles from the corner of his mouth.
Allura frowns, leaning in closer. “Keith, is your mouth injured as well?”
“Hm?” His hand comes up to his mouth, one pale finger poking through his ripped glove, and touches the blood. The look of barely contained panic in his eyes when he sees it sends a jolt of fear through her gut. “Oh. No, uh...that...that means that somethin’...inside of me is bleeding.”
She doesn’t have to know much about human anatomy to know that that’s not a good thing. Not at all.
“Alright. I’m...I’m going to go find help.”
His eyes go wide. “You...you can’t, it’s...too dangerous. Prob’ly...blocked.”
Allura manages a small smile. “Perhaps. But I must try. You’re gravely injured, the comms won’t pick up down here, and I cannot bear to just sit and wait for them to find us.”
She begins to stand, and Keith’s hand shoots out and latches onto her arm with a surprisingly strong grip for his state. Surprised, her gaze meets his, and the expression she finds there is somehow even more fearful than it had been at the sight of the blood.
“Please…” His words come out in a shaky whisper. “Please don’t leave me.”
This is nothing like the strong, stoic Keith she knows, and though she’s aware he’s in pain she finds herself aggravated that he can’t see this is the logical solution. “Keith, you must let me go.”
His hand squeezes her arm, then releases and drops back to the ground with a thud. He turns his head toward the ceiling, but not before she can see tears brimming in his eyes. “I don’...I don’ wanna die alone.”
She wants to reassure him that he won’t, he’ll be fine, but an image flashes through her mind of him lying down here, in excruciating pain, struggling through his last moments of life with no one there to comfort him, and she can’t. She can’t say it, and she can’t leave. Her knees hit the ground again, and she gathers his hand up in both of hers, holding it to her chest.
“It’s alright,” she murmurs. “I’m here. You’re right, I probably wouldn’t make it far, anyway.”
They sit together in relative silence, only interrupted for a while by Keith’s periodic coughs. She gently wipes the blood off his chin and tries not to let her fear for him show on her face. It only takes a few dobashes, though, before it’s obvious that he’s beginning to fade, and that’s when she starts to softly recall stories from her childhood, trying to keep him awake.
“‘Llura,” he says at last, not seeming to notice that he’s interrupting. “If...if I don’ make it...nee’ you t’...t’ tell Sh’ro…’m sorry.”
She bends her head down and presses his knuckles into her cheek, torn between responses. “Yes. Yes, I will.” A distant noise catches the attention of her sensitive ears, and she sits up straight, suddenly on full alert. “But I believe he’ll appreciate it more coming straight from you. Listen, Keith, I hear them! They’re coming!”
“We’re here!” she shouts. Folding over, she rests her helmet against his. “Hold on. Just a little longer. They’re almost here.”
“Th’nk you.” She can barely hear him anymore. She’s pretty sure, though, that she knows what he’s thanking her for.
“We’re all right here. You’re not alone, and you’re going to be just fine.”
Requests for BTHB are still open (instructions here, prompts not crossed off on the card above are still available)! Just be aware that filling the prompts is mostly on hiatus for now, until Whumptober is over.
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fic: either by design or mistake (also on ao3)
Data still doesn't understand some aspects of human behavior. Sometimes, the humans on board don't understand his, either.
Whumptober Prompt #14: Under Pressure | crush injuries + force
“What can you tell me about the settlement, Mr. Data?”
Data’s fingers zipped over his console before Captain Picard had finished speaking, queueing up the routes for the command he calculated was most likely to follow his answer to the captain. His index finger hovered over the final button.
“The structures and dwellings most closely resembled the towns of twenty-second century Bajor. The previous inhabitants possessed limited technology by Federation standards and seemed to have abandoned development of their infrastructure. We did encounter a mineral currently unlisted in any known database in several of the surrounding mineshafts. Exogeology Labs One and Two are running scans on the samples now.”
Picard made the sound Data recognized as interested, or possibly thoughtful. “Link our readouts to the labs’ scanners if you would, Data. I’d like to know more about that mineral.”
“Aye, sir.” Data tapped the button to execute the pre-set program.
“Once Commander Riker is here, we’ll begin the full debriefi—”
The turbolift doors at the rear of the bridge opened, and the voice of the commander cut the captain off.
“What the hell is he still doing here?”
Data spun his chair around to determine to whom Riker was speaking. Picard was looking at his first officer steadily. The captain did not appear to be upset at being interrupted, but a wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. Next to him, Counselor Troi wore a familiar expression Data filed under mild concern.
“What is who still doing where?” Picard asked.
Riker pointed a finger at Data. “Him.” Angry. “I believe I ordered you to sickbay, Commander,” he said turning to Data.
Captain Picard's and Counselor Troi's eyes fell to him too.
“Yes, Commander,” Data agreed. “I intend to go. However, you did not specify the exact time I should report. My shift will be completed in three hours, six minutes, forty-two seconds. It will take twenty-nine minutes, one second more for my systems to fail and require reset and maintenance. I am quite able to remain at my station.”
“Until your systems fail?” asked Counselor Troi, sitting up straight in her seat.
“Data,” said Picard. He looked between his first and second officers. “What do you mean ‘reset and maintenance’? What is this about?”
Data opened his mouth to respond, but Commander Riker spoke again.
“He didn’t tell you about nearly being split in half by a box of those rocks?” He came down the ramp and loomed over Data’s chair, scowling.
“What? Data—” Troi stood from her chair.
“I was not ‘split in half,’ Commander—”
“Will someone kindly explain what is going on here?” Picard’s voice rose over all of them.
Riker crossed his arms. “Commander Data fell into one of the mineshafts while we were down on the planet. The ground gave way – a titanium crate filled with those minerals we found took a tumble too and landed on top of him.”
Captain Picard’s eyes narrowed. “Data, is this true?”
Data cocked his head. “Of course, Captain. I have not known Commander Riker to lie unless—”
“No, Data, that’s not what I mean,” said Picard, rubbing his forehead. Agitated, Data deducted. “What – injuries did you sustain?”
Data summarized. “Superficial damage to my bioplast and muscle structures, a blockage in my cooling system, and a series of leaks in my abdominal fluid supply tubes.”
“He’s bleeding internally, for all intents and purpose,” Riker clarified. His vocal pattern remained angry. There was an additional undertone Data’s programs struggled to identify.
“Data!” Troi put her hands to her hips and moved one step closer. “What are you doing still on duty?”
“I have closed off several cavities to contain the biofluid outflows as a temporary solution.” Data wrinkled his forehead and opened his mouth slightly to convey confusion. “Did I do something wrong?”
Picard sighed. “Not precisely.” He stood from his chair as well and tugged at his uniform top to straighten it.
Data looked up at the three of them. His priority seven subroutine spontaneously displayed an image from the Terran novel Gulliver’s Travels of the titular character in Brobdingnag – the land of giants. He filed away a note to examine the occurrence at a later time.
The captain continued, “However, I reiterate the commander’s order to report to sickbay – immediately. Ensign Basma will cover your station until the end of the shift.”
“Yes, sir.” Data nodded. He rose as Basma slipped over silently to fill the chair behind him. He was almost to the turbolift when he paused his walk cycle and turned back to Commander Riker. “I hope I did not offend you, sir. I did not intend disrespect, or to disobey. I was merely attempting to prioritize.”
He did not fully understand his fellow officers’ reactions. It was an area in which he still had much to learn. He would have to parse the behavior and reassess. Another of his subroutines was already occupied analyzing the micro-movements of their expressions.
“I know, Data,” Riker said, and the skin of his face smoothed out a fraction. “Just – right now is a time to prioritize yourself.”
Data tilted his head to the side again. Then nodded. He began to turn but was halted once more by Captain Picard.
“Oh and, Commander,” said the captain, giving Data his full attention, “in future I would like to be kept informed of any such similar occurrences. I realize your capabilities are significantly greater than many of ours, but I will not permit any officer on this bridge or this ship to remain on duty while they require medical attention. Even if will not become critical for ‘twenty-nine minutes.’ Is that clear?”
Data internally corrected this statement to an updated twenty-six minutes, thirty-two seconds but terminated the command that would have allowed him to say this out loud.
“Yes, sir,” said Data. “It is…‘crystal’ clear.” His nanomotors whirred a little faster underneath his bioplast. He terminated another command that urged his lips to form a smile - he was quite certain he had used the expression correctly.
Data entered the turbolift and turned to face the doors, centered exactly between the walls. Before the doors closed, he observed the positioning of Picard’s mouth as suggestive of amused.
The three officers watched him until the panels slid shut.
Dr. Crusher was waiting for him. As was Geordi.
Data would not have categorized either of them as seeming pleased.
“Commander Riker sent me up,” said Geordi. He gestured to a biobed. “Lie down.”
Data sat. Before he could recline, Geordi tugged at the sleeve of Data’s uniform in a gesture Data quickly interpreted as a silent instruction to remove his shirt. He pulled the top over his head and Geordi nodded, taking it from him. Data’s nanomotors whirred again at the successful decoding of Geordi’s intentions.
Dr. Crusher sighed as she ran a tricorder up and down his body. “Data, what were you thinking?”
Data sculpted a frown. “At which time, Doctor?”
Her face shifted to mimic Captain Picard’s before he had come down in the turbolift. “When you decided to bleed out on the bridge instead of being repaired?”
(Data registered that his human counterparts evidently preferred to refer to the damage to his systems as ‘bleeding’ rather than ‘leaking.’ He did not ask why. He had constructed several theories regarding the behavior in the thirty-seven milliseconds since Dr. Crusher had spoken.)
Data had been thinking many things when he had decided to go to the bridge instead of sickbay. Two hundred and three separate things, to be precise. This is not what Dr. Crusher meant.
“As I explained to Commander Riker, my status is not yet critical.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Geordi as he performed his own scan of Data’s body with his VISOR. “Sure, buddy.”
Geordi placed a hand on Data’s arm as Dr. Crusher sliced into the bioplast covering his midsection with a scalpel. A comforting action, Data knew from past observations. Data did not require comfort – he was not capable of feeling the pain of the incision – but the pathways in his brain pertaining to Geordi’s presence lit up, buzzing with activity. His fingers twitched at the surge. He predicted it likely Geordi would continue to offer comfort throughout the procedure. The pathways lit up again.
Dr. Crusher finished opening up his abdomen, and she and Geordi went to work immediately repairing his damaged parts. Fluid gushed out onto the table as they removed the seals Data had put in place, and he experienced a twelve percent decrease in operating speed as his body diverted power.
He blinked. “Geordi?” He was not certain why had not been able to terminate the command to say his friend’s name.
“Hey, it’s okay, Data. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.” One of Geordi’s hands continued its work where it was buried in Data’s internal workings, but the other squeezed Data’s shoulder before returning. “I promise.”
Data nodded. He authorized the function that closed his eyelids.
In twenty-eig – approximately half of an hour – Dr. Crusher was closing him up again. Geordi ran a device over his bioplast, encouraging it to begin to regenerate and knit itself back together. Data did not think the device had a term to label it yet. Geordi had invented it himself.
“All done,” smiled Dr. Crusher. “Normally I’d order bed rest, but you’re good as new. If only all of my patients recovered as quickly as you, Data.”
Data sat up. His internal scans confirmed his body was fully repaired. However, he was uncertain he fit the definition of ‘recovered.’ Curious, he began to run a comprehensive diagnostic.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Geordi handed him his uniform top. Data put it back on and thanked him as well.
“I’ll stop by after my shift, huh Data?” Geordi suggested as Data stood from the biobed. Geordi’s hand touched his arm again. “We can try out that new holodeck program you’ve been working on.”
Data displayed the smile that cross-referenced most often with similar past suggestions. “I would like that, Geordi.”
Both Geordi and Dr. Crusher smiled then, too, though Data found their expressions to meet two different sets of criteria.
“Alright I’ll see you later, then.” Geordi’s hand slid from his arm.
Data exited sickbay and headed towards his quarters. He contemplated the possibilities of activities with which to fill his time until Geordi was off duty. He had not played with Spot yet today, or given her the kisses she required to maintain a calm state. His walk cycle lengthened. The positronic pathways respective to Spot lit up, followed by the ones concerning Geordi.
The self-diagnostic was still running. He would allow it to finish and inspect the results. However, he estimated his ‘recovery’ to have increased by an unspecified percentage.
Data predicted it likely to continue to increase during his time on the holodeck with Geordi.
Though no one was there to observe it this time but himself, Data smiled.
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Whumptober day 14
warnings: self-loathing, beating, violence, multiple whumpers, broken nose, very vaguely implied past abuse
I was reading Solo Leveling manhwa and liked the concept of S-ranks and E-ranks fighting monsters, so that’s where this came from. I might write some more with this whumpee, lemme know if you’d like to see it <3
Day 14: beaten
The group of heroes sneered at him, their eyes full of hatred and malice. They moved with steps assured, not stirred from their intentions in the slightest. Even if those intentions were to cause harm and go against the very nature of the oath they took to protect people.
“You think you’re so great, huh?” the man in the center snarled, tilting his head to the side.
He had dark auburn hair and the kind of sculpted face that got printed in magazines, a clear fit for a top-rank hero. Standing at the front of the group, he was clearly the leader. Whumpee could tell that much, even if he’d never met this team before in his life.
The leader pushed on Whumpee’s shoulder, sending him back a step. “What, you too high and mighty to answer me? We’re the same rank, dumbass!”
Whumpee almost shook his head at the statement, then thought better of it. He sometimes forgot he was also now an S-rank hero, among the best of the best. He’d been an E-rank all his life, the lowest of them all and also the most disrespected and discriminated against. He still hadn’t grown out of the mentality that came with it. Even after the event that sent him skyrocketing through the ranks, all the way to the top.
“I—uh—” Whumpee stuttered.
Leader jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at his teammates. He craned his neck to look back at them.
“Get a load of this guy, thinking he’s hot shit or something!”
The others began to laugh, the sound grating in Whumpee’s ears. Whumpee curled his shoulders in and bowed his head, trying to make it look like he didn’t think he was above them—which shouldn’t have been hard since it was the truth. He’d never thought he was above anyone.
Leader had the confidence of someone who’d been born in the spotlight. Loved, cherished, worshipped even. Whumpee could tell that he wouldn’t ever back down from a fight, and would always win. Just like a true S-rank.
He and Whumpee were too different in that regard. Whumpee was just doing what he could to not cause trouble and not get hurt.
Too bad that didn’t quite work out.
Leader swung his arm and struck Whumpee across the side of his face, sending him tumbling to the ground. Tears welled in his eyes from the impact alone, and Whumpee reeled from the shock of it. The group of S-ranks surrounded him and looked down from above.
“This’ll teach you not to look down on us,” Leader said.
I’m not! Whumpee wanted to shout, but his voice refused to work.
“You may have your publicity now, but that’s all you’ll ever be. A passing curiosity.”
Leader motioned to the team and they surged on him. Whumpee held his arms over his head as the first of the kicks came, the blunt force of their expensive boots striking his body. The whole team joined in, kicking him in his chest, ribs, stomach. They aimed for his face but Whumpee tried to protect it as best he could, shielding himself by sacrificing his arms. He hoped he wouldn’t break a wrist.
The team shouted insults at him as the onslaught continued, bearing down on him with a force a normal human wouldn’t have been able to withstand. Their strength was amplified by their powers…powers granted to heroes to fight monsters, not the innocent.
Am I innocent? Whumpee wondered.
A kick landed in Whumpee’s stomach and he pitched forward, a brutal cry wrenched from his throat. His arms fell and in that momentary gap, the team was able to land a kick to his face. His head snapped back, a resounding crack echoing through his ears. Blood gushed from his nose and over his lips, hot and thick.
Laughter. They were laughing.
Get up. Stay down. You can fight back now. Just wait until it’s over.
Conflicted responses warred in his mind, survival instinct drilled into him versus the knowledge of his newly begotten abilities.
Whumpee wanted to fight them, but he was too afraid.
They beat him until he was bruised and bloody, too injured to even defend himself. They finally got tired of it and stopped, leaving him with some parting insults before dispersing. Whumpee’s eyes were clouded with tears but through them he could see Leader still standing before him.
“You are nothing, Whumpee. You’ll never be one of us,” he said.
Whumpee knew that was true. Leader spat on him and walked away to join the others.
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