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skyward-floored · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 7: Alleyway, “Can you hear me?”

Or: I take the bad mood I was in yesterday and give it to Legend

Warnings: mostly just canon-typical violence. Some injury.

Read on ao3

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The stupid thing is, Legend easily could have avoided this.

If he’d been thinking at all about where he was walking, or the fact that he hadn’t brought any of his things with him, or just thinking, period, he would have realized he’d gotten rather far from where the Links were staying and gone off to the side of town that Time had taken one look at and said they should only go to in pairs.

But the argument he’d had with Wild was still rattling around his head, making his steps hard and angry, and he wasn’t thinking about where he was going a single bit.

“Nearly got Hyrule and Four killed and that’s how he reacts?” he growled as he stomped down an alleyway. “Gets mad at me for calling him out? Does he even care?!”

Legend kicked a pebble in his way, and continued to mutter angrily to himself.

“Gods, he’s less mature then Ralph, even Gulley would have known better,” he growled, consumed in his anger. “Has he never fought alongside anyone else?!”

“Sounds like you’ve had a rough evening.”

Legend froze, and slowly looked behind him, biting back a curse.

Somehow a group of people had come up behind him in the alleyway, sticking to the shadows so he couldn’t make out their faces. Legend sighed, and turned around to face all of them, hands on his hips.

“What do you want?” he snapped, and the figures chuckled, moving a little closer to him. They stepped into a patch of moonlight, and Legend could make out their faces, and nearly rolled his eyes. All men, all muscled, and all probably going to try and rob him.

Well joke’s on them, I don’t have my wallet with me, Legend thought with a smirk.

“We want your money, kid,” the one in front said with a smile. “And if you just hand it over, nice and easy, nobody has to get hurt.”

Legend snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure. Look, hate to disappoint you, but I actually don’t have any money on me. Sorry.”

The smile of the mugger turned more dangerous. “You must think we’re pretty stupid, kid. Nobody walks the streets in clothes like that unless they got rupees to spare.”

Legend crossed his arms, still annoyed at everything. “Look, I don’t have any money. And even if I did, I’d probably just give it to you guys to make you stop talking and leave me alone,” he snapped.

“Maybe he’s telling the truth, boss,” one of the other men said, and the one in front smirked a bit.

“Maybe he is. Or maybe he isn’t, but either way, those rings he’s wearing have got to be worth quite a bit. Not to mention I don’t like his attitude. I think he needs to be taught a lesson.”

Legend took a step back, feeling a bit worried now.

“Look you morons, I don’t want to have to hurt you,” he growled, continuing to slowly back up. The only weapons he had on him were the small dagger he kept in case of emergencies (slipped in his boot, which would be difficult to grab and only so much use against multiple assailants), and his fists, which while not totally useless, were once again not the best while outnumbered.

Running it was.

Legend’s eyes darted around as he continued to back up, looking for space to escape through. He tensed as he was about to whip around and bolt, then felt his back bump against something.

His stomach sank, and he turned around and saw another man grinning at him, larger then all the others.

“Well. Guess we’re doing this the hard way,” Legend muttered, and the men rushed him.

He held his own for quite a while considering, especially since the moment he’d pulled out his dagger it had gotten knocked out of his hand and lost to the shadows of the alleyway. Legend gave as much as he took, kicking and punching, using the (unfortunately mostly useless) rings on his hands to his advantage.

But he was horribly outnumbered, and the alley wasn’t the most spacious of places to fight in. Legend tried more then once to just slip past the men attacking him and run, but there wasn’t enough space for him to maneuver, and he was rapidly losing the fight.

Way to go Hero of Legend, really living up to your name, he thought angrily as a kick caught him on the side, making him stumble. Really superb fighting skills being showcased here today.

A knee went up and got him in the stomach, and Legend doubled over, coughing at the air knocked out of him. The men took the opportunity to rain blows down onto him while he gasped for air, and Legend couldn’t do much other then try to stumble away.

A fist caught him right on the eye as he stumbled (oh fantastic, now it would be purple for the next week), and Legend reeled, yelping as a leg managed to kick his feet out from under him.

He fell to the ground, and before he could do anything but realize he was in fact, on the ground, something loomed over him.

And suddenly a knife buried itself in his leg.

Legend let out a pained yell and swung his fist out towards his assailant, but he missed, and soon more kicks were aimed at his ribs and fists were pummeling him and Legend was seriously regretting coming out here all alone as he curled up and tried to protect his head.

Then he heard a shriek.

The fists paused in their assault, and Legend heard someone shouting something, another voice yelling in response. The sounds paused, then Legend heard something heavy hit the ground, then footsteps bolting away from him.

He didn’t move though, not wanting to uncurl in case any of the men were still there and wanting to punch him some more. He wasn’t convinced they hadn’t cracked any ribs, and he was slightly afraid to move.

Lighter footsteps came towards him, a hiss of sympathy accompanying them as they came to a stop.

And then a voice that Legend unfortunately recognized.

“Legend? Hey, can you hear me?!”

“Mm, loud’n clear...” he muttered out of the side of his face that wasn’t swelling. A finger prodded at his eye, and Legend smacked at it, gasping as the movement jarred the knife still in his leg.

He reluctantly pried open his not-purple eye, and looked up at about the last person he wanted to see right now.

Wild crouched above him, his face splashed with worry as he took in Legend’s battered body. Legend pointedly looked away, gingerly sitting up. He hissed at the movement, parts of himself he didn’t even know he had throbbing with pain, but he waved off Wild’s outstretched arm, managing to sit up by himself.

“Fantastic,” he muttered venomously, feeling around the knife in his leg. Oh, it was his own dagger. Real funny, guys. “Now the old man is going to have that awful worried-disappointed look he always gets and somebody is going to lecture me.”

“I know that feeling,” Wild said, and Legend pointedly didn’t look at him. “Um, can you stand? ...All our potions are back at the inn.”

“Yeah.”

Legend moved his aching arms beneath him, then quickly pushed himself upright, gasping as the knife was jarred.

His leg suddenly gave out on him, but instead of face planting onto the cobblestones like he’d expected, two arms shot out and supported him, stopping him from falling. Legend sighed, and would’ve pressed his hand to the bridge of his nose if his face hadn’t hurt so much.

“I... don’t think you can walk,” Wild said a little awkwardly, and Legend rolled his eyes.

“Genius deduction, Champion. I wonder where all that brainpower was earlier,” he snapped, leg still throbbing.

Wild went silent, and Legend ignored the sliver of regret that immediately rose in the wake of his words.

The champion didn’t say anything further as he shifted his grip around to better support Legend, slinging an arm under his shoulder. He began to walk, and Legend limped on silently beside him, the air between them as thick as the shadows they were walking through.

“I’m sorry.”

Legend raised an eyebrow over at Wild, who nervously met his eyes. “What?”

“I’m sorry. For... for endangering the others,” Wild continued, shame thick in his voice. “I wasn’t thinking about how the bomb arrows would set off the dodongos, even though Time said they were volatile, you were right. It was a stupid course of action. I nearly got Hyrule killed. Four’s still unconscious.”

His voice wavered a little on the last word, but Wild quickly smoothed it.

“You were right to yell, I deserved it,” he finished in a quiet voice.

Legend sighed, and felt his anger drain, replaced with a heavy tiredness that made all his bruises ache more.

“...It was in the heat of battle,” he replied quietly. “You didn’t really have time to think. And we were pretty outnumbered. If you hadn’t taken them out when you did, we’d all probably be in pretty bad shape.”

“...like you?” Wild said with a hesitant smile.

Legend smirked. “Yeah. Like me.”

He sighed again, and looked Wild in the eyes (as best he could with one of them swollen beyond belief anyway), making sure he was looking.

“...thanks for saving me. I owe you one.”

Wild’s face broke into a relieved smile at the apology, and he squeezed Legend’s shoulder. “We’re even, Vet. Don’t worry about it.”

Legend smiled back, even though it hurt, and let himself be supported by Wild’s weight a bit more as they walked through the streets. They were both silent again, but the awkward air had fled, left with something much more comfortable.

“One more thing Champion,” Legend said after a while. “You uh... maybe don’t tell the others I was so distracted I got snuck up on and stabbed?“

Wild’s face split in a grin. “I dunno Vet, I haven’t had any good blackmail on you in a while.”

Legend gasped in betrayal. “You said we were even!”

“Well I don’t know Ledge, there were four guys. Maybe you owe me one for each.”

“That’s criminal and you know it!”

“Well actually I think those guys were the criminals really—”

“Champion!”

Their argument continued the whole way back, mostly lighthearted, and the others heard them coming long before they reached the inn.

#It’s so funny rereading this I can tell I was so grumpy while writing it abdfhvjfhd #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu legend #lu wild #linked universe fanfic #whumptober #whumptober 2023 #day 7 #alleyway #can you hear me #writing from the floor #in a much better mood today #I dunno what was up yeaterday #but I’m much better today #probably because I got to tromp around a field for like two hours :D

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adrift-in-thyme · 6 months

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Whumptober Day 25: "They're not breathing!" + Storm

Read it on Ao3

- Hyrule & Legend

- Summary: Hyrule uses the last of his magic to save his brother's life

CW for temporary character death, blood and injury

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He’s not breathing.

Hyrule stares down his brother, his predecessor (for goodness sake, they just figured that one out), broken and bleeding and pale.

“Legend…”

He murmurs his name as a prayer, a plea, a demand. His voice cracks at the end, betraying the sorrow that swells within him like the waves he has seen in Wind’s Hyrule.

He waits for the response, reassuring and teasing, probably with a hint of sarcasm. And while he waits, the rain pours down and the thunder shakes the earth and the lightning streaks across the sky. It storms in a mockery of the boy who hates storms, yet faces them with all the ferocity they embody, all the fervor and bravery.

The boy who has fallen before them and risen again.

“Come on, Ledge.”

Shaking fingers press to a pulse point, searching for the weakest flutter of a heartbeat. Nothing.

No response. No thunder of a hero’s pounding heart.

Hyrule chokes on a ragged sob.

It had all happened so fast, too fast to understand, too fast to stop. The fight had been long and arduous. The monsters just kept coming and with it only being the two of them, it had begun to grow exhausting. And when a towering stal-monster had swung its claymore there had been no time to lunge for his brother.

Hyrule cringes, remembering the nauseating sound of the weapon connecting with Legend’s body. He had gone flying, hit the ground in a tangle of bloodied limbs, and not moved since.

But I need you to. Please, Legend.

Their potions are gone, horribly understocked to begin with (they hadn’t thought they were headed towards a fight; it was just supposed to be a quick patrol), and drunk early in the battle. He’s all but drained of magic. There is hardly enough to perform something simple, much less a healing spell.

But he has to do something, he can’t just sit here and wait for the moment when the others arrive (if they ever do, if some of the plentiful monsters didn’t slip away and attack them too). He can’t just sit here and watch Legend die.

(No, he’s not already dead even though his chest no longer rises and falls and he is limp and pale and devoid of the life he holds and fights for. Hyrule won’t let himself believe anything else.)

Doing nothing isn’t an option. So, Hyrule takes a deep breath and steels himself. Using magic that isn’t truly there is always excruciating (he would know, he has done it more times than he’d like to admit). But he’ll live. And most important of all, so will Legend.

The rain beats down and the thunder still rolls across the plains. Hyrule turns his face up into it, eyes closed, allowing it a moment to wash the blood from him, the fear. Lightning flashes so bright he can see it through his eyelids.

And in one swift movement he reaches out and places his hands on Legend’s chest.

Usually, magic pours out of him, an effortless waterfall of the power that fills his very being. This time he drags it out kicking and screaming, forcing it through his veins, scraping as it goes. It shoots through his trembling fingertips, hot and agonizing, and Hyrule directs it into Legend. Every little bit of it.

He will give everything until that heart beats again. Even down to the last drop of magic.

His body protests, desperately trying to hang on to the fading shreds of power, shrieking in warning. Hyrule’s vision swims with shades of light and darkness. The rushing in his ears drowns out even the thunder. Everything hurts. His insides are on fire, his veins burning up, his head pounding out the rhythm of his erratic heartbeat.

Let go, everything within him screams at him, begs him. Stop this before you lose everything.

He cries out, sharp and strangled and hoarse, face upturned to the sky. The rain is like molten lava now, yet he shivers beneath its touch. His world has narrowed to nothing except this – pain and the goal he endures it to achieve.

Not much longer now and he will have no choice but to succumb to the rising darkness.

It comes like the onward march of life, inevitable and terrifying. Hyrule battles against it.

Not yet. I can’t stop yet.

Come on, Legend. Breathe!

The chest beneath him jolts and spasms. Someone begins to cough, hacking and breathless. A slumbering heart flutters to life.

Hyrule drags open his eyes. A pair of sharp blues meet his hazel, blinking dazedly at him.

“R-rulie?”

Hyrule lets out something between a sob and a laugh.

It worked. Oh, thank Hylia, it worked!

“H-hey Ledge,” he slurs, voice thick with exhaustion and remnant pain. His body still aches, phantom agony snaking up his limbs.

You pushed too hard, it whispers, in his veins and in his head. He ignores it.

It’s nothing he doesn’t already know. And to be honest, he doesn’t care. Legend is alive, and that’s all that matters.

“What happened?” Legend glances around, pupils dilating slightly as he tries to comprehend the rain-drenched destruction around him. Then, he looks back at Hyrule, taking in his undoubtedly sorry state. “Rulie did…did you...”

He drags his gaze up to meet his once more, something broken within them. It makes Hyrule startle slightly. He has never seen Legend look like that before. So open and vulnerable, so hopeful, yet so sad.

“Did you save me?”

Hyrule gives him a shaky smile. “I couldn’t just let my best friend die.”

Legend swallows, throat bobbing with the effort. “But…but your magic…”

Hyrule leans forward and puts a hand on his shoulder. The ground tilts threateningly in response. It won’t be long and he’ll be lying down beside Legend.

Ah, well. A nap sounds nice anyway.

“I’m…I’m okay, Ledge. It’ll replenish. It’s not the first time I’ve done something l-like this.”

Legend just stares at him for a moment. Then, he lets his head fall back into the mud with a defeated splash. A shaky chuckle escapes from cracked, bloodied lips. But it is a triumphant sound, a declaration that he is back, that he is alive.

“You idiot.”

The urge to lay down is too strong to deny any longer. With a trembling sigh, Hyrule settles down beside his brother, cringing a bit as the chilly mud clings to his battered body. His hand travels down to find Legend’s and he entwines their fingers, smiling a bit as he realizes his grasp is warm.

It had been growing cold just a few moments ago. And Legend is all flame and fire, all blinding light that can’t be put out. It isn’t right for him to look and feel like ice.

“You’re the idiot who almost died on me,” he mumbles, scooting a little closer. “Don’t you dare do that again.”

Legend gives his hand a weak squeeze. For a long moment he is quiet and Hyrule begins to drift off in the serene embrace of the dwindling rain. When he speaks his voice is hardly above an exhausted, strained whisper. But Hyrule hears it all the same.

“Thanks, Rulie. I owe you one.”

And as Hyrule fades away, he smiles.

He’d do it again. A thousand times, he would do it again.

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riftedrivers · 5 months

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I need someone to write about clive either getting fucked or getting the most brutal angst and trauma to have ever trauma'ed

#clive schill #the two sides ot the spectrum frfr #either he gets fucked #or he gets traumatized #or both at the same time #idrc #red valley #guys pls #i would do ANYTHING for this fic #ill post day 29 of whumptober for this fic #oh yeah and i do mean fucked as in smut if that hasnt been clear before

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kalevalakryze · 6 months

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Firebird

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Ahsoka (TV) Pairings: Shin Hati/ Sabine Wren Characters: Sabine Wren, Shin Hati, Ahsoka Tano, Ezra Bridger, Hera Syndulla, Ghost Crew 2.0, Warnings: Major Character Injury, Near Death Experiences, Explosions Notes: For Whumptober Day 16 and @sabineweek Day 2 Prompts: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?” | Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.” + Icarus Word Count: 3,571 AO3 Link: Here!

“Sabine, they’ve got TIE’s taking off.” Ezra’s voice rushed over comms, voice strained from exertion from whatever fight he’d gotten himself into.

“Copy that, do we have eyes on which shuttle is carrying the Lieutenant?” The Mandalorian dropped her rangefinder and rose her eyes to the sky, boot pressed firmly against an incapacitated trooper’s throat where she’d engaged on the rooftops.

“It will be the one with a burn across the third quadrant of its left wing.” Shin followed, and while her voice was much calmer than Ezra’s, Sabine could feel the strain of her altercation across their bond in the force, feel the ebb and flow of the force where Shin used its power to keep plastoid covered troopers off of their closing position, flowing so freely beside Ezra’s that despite the odds being against them, they moved like a finely oiled machine.

“On it,” Sabine cast her fuel gauge a wary look, there was just enough in her tanks that she might be fine, and from the screaming of a TIE fighter arcing through the air, she knew there was no time to top off at the Ghost. A TIE swirled overhead, left wing sparking and burning from a lightsaber having cut through it on takeoff.

“Kark it,” Sabine grumbled, tapping at her gauge with a shake of her head. “We ball.” The woman took to the sky smoothly, jet fuel sparking into a high flame as she dumped more to keep up with the fighter.

The Ghost soared through the sky, streaking past Sabine and offering her a chance to grab on to Chopper’s head to save some fuel as fire was concentrated against the shields and engines to slow down the surviving Imperial’s ascent.

Before the Ghost could pull away, Sabine was throwing herself from the ship’s hull, fingers brushing out as her jetpack sputtered, wrapping around one of the handles poking out past the hull to yank her weight against it, boots scrambling to push against the durasteel, hooking into the space in between ports to keep herself steady.

“Sabine, you need to hurry!” Hera called, exasperated as she pitched the ghost to the side, rolling out of the way just a hair away from the path of plasma as the TIE opened fire.

“Work in progress, Hera!” Sabine shouted into her comms, hooking her fingers into the latch of the tie to stabilize before she could dig through a pouch on her belt, revealing her stack of the newest mixture of thermal detonators and the dye packs attached to the explosives. “Hello, beautifuls.” She breathed, fingers ghosting over the neatly stacked explosives.

Piling them into a fistful, Sabine started planting them each, using the force to sail them across to the inside supports of the fighter’s wings, lining the hatch with enough to blow the top and settling the last couple against the engines, just in case somehow, the hull would survive.

They rose closer to the upper atmosphere, Sabine’s helmet automatically clicking itself shut and releasing pressure to adjust. “Hey guy, I don’t have freefloating in space on my bucket list for the year,” She grumbled, making quick work of getting her charges set.

“Sabine!” Several panicked voices hollered her names, staticy over comms the further she got out of range. The Mandalorian’s head shot to the side in time to watch an X-Wing swing in for a strafing run, she didn’t know the pilot, and wasn’t linked into their comms, but she could hear Hera on their open channel, ripping in to the pilot to get them to stop.

It was too late, however, plasma scorched through the air, singing the air with a heavy smell of ozone. Sabine watched the blue lasers arc towards her before the Ghost could sweep in to incapacitate the fighter. Her legs moved too slow when she pushed off the hull, body turning as she fired up her jetpack, propelling herself away from the fighter half a second before the lasers struck the TIE and ignited her charges.

Sabine’s head turned in time to watch the colorful, fiery explosion behind her; at least it looked as cool as she figured it would, she’d have to make sure she saved the clip in her helmet to watch later.

Her jetpack sputtered mid flight, dropping her right into the path of the first shockwave. She didn’t have much chance to see the TIE go down, when paint speckled across her visor and then she was sent into a freefall, the resounding shockwaves hitting her like brick walls with a personal agenda against her existence.

She was floating in a limbo of dizzy and peaceful, limbs too heavy to move, and her eyelids felt glued shut with weight pressing into her eye sockets to keep her from opening them.

There was a bustle of activity floating into her ears, fading like her grip on the world around her. She wanted to snap at all the people moving around her. Couldn’t they tell she was trying to sleep? A loud, persistent beeping ground away at her nerves, but she was useless in willing her body to shut off whatever alarm was going off.

The beeping grew higher in pitch, there were no breaks in the thudding tone it had carried before. At least the movement in the room seemed to cease, a pin could drop in the silence and bated breath of every body in the room.

Finally, some peace and quiet. Now she could get some sleep.

“Sabine.” There was a distortion in the voice that called out to her, warbling through the very core of her being, through the will of the force. Shin’s voice rang in the notes of their bond, scratchy and deep, but the other voice, the notes she could pick out, a tone she’d only heard in her dreams, a voice and a face she was terrified of forgetting, that had been harder and harder to pick out every day.

She wanted to snap her eyes open, to fly out of bed and run into her buir’s arms, to do something but the stones inside of her skin wouldn’t give her a chance to budge.

“Don’t go where I can’t follow, me’suum’ika.” Shin’s voice sounded strained, and too far away, like their bond was growing stagnant in Sabine’s indecision. Fingers wrapped around her hand, warm where they sparked against the unbeaten pulse point against her wrist. “You promised,” Their voice wavered with emotion that they fought to keep concealed, Sabine hadn’t heard that tone since they’d gotten her back from the Bandits.

Promises meant more to Shin than even their connection to the force, Sabine knew that better than anyone, and well… She intended to keep her word. Clan Wren would still be waiting for her, at the end; The Manda would not go anywhere, the cosmic force would still connect all beings, but if she walked out on Shin now… What kind of Mandalorian would she be? Surely not one who deserved to join her people in the afterlife they’d all strived for.

Sabine stopped struggling to see Ursa, there was no where she could go where her mother would not be able to reach, and if the unthinkable happened and she did somehow forget the timber of her voice or the sharpness of her face, she knew there were hundreds of others walking across the galaxy who would be more than happy to help her remember.

Shin’s hand started to slip from Sabine’s palm; She couldn’t move to reach out for them like she wanted, she didn’t want them to leave her either, didn’t want to see someone else give up on her. Someone was crying, voices were murmuring, she could hear the charge of shock paddles-

The first beep of the heart monitor was hard won, an exhaustive struggle that had the same reaction in the room as the flatline. Oxygen forced back into her lungs painfully, and warm fingers brushed against her pulse point once more, squeezing at her wrist to feel the next thud of her heart in her veins themselves. The tension in the room was cut with each thud and each successful breath, pain reigniting in her body in the feeling of broken bones and half sealed abrasions.

“Better,” She could hear the relief in Shin’s voice as their fingers interlocked with the limpness of her own, squeezing her hand even as the activity picked back up around them.

Ahsoka’s presence washed over her in their own bond, another string that she’d familiarized herself with, the calm soaring feeling that came with each interaction the Master and Apprentice shared through their woven destinies.

“Prep her for the bacta tank,” A medic called out, unfamiliar voice ringing in her ears as cold gloved hands started touching her, though from the warmth seeping into her hand, she was able to rest easy knowing no one had moved Shin, at least until after the calm and quiet suggestion of sleep that had been passed through their bond, and the promise that she would wake up on the other side… eventually.

There was no way to gauge how much time had passed, but every now and then, Sabine would gain an awareness of the real world happening around her. Of Shin’s back pressed into the cool glass of her bacta tank, steadfast in their post as her protector.

“Shin, she won’t wake up anytime soon,” Ahsoka’s voice floated through the void, in her mind’s eye, Sabine could make out the vision of Ahsoka stepping into the medbay, arms crossed over her chest and a carefully impassive look on her face; Ahsoka learned just as fast as Sabine had that Shin didn’t like sympathies, but she also knew that if Ahsoka’s distaste of Shin’s actions showed, the Gray Apprentice would close themselves off further and often turn to violence to defend their actions or beliefs.

“You need to go take care of yourself,” Sabine could hear the lightness of the Togruta’s footsteps as she came to a stop in front of the tank, could feel piercing blue eyes on her suspended form, as if Ahsoka knew that Sabine had some awareness of the world around her.

“I will not leave,” Shin was closed off to them visually, she could not find a way to bring some vision of the other woman to her eye, though she assumed, from the unease rolling off of Ahsoka and the concern in her tone, that her wolf wasn’t doing the best with her incapacitation. This must have been an argument the two force-sensitives found themselves in often, as Shin’s voice curbed on dangerous, the air Sabine could not feel filling with the tension of a hand curling around a saber hilt.

“There is no reason to fight, Shin,” Ahsoka called, calling for calm across their own unstable bond; Her second apprentice varied greatly to the Mandalorian, and Ahsoka had never been able to determine if it had been Baylan’s teachings, or the influence of her time with the bandits that had them so willing to fight in a situation it did not call for. “She isn’t going to like waking up and seeing you like this.”

“Then it will not be the worst thing I have done to her.” They replied, and while there wasn’t a hint of regret, their tone took on something somber that Sabine wasn’t a fan of. The Mandalorian could feel the brush of their muddled presence, reaching out to the anchor point of their bond, to the scar that entwined them together forever.

Drifting off to the comfortable thrum of their force bond being brushed against, Sabine was only half aware of the Togruta sweeping defeatedly from the medbay.

Consciousness did not find Sabine when they emptied the bacta tank and pulled her from it, nor did it find her as she was cleaned up and reassessed, as what wounds were left had been set to heal on their own, with minimal medical interference, now that her body would need to fight on its own once again, enjoying her quiet limbo over the thought of returning her active mind to the real world.

The first time her eyes opened in weeks she was met with dim lights and near silence.

Bandages wrapped firmly around her abdomen, criss crossing against her back where the jetpack had burned and shrapnel had made homes in her skin, now almost entirely healed after her extended nap. Sabine gave her muscles an experimental flex to ensure she could still move, fingertips touching and toes wriggling under the warm blankets; someone must have just recently changed the thin hospital sheets for ones straight from the warmer. Her movement brought the reminder of pain, aggravating sore muscle under the haze of protection offered by the medicine pumping through her IV.

Tired golden eyes scanned the rest of the room next. There was a raw set of armor, seemingly fresh from a forge, stacked in a corner next to weapons crates, where she could see Westar power cells placed carefully on top of the locked containers, and a newer model of a jetpack she couldn’t recall the name of leaning up against it all.

Shin was settled into a hard-backed chair shoved right up against her cot, knees pulled up to their chest and a datapad sitting against them, fingers idly swiping along a document that Sabine couldn’t focus her gaze on. Her wolf looked exhausted, Sabine couldn’t tell how much of the darkness around her eyes was eye makeup, or bags from lack of sleep. Their hair was in disarray, even the braid carefully tied and sitting at their collarbone seemed frayed and rushed, as if tying it had been a mere afterthought to something more important.

The armor strapped to their arms and legs was filthy, burns scorched across unpainted metal and deep groves went unfilled, a state Shin hadn’t even let become of themselves when they’d all been stranded on Peridea.

The only indication Sabine had that they’d showered or changed clothes even once since they’d gone after Thrawn’s contact had been the dark blue of Ahsoka’s tunic bunched up around their torso, leaving their bare arms on display (which, Sabine would never complain about, if only Shin wasn’t wearing gauntlets and pauldrons strapped tight to her bicep), and the way pants so clearly borrowed from Ezra were tied tight around her waist, bunched up and stuffed into her boots with their greaves strapped awkwardly around the extra fabric.

“You look like Bantha shit,” The Mandalorian croaked tersely, wincing at the feeling of glass in her dried out throat. Silver eyes flashed to meet her open eyes immediately, the datapad clattering to the floor in the scramble of their legs to push outwards to turn themselves to face her.

“You look dead,” Their voice sounded as equally rough as Sabine’s own, bringing a teasing smile to tug at the purple haired woman’s lips.

“What, didn’t-” A dry cough rattled her chest, she only managed to turn her head to the side to cough into the pillow, her arms still felt like they were full of beskar. “Didn’t have anything nice to say to anyone? Didn’t say anything at all?” It was meant to be tasing, but the pull of their lips into what little resemblance of a pout they would allow answered enough.

“I’ll go get the medic.” They stood sourly to pick up the datapad, tossing it into the seat they’d been occupying for gotal’ad knows how long.

Sabine finally reached out, atrophied muscles protesting even as her fingers latched around the cold metal of their wrist. “Wait…”

They did, turning to glower at them with a rage that had too much vulnerability under the surface, weakness they did not want the Mandalorian to be privy too, even if she could feel it in the knot of burnt out nerves in her abdomen. “Would you lay with me, and just… forget the world a minute? Ten out of ten recommend.”

Shin’s weight shifted between their feet uncomfortably, even as Sabine forced herself to move, to make room in the hospital bed that felt both too big and too small. “You need the medic,” They insisted, but it wasn’t a denial of the offer; Shin looked exhausted, and the prospect of laying down seemed enough that they’d be willing to let Sabine get away with just a few more minutes without being poked and prodded by medics.

“I need you more right now, I’m not going anywhere,” She let go of their wrist, hoping the invitation was enough to keep them around. IVs and wires were moved too carefully when they’d finally relented, though Sabine could feel the tightness in their muscles ease as their head dropped back against her pillow.

Shin was laying ramrod straight next to her, as if moving would break her, afraid to do anything that could hurt her what a softie, stabbing people one day, then playing statue to avoid inconveniencing them almost two years down the line..

“C’mere, Kurs’kaded.” Another grunt of exertion as she forced her arms to move, though they were quick in how they turned to cave into the touch the minute Sabine offered, tucking themselves up into her side as their face found their spot in the crook of her neck, fisting the fabric of the uncomfortable shirt in their fists as their nose crinkled.

“You don’t smell right,” They complained in a quiet whisper, bringing a tired giggle from the older woman.

“Plenty of time to fix that later, doubt anyone’s been able to nail my skin care routine during my nap,” Sabine’s fingers brushed through their hair, relaxing more and more with how their shoulders eased and the way the force around them felt like it started to clear. “Speaking of naps…”

“You need a medic,” But their voice was already thick with sleep, breath soft where it began to even out against Sabine’s neck, the offer of safety in the arms they’d been missing for so long too enticing; they couldn’t remember the last time they’d slept.

“You spent so long watching after me, let me return the favor, just for a bit.. Someone will come along eventually.” It didn’t take Shin long at all to nod off with the promise, and the press of her fingers against Sabine’s scar to ground themselves to her life probably wasn’t detrimental to assuring her of the Mandalorian’s survival either.

“You’re awake,” Sabine’s attention was pulled from the sleeping blonde for the first time in hours, stopping her thousandth trace of the constellations craved across their skin in beauty marks and freckles.

“Or you’re just tripping really hard right now,” Sabine teased in a quiet whisper, watching Ahsoka as the woman moved to lower herself quietly into the seat closest to her.

Ahsoka’s lips pursed, clearly fighting a smile as her hand came to rest on the open space of the mattress between them, itching towards touching Sabine to verify for herself just how alive her Apprentice was. Sabine gave a quiet, fake dramatic sigh as she brought her hand down to rest overtop of Ahsoka’s, much smaller than the Togruta’s as she curled her fingers around the older woman’s. “What did you guys even do while I’ve been out?”

“Well… Some of us-” Her eyes flickered to Shin before coming back to Sabine with a knowing look. “Waited for you to come back.”

Sabine offered a nod of her head in understanding as she bought her other hand from Shin’s hair to rub circles into their back. “What about everyone else?”

“Mmm. Ezra and I handled the Imperial cell; There were whispers of a New First Order, but it doesn’t seem as if they’re organized enough, not after our last round of strikes.” Ahsoka shifted, hand slipping from Sabine’s to fill the empty canteen that had been sitting, just out of reach, toppled over when Sabine had reached for it in the force, too weak to grab it with her abilities, and too disappointed when she’d found it empty.

Water was filled and passed over gratefully, as quietly as possible to avoid disturbing the slow, heavy breathing from the slumbering wolf; the only reaction they had to Sabine gulping down water was to press their face closer to the movement of her throat and to slip under her shirt, chasing the warmth that had been steadily rising in the older woman’s skin.

“How are you feeling?” Ahsoka asked at last as she returned to her chair, taking the canteen when Sabine had finally finished with it.

“I’m not going anywhere for a hot minute, if that’s what you’re asking,” Sabine promised, knowing that she had zero intention of almost dying any time soon, and that she doubted she’d find a return to the battlefield for at least a month while she figured out the limits her wrecked body could handle.

“Next time, don’t push yourself so hard. It was a close one,”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Sometimes, the student teaches the Master, you know.” Ahsoka’s facial marking rose with the knowing smirk she offered, before she shook her head and rose. “You should get more rest while you can, I’m sure the medics will come to check on you once they believe Shin is asleep and won’t attack them again.”

“.... again?...”

“Go back to sleep, Sabine,”

#sabineweek #whumptober 2023 #day two #no.16 #lyric #gurney #flatline #quote #icarus #star wars #ahsoka series #fanfiction #near death tw #explosions #sabine wren #shin hati #wolfwren #ahsoka #ahsoka tano

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aprocessionofthoughts · 6 months

Text

Brothers

whumptober23 day 13- cold compress fandom- batman TW- sickness summary- Tim is definitely not sick. Jason disagrees.

ao3 whumptober23 masterlist

Tim feels absolutely awful. His head is pounding and he can’t even look at his computer screen to try and work through a case. Currently, he’s squinting at paper file about the latest suspicious shipments, but the words keep swimming in his head.

Maybe he should drink some coffee. Yup. That will definitely help. He stands up from his couch and manages two steps before dizziness overtakes him and he ends up on the floor.

He groans and tries to push himself up but his arms tremble.

Whatever, the floor is pretty comfy anyway. But coffee. He tries to push himself up again. He can’t be weak. He can’t afford to be. He has to go on patrol tonight.

Which means he needs to be awake enough for it. So coffee. He manages to get up and stumble to the kitchen.

He’s in the middle of trying to steady his hand so he can pour the coffee grounds into the coffee maker when he hears his window slide open. He startles, dropping the coffee grounds which spill over the floor. He’s about to be sad about that, but then the vertigo from spinning around hits and he has to grip the counter to stay upright while fighting back nausea.

“Hey, Timberlina, I’m here to grab some files.”

It’s Jason.

Tim can’t help but feel annoyed. Jason has his own files. He doesn't need to steal Tim’s. But he doesn't want to open his mouth to say any of this because if he does he’s afraid he’s going to throw up.

“Tim?” Jason pokes his head into the kitchen, sees him catalog the dropped coffee and Tim who has a white knuckled grip on the counter to keep himself from falling over. “Shit, Tim. What’s wrong with you?”

Tim wants to give him the middle finger, but holding on to the counter is the only thing keeping him upright. So, he settles for scowling aggressively, but Jason just snorts.

Tim opens his mouth to tell Jason to get out, but immediately shuts it again as the nausea intensifies. He sways slightly before tightening his grip on the counter.

And wow, he should really be more aware of his surrounding because suddenly Jason’s in front of him reaching a hand out toward Tim’s head. He flinches back.

“Calm down, Timberly, I’m checking if you have a fever.

“I’m not sick.” Tim says through gritted teeth.

“Sure you aren’t.” Jason says but his hand is now on Tim’s forehead and he’s scowling. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine.” the nausea has subsided slightly, but Tim still feels dizzy.

Jason doesn’t dignify that with a response. Then he sighs. “Alright, let’s get you to bed.”

“I said–”

“You’re fine. I know. Which means you’re perfectly well enough to clean up the coffee grounds.”

Tim gulped, glancing down at the mess. The idea of having to bend down made the nausea spike.

“That’s what I thought. Now either you go lay down on your own, or I’ll carry you.”

“I–”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

Tim took a slow breath and let go of the counter. He hadn’t even managed it one step before a wave vertigo overtook him and he felt his legs give out. He expects to hit the ground, but instead strong arms catch him and pick him up. Tim looks up into Jason’s face, but he’s not looking at him.

Jason walks quickly and Tim is promptly deposited onto his bed. Jason exits his bedroom and Tim wonders if Jason’s has left. But a moment later, Jason walks back in carrying a bowl, a cup with water, and a cold compress.

“What…” Tim starts, but doesn’t know how to continue.

Jason sets the cup down on the bedside table, lifts the bowl saying, “If you need to puke,” before setting it by the bed. Then he lays the cold compress across Tim’s forehead and Tim sighs in relief.

“I’ll let you get some sleep.” Jason says and turns to go.

“Wait–”

Jason pauses.

And Tim really must be sick because he continues. “Please don’t go.”

Jason doesn’t move and Tim resigns himself to Jason leaving. But after a moment Jason sighs, going to sit down in an armchair in the corner of the room. “Fine. But you better get some sleep.” Then, out of one of his cargo pants pockets, Jason pulls out a small book.

Tim opens his mouth to tease him, but shuts his mouth as Jason starts to read outloud.

“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.”

And as Jason continued to read, Tim fell asleep.

#whumptober 2023 #whumptober #day 13 #cold compress #batman #Jason todd #Tim drake #Tim drake needs a hug #good sibling Jason todd #hurt/comfort #no.13 #Later Tim wakes up to Jason making chicken noodle soup #starts to wonder if Jason might be a worse mother hen then Dick #he shudders to think of what the two combined would be like #he finds out later because Jason tattled on him

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th3sp4rr0w · 7 months

Text

A03 Link <- Starts at Chapter/Day One for those just joining us :)

Prompts for Day Two; Overworked/Insomnia/Exhaustion

Alt. Prompt for Day Two; Gunshot Wound

Prompts Used; All

Tw; Blood, Injury, Guns

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the end of the weekend, Jason felt better. His head felt lighter than it had been since he got sick, and he could finally finish the book he’d been reading before the week of hell on earth began... if he hadn’t been working on back work and trying to find his bio mom all weekend.

He still hadn’t told anyone about it. He knew they would likely understand, but he wanted to keep it close to his chest for just a bit longer. He knew Dick would get mad at Bruce again for keeping information from them (even if it was understandable why, in this instance), and then Bruce would get all brood-y because Dick was mad and he’d assume Jason was, too, even if he said he wasn’t. He still hadn’t figured out how to tell them to prevent that, because the last thing he wanted after everything was for those two to get mad at each other and drag him into it.

Well , the back work was also something he would’ve rather not dealt with that weekend. Normally he’d be thrilled to get ahead and get his work done- he loved school, he loved learning, and he loved proving all those little rich assholes wrong. He was only a sophomore, so nothing was set in stone, but even though he had all but dropped out of school for a couple years, the work he put in had put him at the top of his class. He had excellent grades, and he was determined to graduate at the top of his class as well.

As it were, under normal circumstances, he would be eternally grateful that Bruce had the forethought to call ahead on Friday to pick up all of the work for him to do through the weekend as he felt better. In a way, he was grateful Bruce had, as it did free up a bit of his time this week. He wouldn’t be stuck playing catch-up, but at the same time he was anxious to figure out who his bio mom was.

Even though all he had wanted to do through the weekend was sleep, he ended up spending a lot of his time awake. He’d googled different questions to his history homework, searched his library app to see if any of the libraries he had signed up for had a copy of the book the class would be starting that week, and scoured different public records to see if he could track the woman who’d given birth to him.

Now, it was Monday morning. His alarm clock had went off at 5:30, right on schedule. He had gotten up, bleary-eyed, and shuffled off to his closet. He grabbed one of the neat uniforms hanging up, grabbing other clothing essentials before he shuffled off to his bathroom.

He took a quick shower before getting dried and dressed. He grabbed his bag from where it sat to the side of his desk and made his way downstairs for breakfast.

He hung his bag on the back of his usual chair and entered the kitchen, finding Alfred working on getting eggs ready.

“Morning, Alfie!” he greeted.

Alfred turned with a fond smile, “Good morning, Master Jason. Glad to see you up and about again,” he said sincerely.

“Thanks, glad to be up again,” the boy replied, grinning up at the older man. “Do you need any help this morning?”

“The only thing I need from you this morning is for you to tell me how you want your eggs, young master,” he said, looking at Jason.

He shrugged, “Scrambled?”

“Scrambled it is,” Alfred said, turning around to pour tea into a cup, “Would you like any honey in your tea this morning?”

Jason smiled, “Yes, please. You’re the best, Alfie!”

Alfred grabbed the honey, dropping a bit in, “I do try, young sir.”

He grabbed the teacup and matching saucer, carefully turning around to place them in Jason’s hands before shoo’ing the small boy to the table before Dick sauntered through the doors.

“Morning, guys!” he called cheerily.

Jason blinked. “Dickface? What are you doing here?”

Dick laughed, “What? I’m not allowed to spend the night in the manor anymore?” he teased.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have work?” he snarked.

“Why, yes, I do!” Dick replied, making his way to the fridge.

“Then why are you here?”

“Wow. I’m so loved,” the older replied with mock hurt, “I spent the night again last night to make sure you were alright. And now, I’m grabbing some breakfast,” he opened the fridge to grab a zesti before closing it, “And after that’s done, I’m hauling tail to Blüdhaven and hoping to high heaven I make it in time to teach my tumble group.”

He pretended he didn’t see Alfred’s disapproving look as he made his way to the table. Jason rolled his eyes.

Alfred may be too polite to say anything, but he wasn’t.

“I can’t believe you drink that trash,” he wrinkled his nose.

Dick gasped, “Zesti isn’t trash !”

“I would take that from you to pour it into the pot of that plant over there but I don’t want to kill Alfie’s plant,” Jason deadpanned.

“Good choice,” Alfred said dryly as he set a plate of scrambled eggs in front of Jason with two pieces of toast. “There is bacon, however I’ve left it up to you to grab any. I did not want to upset your stomach.”

“You’re the best, Alfred,” Jason said politely, “And I think I will skip on the bacon,” he added.

“Wise choice, young sir,” he turned to Dick, “How would you like your eggs this morning, Master Richard?”

Dick gave a soft smile, “One hard, one runny?”

Alfred nodded before whisking off to the stove.

The boys bickered a few more minutes before turning on Bruce when he finally shuffled through the door, the pink robe they had gifted him for Christmas loosely tied around him. He grabbed his favorite mug- “World’s Okay-est Dad”- before filling it up with coffee.

Alfred, god bless the man, already had Bruce’s breakfast ready- scrambled eggs, like Jason, with some bacon and toast- and set it in front of him by the time he had sat down. Bruce ‘hn’d in lieu of thanks before digging in, sipping his coffee first.

Dick sipped his monstrosity from a cup with a bendy straw, like an adult, as Jason drank his tea and finished his scrambled eggs.

“How’d you get on with your schoolwork, by the way?” Dick asked. Bruce perked up a bit to look at Jason.

He flushed a bit under the attention. “I got most of it done, I got stuck on the last of my geometry work last night though. It was late, you guys had already left, so I just put it away so I can get help with it today.”

“Do you want me to take a look at it?” Bruce asked him, but Jason was already shaking his head.

“I have a friend who’s an absolute genius with math and he promised to help me during lunch before we have class together. Besides, it’s almost time for me and Alfie to get going. Thanks, though, Bruce.”

“Any time, chum,” he grunted.

Jason slid out of his seat grabbing his dishes to take them to the sink before walking towards the door, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth before we leave,” he said over his shoulder.

“Do make haste, we should leave soon if we want to make it on time!” Alfred called after him.

Jason slipped into the guest bathroom where he kept a toothbrush and toothpaste set. It made it just a bit easier in the morning, and Alfred must not disapprove that much since the toothpaste never seemed to run out.

Teeth now clean, he bounded back to the kitchen to grab his bag. “Bye, Bruce. Bye, Dickface!”

He made a strangled noise and tried to kick out as Dick wrapped him in one of his octopus hugs from behind, “Bye, Little Wing! Oh, how I’ll miss you-”

“Dick!” he yelled out, “We call literally every day! I’ll probably see you on patrol!” Jason protested.

“Exactly!” he cried out, all dramatics. “That’s so long from now! How will I ever- OW !”

He released Jason to shake out the hand he had just bit. Said boy ran past Alfred, “So sad! Bye, Dickface!”

Bruce shook his head from his place at the table.

The ride to school was about an hour long. Alfred and Jason normally chatted on the way, talking about interesting novels they had read recently or discussing what to do about Bruce’s latest mood. This morning, however, was spent in an easy silence as Jason connected his phone to the speaker to play some classical music.

When Alfred pulled up to the school to allow Jason to hop out of the car, Jason scanned the crowd for his tiny friend.

He was slightly worried. A lot of the kids ended up being almost... not afraid of him, but somewhat adjacent to that. Not only was he a former “street rat”, but he was adopted by Bruce Wayne, who could easily buy out any one of their parent’s companies and leave them bankrupt. A lot of the kids had already decided he wasn’t worth it.

Then, that tiny menace had started going to Gotham High. He was several years younger, but wicked smart. He had been bored out of his mind taking his middle school classes, so the school had decided to put him in freshman year with them last year. A lot of the kids didn’t give him the time of day, either, but they were a lot more willing to take their frustrations out on him.

At first, Jason didn’t really pay him much mind, but then they realized that they could help each other out- the kid didn’t really “get” English as well as he did math, and Jason was the opposite. Because of the boy’s parents, they hadn’t met up after school, but they did share the majority of their classes and met up before and after school most days to touch base with what they were struggling with.

“Jason!” he heard a familiar voice call.

“Baby bird!” Jason yelled out before he felt a tackle to his side.

“Never leave again,” the small voice requested. Jason laughed a bit, wrapping his arms around the smaller kid.

“Noted. What’s up? What happened while I was gone?”

He felt the kid’s nose scrunch distastefully. “Not much, but my stepmom’s trying to get me and my dad to go on a ‘fishing trip’,” he could feel the kid doing quotes with his tiny fingers as he said it.

“Ew, why?” Jason asked, releasing him so they could walk to class together.

“ Apparently , I spend too much time on my phone, even though they don’t do anything and they weren’t talking to me and I didn’t go on my phone that much?” he sighed, “Besides, I think dad’s just trying to get rid of me. They’re already planning their vacation this year and mentioned getting me another new nanny.”

“What? What’s wrong with this one?

He watched as the younger boy shrugged. “I guess they’re mad that she doesn’t drive so I have to take the bus, even though I’ve always taken the bus?”

Jason tutted, “You know the offer to take you back and forth still stands, right? Your driveway’s like, five miles long like ours is, you can’t even see your place from the road.”

“I don’t want to put Alfred out,” he declined politely as they reached the door of the classroom, “Besides, if I tell them that a neighbor is going to give me a ride from now on, they’ll want to know why and which one, and even though dad’s mellowed out a bit he still hates Mr. Wayne’s guts.”

Jason wrinkled his nose, “I told you to call him Bruce.”

He heard small giggles from beside him as they both made their way to the back of the classroom to take their seats.

The day went on. As it did, Jason somewhat yawned through his classes. He definitely should’ve gotten more rest last night.

During lunch, he met up with the little weirdo he’d grown so fond of. They went over the geometry work Jason had missed, the younger boy taking his time to walk Jason through it until he was ready to try on his own. Once he got a few right, he asked about the English work they had started that morning. Once they both understood what they were doing well enough, they worked in silence with each other, interrupted only by their munching as they dug into the lunch Alfred had packed. That man was a saint for never questioning why Jason asked for more food in his lunch box when he realized the younger boy never had anything during lunch.

The boys split ways for their remaining classes, Jason making sure to let the younger know that he couldn’t stay after school. Despite Bruce picking up his back work, a couple of his teachers had still given him additional worksheets during class, stating they were worried about him doing them over the weekend even though they hadn’t explained them during class, so he was going home to do his work, sacrifice his nap time to do some additional research on his bio mom, then get ready for a night out as Robin. Bruce had wanted to give him a few more days off patrol, but Joker had somehow escaped Arkham ( again ), so the streets were getting more and more restless. Batman needed his help- Robin's help- tonight.

Despite his teacher’s concerns, he breezed through the work. He picked up his laptop to continue his work from earlier.

Without risking Bruce’s suspicion using the bat-computer, he’d narrowed it down to three people. Two of them were considerably harder to contact, so he went for the third.

Her contact information had been hard to track, and from what he could see, that was for good reason. Although she was a volunteer for a medical facility, according to public record, there was a warrant for her arrest. Upon further investigation in Bruce’s infamous paper files (which seemed weirdly sparse), she had been a back-alley surgeon that killed a teenage girl. Batman had tracked her and attempted to get her back in the states to be properly convicted, but something had happened between her fleeing and her popping back up in Ethiopia that had messed up the process and, for whatever reason, Bruce had decided to drop it.

He sent an email to the woman before he set his alarm, managing a 15-minute nap before he had to get ready to go out as ‘The Boy Wonder’.

After waking back up, he made his way down to the cave and got dressed. He’d grabbed his Robin belt, taking inventory before making his way out of the changing/shower area to meet Batman at the bat-computer.

Sure, he was still feeling the after-effects of being sick for days. Even though he had stretched and sparred with a dummy, his muscles still felt vaguely tight. There was a vague ache in the back of his head and his stomach still felt that little bit off. In the air, none of that mattered.

It had already been a year since Bruce found him, since he had been adopted, since his first night out as the resident traffic-light colored vigilante. Be that as it may, he still felt magic buzz in his veins as he flew through the air. This was what he lived for, being in the air and making a difference in the world.

Despite the recent breakout, all was still (he didn’t dare utter the “Q” word). That was rarely a good thing; something big was coming.

It was nights like this, that Batman allowed him to wander on his own to check out his old stomping grounds, that Robin felt watched by something other than the night. He stopped by to see the alley kids, to check up on them and see what the word on the street was like.

Nothing. No parents suddenly missing, no older siblings that were wandering off longer than usual, no friends unavailable for no reason. The kids knew Robin was to be trusted, so they probably wouldn’t have been lying to him.

There wasn’t a whisper of Joker anywhere on the street. This... this was likely to be bad for Gotham.

He thanked the kids and dropped their usual agreement (Bruce gave him a stupid amount of allowance, sue him), and started on his way to the usual rendezvous point to do one last lap of Gotham with the Bat, where they’d probably stop for food before going home.

He stopped halfway there, standing on one of the tallest buildings in Gotham. Even despite the lingering symptoms, the uncertainty, the exhaustion, and the lack of information about one of the worst people Gotham’s ever seen, he felt he could breathe easy. Nothing mattered as long as he stood here, looking down at his city.

The smile that had spread on his face dropped as he spotted people in white suits moving boxes.

It was rarely good to see people dressing to a theme in Gotham. He doubted it was Joker’s men, but that provided more questions than answers. He couldn’t think of any villains with a white theme like this- if it had been Penguin's men, the suits would be black and white. If it had been Two-Face, the suits would be split, or half of them would be a different color. Instead of being comforted by the thought, something suspicious and uncomfortable curled in his gut. It was weirder than usual, and that never spelled out anything good in this city. He changed course to go check it out.

He was almost there when the comm in his ear fired to life, informing everyone it was an ‘all hands-on deck’ situation by the docks- typical Gotham, with its ‘warehouse-by-the-docks’ situations. At this point he’s not sure why they have either anymore, but here they were. He looked back at the white suits before redirecting his path once more.

By the time he and the rest of the team made it back to the cave for reports, cookies, and well-needed showers and sleep, Jason forgot all about the men in the white suits.

In the coming weeks, he’d live to regret that.

Freshly showered and in soft pajamas, the child made his way to his room for some much-needed rest.

He set his alarm first, but before crawling underneath the warm covers, curiosity overtook him as he grabbed the laptop he’d used to contact the woman. He pulled up the encrypted email he’d used before an elated grin spread on his face.

Sheila Haywood had responded to his inquiry. She was, in fact, the one who had given birth to him and his mystery twin, though she had no idea where his twin was. She promised to explain everything later, since she was busy at the moment. Jason almost didn’t care about all that. What he did care about?

She was willing to get to know him. He was so excited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For once in his life, Danny can honestly say the school might’ve almost been fair, even if it had been begrudgingly.

After Danny’s little breakdown, Dash’s parents contacted the police to press charges against the boy. They had gone on to receive testimony from Jazz, Sam, and Tucker, hearing the same story- while they weren’t in the hall when it happened, they guaranteed it wasn’t unprovoked, as they had all bore witness to Dash bullying Danny before. After trying to claim the cameras weren’t working, the school finally relented and footage from his breakdown in the hall showed that his attack had started as defending himself, as Dash had shoved him against the locker and raised his fist before Danny had attacked.

Soon, word got around and the investigation had turned to Dash’s other victims, turning up stories like Danny’s. Once other parents started getting involved, phone searches commenced and, even though it’d only been a few days, it was starting to look like Dash would probably face a lot of community service and might even go to juvie.

Dash’s parents had freaked out and agreed to drop all charges against Danny if he agreed not to press any against Dash. They’d agreed, though that didn’t mean Danny was completely off the hook.

The school was pissed that he had cost them their star quarterback. The police had threatened an investigation against the school for allowing a group of students to bully and harass so many others, so they couldn’t suspend him for as long as they had wanted to, but he still had been suspended for two weeks.

To top it off, his parents had decided that he was getting off too easily and had grounded him for the two weeks he had been suspended. Something about responsibility and not letting things get this far, as if he hadn’t been telling them about Dash for years and trying to get help from them and the school, but whatever. It’s not like they were ever home, and he told them he’d given his phone to Tucker because ‘it broke in the fight’, so he had plenty of things to do and ways to get around his parents’ sudden interest in his life.

It helped that Jazz was on his side of this disagreement. She allowed him to pretty much do whatever he wanted as long as he did the remedial work the school sent home. It had been a surprisingly easy few days- he had easily blown through the majority of his schoolwork already, using the internet to help him understand anything they hadn’t already covered, or he hadn’t quite “gotten” in class. He’d sent what he’d done back with Jazz that morning and told his parents he still had tons of work to do, so he was free to do what he wanted.

He had no responsibility. He had nothing to do, nobody to see, no expectations....

So why in the name of the ancients can’t he fall asleep?!

He stared at the ceiling, bored out of his mind. Sure, he could go on his phone, but all he wanted was some sleep. It’d been hours.

He hadn’t even had any zesti, so it couldn’t be his favorite energy drink steering him wrong. Not that it ever would.... except for that one time.

But, hey, he’s a firm believer in not taking the worst moments of life and basing whole impressions on it. If he was in the habit of doing that all the time, he’d never have made it this far in life.

But this? This sucked. Curtains drawn for maximum darkness, softest blankets, fan for white noise and coolness so he’s not overheating, his most comfortable pajamas and no responsibilities and he still can’t get any rest? Bullshit. Absolute and utter bullshit.

He sighed and cursed whatever being thought this was funny. He’d go ghost and fly around for a bit, but he feared that he would all but beg something to show up and wreak havoc. He almost wished that it would- beats sitting here waiting for something to happen.

He gave up and went down to the living room to read a book he’d taken from Jazz’s room. He truly had sunk to a new low, he was reading for fun ! He didn’t even bother seeing which book he was grabbing before he left.

Of all the days for almost no ghosts to show up in Amity, it had to be the day he was bored to tears. Okay, Boxy had shown up earlier, but did he really count? Sure, he definitely needed to be dealt with, but it was like he hadn’t even tried this time. It was over and done with within ten minutes. Hardly even enough time to dust off his powers.

He cracked the book open, flipping through the unnecessary pages. In a way, he was torn about the situation. On one hand, he was glad he was having somewhat of a break. He’d spent so long up and about; he had almost forgotten what it was like to just stop and relax for a while. On the other hand, he needed sleep. He was pushing day 6 now, except for that nap the day he’d beaten Dash’s tooth out (which they never found- ouch, that was going to be one hell of a dental bill). He had a feeling that once he did fall asleep, there’d be something stupid hard to deal with, like Vlad, Ember, and Freakshow teaming up or something.

He started reading the book. He yawned so hard his jaw cracked. If he imagined he was gossiping with Sam or something, it wasn’t actually half bad.

A while later and he was weirdly invested now. Mr. Darcy may not sound trustworthy right now, but he also wouldn’t trust Mr. Wickham as far as he could throw him. He was so against talking shit against former friends.... but only until after Darcy left- he swore the man was up to something. What was he even reading anyways?

He checked the cover and winced. Looks like he owed Mr. Lancer an apology, Pride and Prejudice was a pretty nice read after all.

He heard the door open and shut. “Danny?” Jazz called.

“In here!” he yelled back. He heard her footsteps as she walked over.

“What are you doing?” she asked, then, “Is that my book?”

Danny sighed, then chuckled, “I might owe Lancer an apology.”

She got closer and snorted, “Jane Austen? Really? Didn’t peg you for the type.”

“I got desperate, okay? I was hoping it would put me to sleep, but then I was hooked. I can’t put it down, do you have any idea how embarrassing it’s going to be when Lancer fills his promise to make the class read it and I’m going to have to admit I liked it?”

“Oh, no, a teenage boy liking a Jane Austen novel. What a travesty.”

“... I don’t like your tone,” he sassed.

“Scootch, I want to know what part you’re on,” Jazz pressed close to him to read over his shoulder.

The siblings sat like that for hours, Jazz pulling out her homework as Danny sat reading on the couch and giving dramatic reactions.

It was especially entertaining during the good parts.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” Danny mocked, “I’ve just realized I’m madly in love with you after I called you ugly as sh-”

“Just read, Danny,” Jazz giggled.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed. It was silent for about 30 seconds.

“... What,” he said, then- “WHAT!”

Jazz laughed from her seat.

“Ancients above!” he yelled, eyes blown wide as his head snapped up to stare at Jazz. “You knew this was going to happen!”

“I did.”

“You knew-”

“I did.”

“THE WHOLE TIME!”

Jazz laughed harder, “Oh, just you wait. Keep going,” she said.

He kept going.

He so owed Lancer such a big apology for this. Perhaps he’d bake the man some muffins or, more accurately, buy one fresh from the good gas station before school. After all, he was trying to do something nice, not kill the poor guy-

A familiar cold blossomed in his lungs. He pulled the book down before it could spray cold mist out of his mouth.

“Every time,” he moaned.

Jazz plucked the book from his lap, “Go. I’ll put a bookmark in this for you to continue it later,” she promised.

He groaned before a bright flash filled their living room. He felt the familiar flash of pain before he was wrapped in a dark suit with the symbol on the chest. He could see white tufts of hair fall into his face before he took off, going intangible as he flew out of the room.

“Be careful!” he heard his big sister call behind him.

He started scanning the area as soon as he was outside, looking for the familiar glow of neon green. He started to sweep the town, seeing nothing so far.

He had spent more time on the couch with his sister than he had thought he had. It was almost passed dusk, only the last remnants of sunlight clinging to the earth before it was plunged into darkness for the next hours. The first few stars pinpricked the sky, the waning crescent moon hung like someone had placed it there deliberately. He could spend all night looking at it, but he needed to find the ghost.

Even if it was a harmless one, his parents were on the prowl. He needed to find them before they did.

He started moving, going invisible just in case his parents found him first.

He was beginning to think he was going insane. Not even Vlad was out tonight- no Ember, no weird counselor ladies, not the lunch lady, and he still hadn’t released Boxy, Skulker, or Technus, so...

He was about to give up and go home when he saw it. Squirrels.

Specifically, a family of a momma squirrel and her babies. He coo’d a bit before going over to greet them.

“Hey,” he said softly. The momma chittered at him.

“Hi,” he said again, “I’m really sorry to bother you,” he started out as the momma started sniffing his outstretched hand, “But it’s not safe here. I promise to take you and your babies to safety if you’ll let me.”

The chittering picked up. He swore it sounded angry.

“I know,” he really didn’t, this might be one of his weirder moments on patrol, “But it isn’t safe here,” he became visible again, hoping it would help out his case, “There are these two scientists that are absolutely insane, and they hate ghosts. I know you probably don’t know this yet, but that’s what you and your babies are,” he kept his tone soft, trying to sound empathetic.

The momma’s chittering turned sad. She sounded distressed.

“I know,” and this time he did, “It’s scary. But I promise I can help you. There are a lot of parks in the zone for you to go to,” he said, “You guys will be safe there,” he sat cautiously on the branch, settling when the squirrels didn’t stir, “I’ll visit if you want, or I can stay away. Whatever you guys want. You just can’t stay here,” he amended, “The living just don’t understand. They don’t get what it’s like. We have feelings, too, but they just... can’t understand, I guess,” his voice choked up.

He stopped his ramblings when he felt something softly hit his hand. One of the babies started bumping their head against him. He looked at the momma, who was staring expectantly, before gently petting the baby’s head. He smiled a bit.

The momma chittered once more before the rest of the babies started piling on him, clinging to his hand. The momma crawled on top of his head.

“Thank you,” he said softly. She chittered in response, messing with his hair.

He started flying towards home to release the family into one of the parks he’d mentioned when he heard something go off. He felt something hit his side and groaned, nearly losing his balance. He kept hold of the squirrels as he heard elated shouts from the ground.

“Jack! Jack, it’s the ghost boy! I got him, come on!”

He felt sick.

He went invisible once again, muttering, “Hold on,” as he started flying faster.

The squirrel’s distress was palpable. He could hear it in their chitters, he could feel it in his very being as he flew as fast as he could. He had to get them to safety, he had to-

He dodged more shots as he went, weaving in and out of trees. The GAV had never cared what was in the way and it didn’t now, tearing through the trees as easily as he did, destruction in its wake.

When he goes ghost, he’s noticed he doesn’t have to breathe. A lot of things changed after the accident, and that had just been one. It was something he’d hardly even thought about anymore.

He felt terror swell in his gut as he flew, and he couldn’t breathe. Somewhere deep inside of him he knew it wasn't necessary anymore, but in this moment, it was the only thing he could think of. His parents were chasing him, he was bleeding, he was trying to save these innocent squirrels and he couldn’t breathe -

He started coming up to the ground as his parents caught up. After everything, that... wasn’t when he expected things to get weird.

“Jack! Jack-”

“I know, Mads!”

His body felt hot, cold, and sour. This was it, he was going to-

He felt tiny paws on his head one moment, then nothing the next. He heard yelling behind him. He turned around.

The momma squirrel had leapt onto his mom’s face. Jack had started yelling, trying to get it off as Maddie screamed. Before he knew it, the GAV had started rolling.

When everything had come to a stop, he flew towards it. He could barely register the terrified chitters of the babies in his hand as he went towards the military weapon that he was certain couldn’t, and shouldn’t, be street legal.

He found the momma squirrel as she ran towards him and scooped her up. She fussed over her babies, and weirdly enough, fussed over him.

He could see movement from inside the GAV. He didn’t stick around to find out just how okay his parents were, going towards the house.

Normally, he could ensure ghost’s safety with the thermos and wouldn’t bother with releasing them before he did his first aid, but tonight was different. He high tailed it to the basement, going through the portal to find an adequate park for the squirrels. They looked despondent as he left, but after promising to visit, they perked up considerably.

Was it possible to get adopted by ghost squirrels? Did he just get adopted by ghost squirrels? He decided not to think about it.

When he got back, his parents still weren’t home. He thought about looking for them for all of five seconds before realizing how bad of an idea that was and going up to his room, looking to make sure he hadn’t dripped ectoplasm anywhere on the floor as he went.

Jazz must’ve gone to bed while waiting for him. When he stumbled into his room, he found a couple more assignments for him and her copy of Pride and Prejudice. She had fulfilled her promise- she had bookmarked it where he left off. She had even left a sticky note on the front; “Sleep well, little brother <3”

He sat on the floor, tears welling up in his eyes. He grabbed his first aid kit from its usual spot, realizing he was nearly out of gauze. He cursed under his breath; he was going to have to tell Sam soon.

He went through the motions of patching himself up robotically. He had returned back to his human form at some point, so the neon wounds had started coming back scarlet as he cleaned them. He hated getting shot by his mom, they were always so much more painful than getting shot by other ghosts.

He went through the motions for awhile before he heard the front door downstairs slam open and shut.

“That stupid parasite!” he heard his mom yell.

“Don’t I know it, Mads!” his dad boomed right after.

At least they were both okay.

“I can’t wait to dissect that thing, going around acting like it’s helping-”

“The day we get to tear it apart is the day I’ll be able to die knowing my kids are safe-”

Danny whimpered quietly, pressing more fresh gauze to the wound. These always bled so much.

He was finally able to wrap it up after nearly twenty minutes of cleaning and removing soaked through pads.

He didn’t bother putting a shirt on just yet, instead deciding to work on the assignments Jazz had brought.

He knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep after that, anyways.

“At least tonight wasn’t a total disaster,” he thought to himself, looking through the papers. He had saved the squirrels and his parents were okay. That… that was all that mattered, right? Everyone was okay.

His side stung as he started finding the area of the triangle on the page.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #dp x dc #jason todd #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc robin #robin #batman #ai-less whumptober day two #the gun is an ecto blaster #should I tag it?#maybe #... it should be fine as long as it's in the tw list up front right?#ah well #im sure someone'll let me know #Kite Flies Over The Nightingale Nest

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comfort-questing · 7 months

Text

11. animal trap

he'd tried not to look. bad enough to feel, as the thin burning line of pain where the wire snare cut into his skin turned into a throbbing that traveled from foot to knee and back again. he could feel the blood soaking through his trouser leg, and down into his boot, warmth growing chilly as the night came on.

at least it hadn't been one of the iron jaw traps he'd tripped. he didn't know if he'd have a leg still, if that had happened; this was bad enough, and trying to pry at the wire had only bloodied and bruised his numb fingertips, not to mention jolting the shallow wound ringing his leg.

he had ample time to think, as the damp of the leaves beneath him soaked slowly through his clothes, as he shivered in the gathering night wind. think about what a numbskull he'd been, trying to run away like this. the outlaws didn't like it when you left their territory, not after you'd learned enough to find their camp again.

but that wasn't his life anymore. he didn't want it to be. even if only shame and punishment waited for him beyond the edge of the forest, he'd take that over what had been.

the pain in his leg was bad enough that the half-healed whip-marks on his back had almost faded away in comparison, but shifting back and forth still tugged at them, the newest assortment overlaid on old scars. that was what you got for messing up, for being soft. for letting a wagon escape in the fighting, or a merchant's wife slip away into the woods after she'd left her jewelry behind her.

...what punishment would come to him when they found him, he couldn't guess. something worse, no doubt. better not to think about it now; it would come as it came, and perhaps with some luck he'd freeze or starve first.

he huddled into his patched cloak, shivers pulling his shoulderblades painfully together, and tugged at the wire again even though he knew it wouldn't make any difference.

after a while, time started to lose its meaning; only that the night was quite black about him, and the moon rising and then sinking again as he drifted in and out of fitful sleep, the cold numbing his injuries. he thought he heard the birds singing, two or three times, but was sure they were just his imagination, because it was still dark each time.

but by and by the sky between the treetops was slightly lighter than the inky branches, and the blackness faded to gray, and his breath could be seen on the air again, a thin skin of frost riming the damp autumn leaves mounded on the floor of the gully he had slipped into. he curled and uncurled his fingers and toes, reflexively, although he could barely feel them move, and licked at his dry lips.

it was not footsteps that startled him, but a rustle of leaves and then hooves on the path somewhere above, and that was enough to tell him it wasn't the outlaws anyway; there weren't any horses at the camps, being too difficult to feed and keep quiet. he wrestled helplessly with whether to call out or not, as he squinted into the early daylight, and then the high-pitched bark of a dog from somewhere in the rider's shadow solved his problem for him.

"hey, what's that, Bobble? squirrels? bandits?"

the voice was young, likely a girl's, and the shaggy pony in the path halted to let its rider peer downwards. the small black dog on the ground was pointing as best it could, fringed tail at alert and nose tilted towards him.

"oh, good grief," said the girl, from inside her hood, "a misfortune'd ranger or something? say, man, did you spend the night down there for fun, or need a hand up?"

at last he managed to make his hoarse throat work again, and get out the words: "help me - please."

getting him out of the trap was an ugly business, and required a couple of sticks as well as the girl's knife to help out, while he breathed slowly in and out and tried not to faint with the pain. he did stay conscious, after a fashion, but not a very good one; he had no memory of the wire finally giving in and snapping, or the makeshift bandage being applied.

he did remember, though, the look on the girl's face as his sleeve slid back during the scrambling climb upward, exposing the criminals' brand on the inside of his forearm. a moment of stillness, her eyebrows drawing together, and then a twitch of her mouth.

"well," she said, after a moment, "get on, I can't lift you up the slope myself."

--and he dazedly decided that that would be enough of a project, with one leg and dubious arm assistance, that the rest would keep til later.

#whump #hurt comfort #medieval whump #whumptober day 11 #whumptober 2023 #if we get a good sickfic prompt we might meet these two again bc yeaaaaaaah nothing like freezing in a ditch to get a sickfic started

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whumpcereal · 2 years

Text

whumptober, day eighteen: breaking point | stress positions | reluctant caretaker

part of behavior modification, a few months after Jack's rescue. masterlist here. the references to the prompts are, uh, a little esoteric, but i believe they're there, haha. 'breaking point' should at least be obvious.

content warnings for: physical exhaustion, denial, references to partner's trauma, hospitals

future snippet, he needs me

“Bear, you look like hot garbage.”

“That’s descriptive, Mama, thanks.”

Joe knows it’s true. It’s been true for the better part of a year at this point. He looks in the mirror, and he doesn’t recognize his own face. Dark circles, fine lines, more gray around the temples. Fewer smiles. He’s lost weight, lost sleep, lost bits and pieces of himself.

And now, he’s landed himself in the hospital.

Yes, he is a medical doctor. Yes, he should know the signs of exhaustion. He does know the signs of exhaustion.

It’s just that he doesn’t have the time to be exhausted. Jack needs him, and Joe will not let Jack want for anything.

It worked pretty well for a while, the whole coasting-on-stress-hormones plan. He could be everywhere, do everything, feel nothing except the sparest sense of panic, urging him forward. But Joe is a psychiatrist. He knows what prolonged stress does to a body, even if he chose to ignore what it did to his body–right up until he collapsed in the kitchen and cracked his head on the edge of the counter.

It’s funny, really. A doctor who can’t take care of himself.

His mother doesn’t seem to think it’s funny at all. She sits in the chair beside his hospital bed, her face drawn in a way that Joe wishes he didn’t recognize.

She’s disappointed in him. Worried, too.

“I’m fine,” Joe says, and even he isn’t convinced. But no one should be worried about whether Joe is fine. It’s Jack they need to be worried about.

Marilyn does not agree. “Joseph, you know what I mean.”

She leans forward and rests her palm on Joe’s forehead, just the way she used to when he was little. Her fingers bump up against the bandage over his right eyebrow.

Head wounds always bleed more, Joe reminds himself. It’s not a big deal. None of this is a big deal.

“I’m just tired.”

“Is that what you are?” Marilyn scoffs, and there’s a harsh note in her voice. She pulls her hand away and fixes the lapel of her sweater, not quite meeting Joe’s eyes. “Could have fooled me.”

“Mama, I’m fine.”

“You aren’t.”

Joe shakes his head, ignoring the wave of nausea that rolls through his gut. “I am. Compared to him, I’m–”

“Honey, you can’t compare yourself to Jack,” Marilyn says softly.

Well, of course he can’t. There’s no comparison. There’s nothing Joe could possibly suffer that could even touch what Jack has been through.

Joe fidgets with his plastic ID bracelet. “He needs me.”

It’s what Joe tells himself anyway. Sometimes, though, he isn’t sure. It’s selfish, he guesses, to want Jack to need him. But it’s all Joe has. Intimacy, companionship, trust–all of that might as well be locked up in the cage Jack left behind in Ivan’s basement. Maybe it’s not dignified, but if being needed is all Joe has, he’ll cling to it.

“He does need you, Joey,” Marilyn says. “I know that. But you can’t take care of him if you aren’t taking care of yourself.”

“I am.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Well, you are now. Because you’re in the hospital.”

“I don’t want to be,” Joe mutters.

He knows he sounds like a child, but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s stupid that he’s in here. He isn’t doing anyone any good lying in a bed like some kind of invalid. He has things to do. Someone to take care of.

Marilyn sighs. “I don’t want you to be here either. But you are.”

“Who’s with him?” Joe asks.

“He’s with Dr. Breyer right now.”

“Right. Right.” An appointment that isn’t an appointment, because Jack has no legal right to medical care. Jack is always withdrawn after his sessions. Joe should be there. His legs twitch beneath the rough hospital blanket. “I can–”

“You can stay here, and you can listen to the doctors.”

“Mama, I have to–”

“You don’t have to do anything, Joe.”

She’s wrong. “Yes, I do. I love him.”

“I know.”

“He needs me,” Joe says again.

Marilyn’s breath is sharp in her chest, and she leans forward to wrap Joe’s hand in her own. “He needs help, Bear.”

Joe doesn’t like the way she says it, like Jack is broken, like he’s some kind of lost cause. He isn’t. Joe won’t let him be.

“I help him.”

“But who’s helping you?” Marilyn says softly.

Joe doesn’t need help. He doesn’t. He’s just tired. This isn’t a big deal.

His mother squeezes his hand. “I know you feel privileged to do what you do for Jack, and he is so lucky to have you. But you don’t have to do any of this. Not at your own expense.”

Why can’t she understand? He is privileged. Jack could spit in his face for all Joe did to protect him, and Joe would deserve it. He’s lucky that Jack chooses to live under the same roof–well, as much as Jack is able to choose anything. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. Joe has to help him.

“It’s my fault,” Joe whispers. “What happened to him, it’s–”

His mother’s grip tightens. “No, it isn’t.”

“But–”

“No, it isn’t. And it isn’t Jack’s either. It’s something that happened, and it’s something that is hard. It’s going to be hard. But you are not the only person who can help Jack.” Joe opens his mouth to protest, but one shake of Marilyn’s head shuts him down. “No, don’t argue. You listen to me, Joey. You need help too.”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t.

Joe pulls his hand free. “I shouldn’t.”

“That’s not true,” Marilyn insists. “What if Jack told you he didn’t need help?”

“But he does.”

“So do you.”

Joe buries his face in his hands. He’s strong. He is. This is ridiculous. This is pathetic. He’s pathetic. It shouldn’t hurt so badly. He doesn’t hurt like Jack does. He doesn’t have the right.

“Joey, honey–”

He shakes his head. “I just want to fix it.”

Marilyn’s touch is light on his knee. “I know, Bear. I know you do. But maybe we can’t.”

Joe swallows a sob. That can’t be true. He has to fix it. He will.

“There are things about Jack that might be different forever,” Marilyn says. “And we can’t try to fix those things; that will only hurt him more. Helping doesn’t always mean fixing, Joey. You know that. That’s your job. You don’t fix. You help, and you teach people how to help themselves. You need to do the same for Jack and yourself.”

And even if Joe knows she’s right, he won’t admit it to himself. Not yet. Because Jack is alone, and he’s probably frightened, and he won’t understand.

“But who’s going to take care of him if I’m here?”

“He’ll take care of himself,” Marilyn says gently.

“He doesn’t know how to do that.” Not anymore. And that’s Joe’s fault, isn’t it? Joe wasn’t there. He couldn’t stop it.

Why couldn’t he stop it? Why did any of this have to happen? Why does it have to hurt so badly?

Why can’t he breathe?

“Joey, come on now,” Marilyn soothes. She’s out of her chair now, and she pushes into the hospital bed next to Joe, wrapping him carefully in her arms. “You’re safe. He’s safe. It’s over.”

It isn’t. What if it never is?

“He needs–” Joe gasps. “Mama, he doesn’t know how–”

“He isn’t the only one,” Marilyn murmurs, cradling Joe’s head against her chest. She kisses his hair, and Joe’s breath starts to slow, just barely. “I’ll be there to help him, honey. Just like I’m here to help you.”

And for a moment, Joe wonders if he shouldn’t let her.

He melts into his mother’s arms, and it is soft and sharp all at once. He didn’t realize how badly he needed this. He forgot that he needed anything at all. His muscles unspool, and he lets his mother stroke his hair.

“Thank you,” Joe whispers. Marilyn doesn’t answer, but she holds him tighter. Joe’s head tilts upward. “Mama?”

“What is it, Bear?”

Joe presses his face to her shirt, and this time, he doesn’t keep himself from sobbing. “I’m so tired.”

Marilyn rocks him gently back and forth. “Shhh. I know, baby. You just rest, and let me carry some of the load for a while, huh?”

Joe isn’t sure that he knows how to do what she’s asking, but his eyes grow heavy, and he falls asleep in his mother’s arms.

taglist: @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @sparrowsage, @aut0psy-s, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @no-terms-and-conditions-apply, @darlingwhump, @squishablesunbeam, @dont-be-gentle-please, @deltaxxk, @irishwhiskeygrl, @keep-beach-city-werid, @keeper-of-all-the-random-things, @hold-him-down, @peachy-panic, @whumpyblogthing, @sowhumpful, @considerablecolors, @ramadiiiisme

#whumptober 2022 #no.18 #breaking point #stress positions #reluctant caretaker #oc #fic #physical exhaustion #denial #references to partner's trauma #hospitals #behavior modification #joe prescott oc #marilyn prescott oc #two days late but no dollars short i hope

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