#minor whump
The Blackmuir Reign: You Need Not Fear Me
Summary: brief moment before we finally write The Letter. The Henry lookalike kid won’t give Therrin any information.
CW: ***whump of a minor*** (the Henry lookalike boy has suffered a horrific punishment from someone, making Therrin and Rudy even more suspicious of the claims about his heritage. The main characters do not/will not not harm him) mouth whump/body modification/mutilation that has already happened. Medieval/fantasy setting
“You need not fear me,” King Therrin said to the Usurper’s alleged son.
Something like longing stirred in Matteo’s chest. Though the words were not for him, it seemed they still applied. To his dismay he saw the red haired Knight, Rudy, watching him. He glanced away from the King as quickly as he could, his face heating in embarrassment.
The boy had not spoken a word since Matteo and Therrin had entered the room. He’d stopped eating the plate of black bread and goat’s cheese that he’d been picking at before, quiet and somber.
Matteo saw the resemblance immediately. It was in the set of the eyes, the shape of those nose, the jaw. It was striking, though impossible to pin down to one definite feature. He remembered Prince Henry as he’d first met him— in a tunic of Truly white, riding into his father’s camp on horseback, muddy from a scout and smiling.
“I have some questions, as I’m sure you’ve guessed,” Therrin said, in the same tone as if he were speaking to one of them. His blue eyes searched the boy’s face, flicking back and forth. “There are no wrong answers. I ask only that the answers you give me are honest. If you don’t know an answer, that’s okay too. Just tell me you don’t know, and we’ll move on.”
The boy’s nostrils flared slightly and his jaw jumped. He pulled his hands into his lap, staring at the remaining bread on the plate. His chest rose and fell faster. Up close, Matteo could see the shadow of a bruise on the boy’s cheek.
“Will you not answer your King?” Rudy nudged. The Knight looked huge next to a boy of twelve, like two men stacked together and wearing partial armor, a broadsword at his hip. His reddish beard had begun to grow back in, partially obscuring a scar on his chin that shaving had revealed.
The boy looked at Rudy apologetically, his eyes big and pleading. He began to appear visibly distressed, looking at each of them in turn. Matteo wondered briefly what Henry might have done in Therrin’s place, but pushed it away quickly. Once, he would’ve laughed at the idea that Therrin was a better King than Henry. But no one knew Henry. Not really. Not even he knew the real Henry, until it was too late.
At last he turned to the Knight and opened his mouth, though no sound came out. Rudy leaned closer, taking the boy by the chin to tilt his face up an inch and peer past his teeth into his mouth. His face fell in a moment of pure disbelief before it grew hard and unreadable again.
“Fucking Hell,” the Knight muttered. Gently, with two fingers, he closed the boy’s mouth by pressing up on his chin. The boy pulled his legs up on his chair and hid his face in his arms, resting his forehead on his knees.
“He’s not being difficult,” Rudy said gruffly. “Someone’s cut half his tongue out. And fairly recently.”
Matteo rubbed the spot where the knuckle of his pinkie used to be. If this boy was indeed Henry’s, it was like a piece of him was still walking the earth. He wasn’t sure if it was that or the cruelty that had been done to the boy making him so uneasy.
“Who did this?” Therrin nearly whispered, to keep the anger out of his voice. “That nobleman? Burns? He dares?”
Rudy looked at the child with weathered, resigned sympathy. He put a hand on his back, and rubbed a gentle circle with his big hand. “Can you write, little one? Do you know your letters?”
The boy only burrowed his head deeper into his forearms. Rudy kept rubbing circles, did not push any further.
“I forbade loss of life or limb as punishment without my express permission,” Therrin said. “I do not want to hear they’ve started cutting out tongues because it does not constitute as a limb. And a boy of twelve summers? Did they do this so he could not confirm or deny their allegations about Henry?”
“He can still shake his head yes or no,” Matteo pointed out. “Even if he does not read or write, and cannot speak.”
“Not if he’s been threatened sufficiently,” Rudy said darkly. “If you ask me, the poor thing’s terrified to communicate with us at all.”
“Then this will not help,” Therrin said, drawing his finger in a circle at the three of them there, speaking of him as if he wasn’t present. “Find out what you can, Rudy. I want him to understand he’s not going to be hurt.” He spoke in the boy’s direction. He was likely listening, even if he could not speak. “Not here. Not with us.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“Matteo?”
Matteo pulled his gaze from the boy’s coppery bowed head, thinking morbidly of what it would feel like to have his jaw forced open and his tongue cut from his head.
“Come with me. We’ve a letter to write.”
He followed Therrin from the room, his feet like blocks of stone.
The Letter. This minor complication was not a distraction from the real issue— a potential rebellion or resistance in the south.
Therrin waited for Matteo to fall in step beside him in the hall. They walked alongside one another instead of Therrin leading.
“What did you think?” he asked.
“He’s… he looks like him,” Matteo admitted. “Like Henry.”
Therrin sighed. “I still think it’s weak evidence for murder. I bet you could find a child passable for a Truly in every village in the Muirlands. We start killing everyone in the north who resembles a dead King and we’re going to have a lot of blood on our hands.”
We, Matteo noticed. Our. 
“What are you going to do, Your Grace?”
Therrin stopped. Matteo did too. Therrin looked up the hallway to make sure they were alone before cupping Matteo’s face in both hands.
“I’m going to convince you to call me Therrin again, first,” the King said, looking straight into Matteo’s eyes. “And write to your big brother in the hopes we are still friends, and keep my head and my crown both.”
“You’re not going to mention Martin Spearly?” Matteo asked. It was easier to be direct like this, with his face in Therrin’s hands. He was braver than if the King was across a room. “About the rebellion?”
Therrin let him go. They began to walk again. “If I have my way, we’ll never speak of it again.”
The Blackmuir Reign Snippet: The Knight and the Boy
CW: **whump of a minor** in the past, but resulted in permanent mutilation/injury (the boy doesn’t speak because of the fairly recent removal of his tongue) hurt/comfort, fear of punishment, communication issues, past abuse and threats, serious hand injury (Rudy).
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“Youdo know your letters, don’t you?”
The boy’s eyes flew to his, realizing his mistake. He’d been caught reading the ornamental inscription of an antique dagger. It was a dirty trick, but Rudy knew he’d be interested in a blade like that one and brought it to show him. He’d watched his eyes to see how they landed on the script, if they followed from left to right with any comprehension.
“It would do everyone some good if you would answer questions on paper for us, you know. We could keep it to yes or no.”
The boy looked away, all the color drained from his face. The dagger sat innocently on the tabletop. By my side or in my enemy’s, the hiltread in an earlier from of Muirish. Most native speakers still found it intelligible, if stilted.
Rudy sighed, re-tucking the end of the bandage that wound around his hand. The last two fingers no longer moved. If that was going to change or not, time would tell. It had been worth it to see the brute who would cut out a child’s tongue bleeding lifeless in the dirt. He only wished he’d had the luxury of making it last a little longer. Of making it painful.
“King Therrin is a good man, you know. He grew up as a ward in the far south. Not some spoiled, unworldly Prince waiting to inherit a Kingdom. I wouldn’t have ridden against the crown to take the capital with just anyone.”
The boy flashed a glance from under his floppy copper hair, so like that of the dead Usurper. He seemed to perk up at talk of battles, of riding in the vanguard against terrible odds. Rudy had seen him mesmerized in the Great Hall, hanging on the every word of a bard’s new song about the siege.
“Look at this. What if I placed an apple here.” He took a red and yellow apple from its wooden bowl (sour little things they were, this far north). “And a cup here…” He placed a pewter cup opposite the apple. “Apple means yes. Cup means no. You point at the apple or the cup to answer, and I don’t tell the King you know your letters. Would you answer some questions for us then?”
The boy stared at the apple. His mouth grew pale and tight whenever he was afraid, and Rudy didn’t know if it had anything to do with what happened, like he was clenching his jaw and holding his lips tight together to protect where he’d been hurt. His little heart began to pound— Rudy could see the rhythmic shiver of his tunic at the armpit.
“Someone told you not to talk to us,” he said flatly. Not a question. “Someone who hurt you.”
Quick green eyes met his. It was the loudest yes he’d ever heard, but still the boy did give an answer in any tangible way.
Rudy would gladly tell him he put his knife through the Tongue Cutter’s throat and opened it like gutting a trout if he did not think it would steal an innocence he could not put back. He wanted the boy to have no inkling of responsibility for that death. The blood was on his hands, and his alone.
“What if the King wasn’t there?” Rudy tried instead. “Would you answer questions for me?”
Rudy thought the apple might spontaneously combust from the intensity of the gaze on it.
“What if we start with you writing your name on a piece of paper? Your name is yours to give to anyone you please, is it not?”
He had pushed too much. To his dismay, the boy began to cry— a sudden welling of tears he turned away to swipe at with his sleeve as if embarrassed.
“Alright now, hey,” Rudy soothed. “It’s just me, little one. You’re not in trouble. We’re just looking for a way to talk to you.”
He placed a hand on the boy’s head and he turned quickly, nearly throwing himself into the Knight’s arms.
Rudy folded him against his chest and held him gently, loose enough he could get away if he wanted. The boy sobbed once— a hoarse, strained sound from a voice that has fallen into disuse and hugged him back tightly, as if someone were going to try and pull him away.
Rudy thought of the Tongue Cutter’s knife, how it had felt as he pulled him closer by his blade to kill him. He wondered if the boy had been cut by the same knife that sliced the flesh of his hand.
I’d have let him cut my sword hand too, if it would take back what they did to you.
He pulled away just far enough so he could take the little foxlike face in his hands. The boy looked up at him, openly trusting even though it was a Knight who had hurt him, in the same garb and armor as Rudy wore.
“I won’t tell the King you know your letters,” he promised. “And no one’s going to hurt you. Do you know that? I won’t let them.”
The boy nodded sharply, giving a tiny whimper on an exhale that would break the heart of even a soldier as weathered as himself.
“And what is this thing?” Rudy asked, plucking at the sleeve of the plain, shapeless tunic the servants in the kitchens had given him to wear. “If you dress in a potato sack, you’ll get confused for the potatoes. That’s what happened to the last kitchen boy, didn’t they tell you?”
He looked down at his ill fitting tunic and grinned through tears.
“They’ll throw you right in the soup,” Rudy said, and pulled a clean linen from his pocket he intended as spare bandage for his hand. He swiped gently at the boy’s cheeks with it, then let him take over himself. He took the linen a little sheepishly, dabbing it on his eyes until they were dry.
“Come,” Rudy said. “Let’s get you away from those kitchens for a while. Have you ever swung a steel sword? Even in practice?”
His eyes went bright, excited as any young boy at the prospect of wielding something dangerous. He shook his head no, he hadn’t, and dropped his gaze to the hilt of Rudy’s broadsword.
“Not that one,” Rudy laughed. “That’ll flip you right over. There’s lighter ones in the yard, to learn on. Come on. I’ll take you.”
The Blackmuir Reign: King Henry’s Ghost
CW: fantasy/medieval whump, fictional politics, whump of a minor (a twelve year old boy suspected of being the dead king’s son appears to have been treated roughly by the noble who turns him in), political prisoner, talk of child death, talk of execution for political reasons. let’s put Therrin throughit.
-
Rudy’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. He felt the old tension returning in his neck like a bowstring drawing, a tightness that never truly left anymore. The pressure seemed to change in the room, like all the air had gone out of the great stone hall, leaving them in an ominous hush.
“Your Grace,” said a breathless nobleman as he approached the dais. He dabbed sweat from his clammy brow with a yellowed cloth and stepped aside with a flourish, as if revealing a tray of roast duck at a feast. “The Usurper’s whelp.”
Poor boy Therrin’s softness towards him is so good. And Matteo seeing that softness is
Day 1: “Don’t Hold Your Breath”
First time doing one of these.
Brand new series that I’ll start posting now but no name yet.
—-
CW:Child soldier, Dehumanization, Human Experimentation, Strict Training, Child Abuse, Enirvomental Whump, Language warning, Organized Crime, Conditioning, Derogatory Language, Underage Whumpee [15-17]. (Everyone is an ass)
Water dripped down their back and the droplets shook along the body that shivered.
The cold was a thing that knew how to kill and it killed well. It took you slowly and painfully when you think you have the better of it. A cruel punishment of nature.
The cold was going to take them next.
They were sat in a chair in the middle of the winter morning. A lesson was to be learnt by them sitting here. Their fingers twitched every now and then as if to remind them how stupid this task was.
Azrael rocked their head back and shut their eyes. They imagined they were inside of that house where the older man sat in all of his bitterness.
Their teeth chattered against their will with their lips that began to turn into a sneer. They were naked with the exception of some black boxers seated in the middle of nowhere to have their butt frozen off.
They screamed a curse and squeezed down on the seat’s sitting sides. Azrael started to think the old man actually wanted to kill them. Turn them into an ice cube and hand them over to his boss.
He would be killed for it but it didn’t really seem like he had anything to live for.
As they continue to sit there a sudden hard warmth spread across their cheek. The driving force turned their head to the side and stung.
They had been backhanded.
The old man was there with a bucket of water in hand and a glare. Oh, was Azrael’s only thought as the water came down on them. Their body pulsed and shook like they has been shocked.
Maybe being shocked would be better than this. They look up at the Major. What they insisted on being called, not sir because that’s what to low for him.
His salt and peppered hair were shaved down to give him a matching look to Azrael. While their hair was not greyed, it seem to make everything colder. They hicked and heaved as they scowled at Major. Their stomach pulled in itself and out.
The man stared blankly at them before he turned away from them and shouted.
“Don’t hold your breath or I’ll tie to down like a mutt, bitch.”
Azrael watched as he made his way down to the house and closed the door. They snapped their head back and hope their stupidness will carry them for a little while longer.
@painsandconfusion@straight-to-the-pain@whumpwillow@morning-star-whump
No. 12 - ANXIETY (Alt. 15)
Finn had been dreading his appointment. He knew he’d have to miss part of school, which was always fun, and Fao had promised him ice cream after. He didn’t pay any attention in his lessons throughout the morning, but his teachers put it off to his absences and nerves - Sheila had warned them in advance, just in case he tried any of his antics.
With Finn still getting used to everything, Fao spent a lot of time at home, commuting into uni where he needed to. It was easier, being around for him. He knew Sheila struggled, and it reassured Finn to have him around, too.
On a rare afternoon free of lectures, Sheila had asked Fao to take Finn to his appointment. There had been a meltdown that morning, apparently, though Fao had already been at uni by then. The promise of having Fao had supposedly calmed things down, so of course Fao was going to take his brother. He didn’t mind, not really, but he did worry about the possibility of another meltdown.
He arrived at the school early, and waited for Finn, hoping one of the teachers would make sure he met him. He didn’t want to spend ages searching for him when he’d locked himself in a bathroom or something equally as ‘on brand’ for Finn.
Finnwas escorted to the main office, made to wait by reception for Fao to get signed in. He tried a few times to disappear, but was quickly made to sit back down. Always a bundle of energy, Finn was even worse when nervous. His myos were off the charts and he felt sick to his stomach.
“Hey, kiddo. You ready to go? Got everything you need?”
He nodded, clutching his bag to his chest.
“Want me to carry your bag?”
“No.” He said quickly, gripping it tighter. “I’ve got it.”
“Okay, that’s alright.”
“Can we just go home?”
“I’m afraid not. But it won’t take long, and we’ll go for ice cream after. Promise.”
“But I don’t want to go, Fao.”
“I hate going too. But it’s for the best, and it won’t take long.”
He scuffed his feet. “But if it won’t take long, then there’s no point going."”
“Ah, doesn’t work like that. But once you’ve been you don’t have to go again for a while.”
"Until Steve finds something else wrong with me.”
“I know it feels like that sometimes.”
“I’m in every other week anyway.”
“You’re getting better, it’s just taking time.”
“Yeah, right.” He slammed the door for good measure. “Sure I am.”
“Hey, hey, don’t slam doors.”
“I’ll do what I want.”
Fao couldn’t help but smile. “A couple of months ago you weren’t strong enough to slam doors.”
“It was the wind.”
“Could have fooled me.”
He grumbled in reply. He didn’t have the energy to argue with Fao.
“You know I’ll stay with you the whole time, right?” Fao said, as they headed towards the car. “Can hold my hand if you want.”
“No.” He folded his arms in a huff.
“Oh, are we too cool for hand holding now?”
Finn scowled at him. It was his fault he was going to the hospital, Finn wasn’t just going to forgive him.
“That bad, eh? Oh dear.” He murmured. “How was school this morning?”
“Fine.”
“What lessons did you have?”
He shrugged. “Stuff.”
“Science? Maths? English?”
“Yeah.”
“What are you missing this afternoon then?”
“Stuff.”
“Such as?”
“Stuff.”
“Okay. You wanna hear about what I learned this morning?”
“Whatever.”
Fao sighed, and left it at that. Finn was obviously just worried, he always got grumpy when he was stressed out. He unlocked the car and opened the door. “Wanna throw your bag in the back?”
“No.”
“Want to keep it in the footwell?”
Finn just glared at him, climbing in and hugging his bag to his chest. He didn’t care for Fao’s attempts at conversation. If he really cared, he wouldn’t be taking him to hospital.
Fao just let him get on with it, getting in on the opposite side. “Seatbelt?”
An idea flickered. “If I don’t put it on, we don’t move.”
“No, Finn. Come on, put your seatbelt on.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.” He scowled at Fao. “I’m not going to and we’re not going.”
“We’ll get the bus then, if you won’t put your seatbelt on. And getting the bus means no treat after.”
Finn made a noise vaguely like a growl, knowing he wasn’t allowed to swear, and strapped his seatbelt on.
“Thank you.”
He huffed, a quiet ‘Dickhead’under his breath as he glanced at his brother.
“You know I heard that, right?”
He froze, a blush spreading up his cheeks. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re stressed, I’ll let it slide.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“Mmhmm.” He said, starting the car.
Finn stayed quiet as Fao drove out of the school grounds. Even nervous though, he couldn’t stay quiet for long. “What did you learn at school?”
“Oh, you do want to know?”
He grinned sheepishly at Fao. “Maybe.”
“I learned about the liver.” Fao said, glancing over at his brother.
“One thing I didn’t hurt.”
“Y’know what, I don’t know if you did or not? Not badly, at any rate.”
“What happens if you do?”
“If you hurt your liver? Well, the liver is clever, because it heals itself.”
Finn listened intently to Fao rambling about his lectures, and he had to admit it did take his mind off the looming appointment. Once at George’s, he clammed up again, refusing to leave the car. Of course, it wasn’t a surprise to Fao, it never was, and all the extra time had been factored into the travel time. Finn was eventually persuaded out of the car in exchange for Fao’s hoodie from the backseat, which he quickly wrapped himself in.
Together, they headed up to neuro, Finn silently sneaking his hand into Fao’s as they walked.
“What do you want for after?” Fao asked, as they made their way down the corridor.
“To not come here again.” Finn said quietly.
“I know. But you’ve got to pick a treat too. A new dinosaur? Ice cream? Something else?”
“I’m too old for dinosaurs.”
“Too old for dinosaurs?!”
“Yeah.”
“Never too old for dinosaurs.”
“I am.”
“Steve likes dinosaurs, and he’s even older than me.” Fao said, steering Finn into a chair to wait.
“He’s ancient.” Finn murmured, stiffening at the mention of Steve.
“Not too old for dinosaurs though.”
Finn shrugged. He didn’t want to talk.
“Ice-cream for after, then?”
“Maybe.”
“Have a think, yeah?”
He nodded and lapsed back into silence. It was almost half an hour before his name was called, by which point the butterflies in his stomach had turned into quetzalcoatluses. He felt sick and dizzy, and wasn’t convinced he wasn’t going to have a seizure.
They followed the nurse through, who was very chatty and tried to calm him down while she did his observations. All completed, he was sent back into the waiting room for Steve.
Fao was blathering on about something, Finn wasn’t paying enough attention to actually figure out what he was saying. If he got told off, he’d blame it on his absences - it wouldn’t be the first time.
He kept trying to breathe, but he couldn’t seem to take any air in. The bit he did manage did nothing. He was only growing more dizzy, his hands and feet tingling. He was going to die.
Fao could tell Finn was struggling. His questions to his younger brother went unanswered, and it wasn’t absences. Fao could tell from his breathing, the way he fidgeted. He moved to crouch in front of his brother, a hand on his knee.
“Finn? Look at me?”
Finn slowly raised his head, his breaths coming in short gasps. He needed out. He couldn’t do it.
“Hey, hey. You’re okay. I’ve got you, I’m here.” Fao soothed.
He shook his head. None of it was okay. He was going todie and Fao didn’t even care.
“Shhh, shhh. Focus on me, yeah. You’re gonna be okay, just a little panic attack.” He soothed. “It’s alright. Just look at me, yeah? I’m right here.”
Just?? Finn shook his head, pushing his brother away. “Get off.”
“You’re okay. Can you focus on me? Just me, nothing else that’s going on. You’re safe, you’re alright.”
“No.”
“I know, Finn. I know it’s scary. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, it’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay, how could he keep saying that? His eyes darted around the room, trying to find a way out. Fao wasn’t helping, nobody was.
Fao took Finn’s hand. “Here, I’m right here with you. Look at me? Just try and slow your breathing down a little? Just a tiny bit for me.”
“Get off!” He shoved Fao away as hard as could. “Getoff!”
“Alright, okay.” Fao said, glancing around the waiting room. He took a step back, letting go of his brother’s hand.
He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, and he couldn’t take it. He needed out. He stumbled to his feet. He didn’t have a choice.
“Sit down for me, Finn?” Fao said gently. “We don’t need to go anywhere yet.”
Finn couldn’t hear Fao through the rush of blood in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the dizziness, his hand instinctively coming out to try and balance himself.
Fao came alongside him, half reaching for him. “Come on Finn, let’s sit down.”
He shook his head. He wasn’t staying.
“You’re okay. Come and sit down with me?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’ve got to go.”
“You don’t have to go anywhere, it’s okay. We can stay here.”
“No.Please.”
“You’re safe, it’s okay.”
“I’m dying.”
“You’re not, I promise. Take my hand?”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not, I’m really not. Promise.”
Finn looked at Fao. The room was spinning and his legs felt like jelly. He whimpered quietly, too stubborn to reach for him.
Fao stretched his hands out. “Come on, Finn. It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
“I’m right here, let’s go and sit down, yeah?”
He shook his head. Sitting down meant his appointment and he couldn’t do that.
“It’s okay. Nobody is going to hurt you.”
“They will.”
“I promise they won’t, I won’t let them.”
His legs had started to shake, but he was still not giving in. “They will. Youwill.”
“It’s alright, come on. You’re okay.”
He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t do it any longer. With a whine, he reached for Fao, his hands gripping tightly onto him.
“That’s it, I’ve got you.” He soothed, pulling him in for a hug. “I’m here.”
Finn relaxed into him, exhausted and mentally worn out. He pressed closer, fingers twisting in Fao’s hoodie.
Fao picked him up, holding him close as he moved back to the chairs. “You’re okay. Well done.”
He scrubbed his face against Fao’s chest, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He was still completely overwhelmed with everything, and didn’t know where he stood at all.
“I’ve got you. It’s okay.” Fao told him, rubbing his back.
His breath hitched again and he hid his face fully. He didn’t want to cry, and definitely didn’t want Fao to know.
“It’s okay. Take some deep breaths.”
For once, he did as he was told, and listened to Fao. He was safe in his arms, he knew that.
“Well done. It’ll help you feel better.”
Finn smiled slightly, glad of the praise. It helped that it was making him feel better, and he was no longer on the verge of passing out. He’d almost forgotten where he was until an all too familiar voice called out.
“Finn Daniels? Ready for your appointment?”
Fao rubbed Finn’s back and stood up. “It’s alright, I’ll carry you. C'mon, nearly done now.”
No. 6 - TOUCH AND GO
bruises | touchstarved | hunger
Harrison’s attempt at visiting the Daniels had - obviously - gone very wrong. He’d never intended to get in a fight, and certainly not with their newest foster kid. Though he wasn’t quite sure he was just a foster. The way he acted with Finn and Fred was more like family, like an actual son. Not that he knew what that felt like.
Sheila was Sheila. She always looked out for her kids, fosters or otherwise. She’d treat them as a member of the family no matter what. Although, making him sleep in the bathroom didn’t feel very much like family. And, of course, that had nothing to do with him vomiting all over the car. Not in the slightest.
He stretched out with a groan, squinting his eyes open. Fred was still on guard, sitting at the door to keep an eye on him. He wasn’t sure if he was checking he was okay or making sure he wasn’t going to cause more trouble, but the company was kind of nice. It was more than he was used to, anyway.
He slowly sat up, his muscles protesting and stomach twisting. He had nothing left to be sick, and hadn’t eaten in a few days, so put it down to hunger rather than anything else. He hoped it was.
Fred was asleep, arms folded across his chest as he was propped up against the wall. Harrison didn’t want to wake him, he knew he’d kept him up all night as it was. Sheila was off with Fao, he’d heard her go in to see him late the night before and hadn’t heard her come back out. It only added to the suspicion that Fao had been adopted.
He struggled to his feet, shutting the toilet door; he wasn’t going to piss with Fred watching. Although, judging by the fact he wasn’t in his clothes, he assumed he already had.
“Hars? You alright in there?” Fred rapped on the door.
He jumped. “Uh, yeah. Fine. Just pissing.”
“Alright. Let me know if you need help.”
“I’m not a child.” He snapped.
“It’s the most coherent you’ve been in a few days, excuse me for caring.” Fred retorted.
“Sorry.” He finished washing his hands before opening the door. “I’m okay.”
Fred offered him a smile. “Glad to hear it. Breakfast?”
He shook his head. “Not hungry.”
“Hot chocolate, then. Come on.”
Harrison groaned, but knew better than to disagree. He followed Fred downstairs, making his way into the living room. He grabbed a blanket from the pile Sheila always kept by the sofa and curled up.
Fred wasn’t long, bringing the younger boy a mug brimming with marshmallows and a little cream. He sat by Harrison, waiting for the boy to initiate any contact. They sat in silence for a while, Harrison drinking his chocolate slowly. Fred ended up turning on the TV to fill some of the silence, hoping to alleviate some of the awkwardness.
Harrison took his time with his mug, eventually placing it on the table beside him. He still flinched at the ceramic hitting the slate coasters, taking a moment to relax. He sat back and tried to watch the TV for a bit, but he just couldn’t settle. After a while fighting it, he slowly lay down, his back almost against Fred’s leg.
Fred took his time, but slowly and carefully moved to rest his hand on Harrison’s shoulder. “There you go, kid. Just chill. You’re safe now.”
No. 5 - I’VE GOT RED IN MY LEDGER
betrayal | misunderstanding|brokennose
Harrison hadn’t seen the Daniels in years. He’d been passed from foster to foster, causing problems wherever he ended up. When his final placement fell through, he had nowhere else to go. He had no support to get on his own two feet, no education to get a job, and far too much alcohol to do much else.
His funds quickly dwindled, and nobody would help him. The little help he did get, he refused to accept it, kicking off until they left him alone. After a week of no electricity or water, he gave in, packed his bags, and headed for the Daniels.
By the time he got there, several buses and a few miles walk later, it was dark. His phone was long out of charge and he knew he should have called first, but he wasn’t that considerate. There was a chill to the air, but the alcohol kept him warm despite only being in a t-shirt. It took a few attempts to find the correct door, a few wrong answers and several angry people. He hammered on the door again, leaning against the frame.
Fao liked being home. Uni had been great when he lived away, but after Finn’s accident he needed his family, and Fao was glad to be there for him. Recovery had been slow, but he was always there to help his little brother out.
Everyone was scattered about the house when there was a knock at the door. Fred was cooking, Sheila was upstairs doing something, and Finn was apparently doing his homework (though Fao had his doubts). Fao was stretched out on the sofa reading at the time, the loud sound startling him. Were they expecting someone? Sheila hadn’t said anything.
He stood up and crossed the room to the front door, pulling it open. He didn’t recognise the boy stood in front of him, in scruffy clothes and looking slightly unsteady. He was probably a couple of years younger than Fao, but not much younger than that. He looked skinny and unkempt, and Fao frowned.
“Can I help you?”
“The fuck are you?”
“Uh, I live here?”
Harrison scowled at him. “Where’s Sheila?”
“Upstairs. You got a name, kid?”
“Fred, then.” He glanced past Fao. “Where’s he?”
“Look, who are you?”
“I don’t have to answer to you.” He swayed slightly. “Just get them, will you?”
“I don’t know who you are. Why should I get them?”
“Because I’ve asked you to.”
“I don’t even know who you are.” Fao said, folding his arms over his chest.
“So go get them.”
“I’m not just letting you walk into my house.” Fao’s voice was hard.
“Did I ask to walk in "your” house?“
“I live here, it’s just as much my house.”
"Like fuck is it. ”
“So you’re just gonna show up at the door and tell me what is and isn’t my house?”
“Fuck off with your high and mighty attitude, mate.”
“You’ve really got some balls, haven’t you? I just want to know what the fuck you actually want.”
Harrison shoved him. “I’ve told you.”
“Hey, hey. Watch it.” Fao growled, pushing him back.
“Stop being such a dick then.”
“What the fuck is your problem?”
“I’ve asked you to get Fred and you’re being an absolute dick.” He squared up to Fao. “So, yeah. You’remy problem.”
Fao pushed him back, hard. “Oh, fuck off. Stop being such a fucking cunt.”
Harrison stumbled back, tripping over the front step and landing sprawled in the driveway. “You’re the fucking cunt.”
“Yeah, whatever mate.”
He struggled to his feet. “You’re a fucking wanker.”
“Says you.”
He swung for the other boy, frustrated beyond belief. It wasn’tfair.
The other boy was slow and uncoordinated, and Fao countered his punch with his own, sharp and angry. He wasn’t taking any more shit from him.
Harrison staggered back. Fao’s punch had landed, making its mark on his cheek. Blood welled in his mouth and he swore before he spat it out. He swung again.
Harrison’s counter attack landed well, Fao reveling in his hit and too distracted to dodge. He staggered back into the hallway, reeling.
“Dickhead.” He spat.
Fao gripped the wall, his head spinning. “You’re fuckin’ insane.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be such a wanker.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t just stand there and act like you own everything!” Fao snapped, his voice harsh.
“Coming from you, that’s rich.” Harrison shook his head. “I asked for one thing and you think you rule the place.”
“Almost as if it’s my house.”
“Yeah, right.”
Fao’s cheek, where Harrison had caught him, was throbbing, and he was sure a bruise was forming already.
“You’ve yet to give me a good reason why I should let you in.”
“I didn’t ask to come in, did I?” He spat. “I asked for Sheila or Fred.”
“What do you want them for anyway? How do you even know them?”
He wasn’t going to admit that. “I just do, alright? Please.”
“I’m not getting them without knowing why.”
“For fuck’s sake!” He snapped, trying to balance himself on the doorframe. “I’ve just fucking asked you to get them!”
Fao just reacted as the other boy moved to lean on the doorframe, and swung another punch at him. He had to look out for his family.
Harrison dropped like a sack of shit, landing in a crumpled heap. He hadn’t even seen Fao’s punch coming. Sheila, on the other hand, had.
“Faolan!”
Fao wasn’t a complete arsehole, when the other boy hit the deck he moved to crouch next to him, but Sheila’s shout made him flinch. Fuck.
“Go get Fred. You’ve done enough.” Her tone was hard as she placed her hand on his shoulder. “Go on.”
“I didn’t…” He said quietly. “I jus’…”
“Move it.” She clicked her fingers at him. “Now.”
His words died on his tongue and he stood up, bolting back into the house. Guilt curled in his stomach, and he went in search of Fred.
Sheila crouched by Harrison, gently rubbing his shoulder. Blood was pouring from his nose and his lip was split. She rolled her eyes. Boys.
Harrison jerked back from her hand, disorientated and swinging immediately. Nothing landed and despite his blurred vision he recognised Sheila, reaching for her with shaky hands.
Fred was cooking, and Fao was filled with dread as he stepped into the kitchen, bravado completely drained out of him. “F-Fred?”
“What’s up, kiddo?”
“Sh-Sheila wants you. D-door.”
He turned, still half-heartedly stirring. “What happened?”
He couldn’t do much more than lamely shrug his shoulders, struggling for words. “She wants you.”
Fred knew there was more going on, but also that he wasn’t going to get any more from Fao. “Stir that. I’ll back in a minute.”
Fao nodded. He could stir, he’d be out of the way then. He moved closer, aware of the blood on his knuckles. He was shaking, virtually trembling.
Fred wasn’t long, not entirely surprised to find Sheila crouched over a very confused Harrison. It had been a few years since they’d seen him, but he’d often turn up every few years anyway. The teenager had already thrown up over the front step, though Sheila had managed to start to control his bleeding nose - it was obviously broken.
The pair helped Harrison to his feet - he didn’t weigh much, more lanky than anything- and slowly took him through to the living room. They’d have to go to hospital, there was no doubt about that, but they needed to get him sorted enough to be fine in the car.
Fao kept quiet in the kitchen, leaning against one of the counters to keep himself upright. His legs felt weak, his chest a little tight. He’d fucked up, they were going to kick him out.
Fred called for Finn before he headed back through to the kitchen. Though Fao had attempted to stir, they needed to leave and it would be ruined by the time they got back. Fao looked like he’d seen a ghost, and he had a pretty nasty bruise blossoming around his eye too.
“Grab a hoodie, She’s taking us to hospital.”
Fao startled, looking up. “‘m fine. I’ll jus’ go up to my room, out of the way.” He said quietly.
“Not a chance.”
“‘m fine.”
“Yeah? That bruise looks fine. Hoodie, car, five minutes.”
He didn’t have a choice, did he? He toyed with just hiding in his room anyway, and then thought better of it. He didn’t want to get into any more trouble. So he abandoned the cooking, and rushed upstairs to grab a hoodie, feeling distinctly lightheaded.
They’d already managed to get Harrison into the car, a dish between his legs for when he inevitably threw up. Fao was directed to the front seat, Finn shoved in the back with his mum. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but had quickly been distracted.
Fred turned to Fao, offering him an ice pack. “You don’t look too great. Are you going to puke as well?”
He shook his head, but took the ice. “No.”
“Are you gonna pass out on me?”
“Probably not.”
“You feel dizzy?” He checked as he pulled off the drive.
“Not really.” It wasn’t a completelie.
“So, yes.” Fred rolled his eyes. “Let me know if it gets worse.”
“Notdizzy. I’m fine.”
He let out a heavy sigh. “We’re not impressed with all of…this. We’ll deal with it later, but right now, we need to make sure you two are okay.”
“Sorry.” He looked down at his lap. “I can go back to my flat after we’ve come back.”
“We’re not having a repeat of last time.”
He made a noise in protest. “I won’t.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get it sorted.”
“Sorry.”
“Not me you need to apologise to, is it?”
“Oh.”
“He definitely came out worse off than you.” Fred glanced at Fao. “You’ve got a surprisingly good punch on you.”
“Rugby.” He mumbled.
“Yeah. Better be careful on nights out.” He said. “Don’t want you getting in trouble.”
“‘m careful.”
“Apparently so.”
Fao was quiet, staring down at his lap, the bruises blooming over his knuckles. “Sorry.”
“Hey.” Fred reached out to rest a hand on Fao’s knee. “It’s going to be okay.”
Fao flinched, pulling away with a sharp intake of breath.
“Sorry, sorry.” Fred placed his hand back on the steering wheel.
“It’s fine.”
He hummed. “Sure. That’s why we’re driving to A&E at this time of night.”
“I don’t need A&E.”
“That one does.” He gestured to Harrison. “Kinda your fault.”
“I didn’t mean to…”
Fred raised his eyebrow. “Looks like you did.”
“I-” Fao cut himself off. “Nevermind.”
“At least we don’t need a guard dog.”
“I was only trying to…”
“Break his nose? Did a good job at that.”
“No.” He protested, his voice wavering.
“What, then?”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? Still fucking did it.”
“I’m not swearing at you, I don’t appreciate you swearing at me.” He warned.
“Sorry.” He mumbled, and decided not to say anything else.
Fred didn’t bother to reply. There was no talking to him when he was like that, and he didn’t really have the energy. Harrison was still throwing up in the back seat, Sheila having her work cut out trying to soothe him and keep Finn distracted.
Every time the other boy vomited, Fao winced. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, adding nausea to his guilt. He had half a mind to bolt when they got to the hospital, but he knew he wouldn’t get away with it.
Fred pulled in, dropping the car close to the entrance. “Fao, you go in with Sheila and Hars. I’m going to take Finn home. You can call me when you’re done.”
He nodded, pulling his hoodie closer, and got out of the car wordlessly. He waited for Sheila and Harrison, looking down at the floor.
Sheila said goodbye to her husband and son, walking the other two into the emergency reception. “I don’t know what went on between the two of you, but if you two cause any problems in the emergency department, so help me god.”
Fao shook his head. “Won’t.”
Harrison’s agreement was with his head in the sick bowl, looking up at Fao and then Sheila. “He started it.”
“Didn’t.”
“Did too.”
Fao huffed. “It’s always my fault.”
“Boys. That’s enough.”
Fao shrugged but fell silent. They headed inside and got checked in, Sheila sat between the two boys.
Harrison was seen to first, thanks to Fao knocking him out. She didn’t trust Fao not to run off, so made him sit outside the bay as Harrison was seen to. They had a bit more to check with Harrison too, the younger boy having just turned up on their doorstep.
Fao hated being stuck in the ED. Especially when he wasn’t really all that injured, and he didn’t really have Sheila for comfort. She was preoccupied keeping Harrison on the straight and narrow. It did make Fao wonder what the point of the both of them coming in was. Of course, he was stuck waiting, the A&E corridors cold and unwelcoming.
With Harrison reasonably settled in a bed in majors, Sheila headed to the corridor to find Fao. She sat heavily beside him, turning to look at the bruises on his face.
He looked over at her. “He okay?”
“Settled. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Yeah, you look fine.”
He shrugged. “I’ve had worse. Don’t really need to be here.”
“I still want you checked over.”
“I’m fine.”
“Better than he is.”
“My fault.”
“I don’t know what happened between the two of you. That’s for you to sort out when you’re both better.”
“I fucked up.”
“I doubt it was all your fault.”
“Might as well be.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Is in Fred’s opinion.”
“Did he say that?” She asked, nudging him.
“Pretty much. Said it was my fault we had to come in.”
“Well, you did knock Harrison out.”
“So it’s all my fault.”
“Did you need to knock him out?”
“Obviously not. I didn’t mean to knock him out.”
“What were you meaning to do then?’
“I don’t know, okay?!” He snapped. “He showed up, I didn’t know who the fuck he was, he got aggy, I didn’t want someone coming in the . house when I had no idea who they are and they were acting out. He looked like he was going to force his way inside, so I swung. He’d already swung at me, so… I reacted. I didn’t want anyone getting hurt.”
Sheila was calm. "Why didn’t you get one of us?”
“I don’t know. Because he was asking for you like he owned the place. And he was drunk, it put me on edge.”
“All the more reason to get one of us. Or just walk away, shut the door and all that.”
“I thought I could handle things. Y’know, look out for everyone.”
“That’s what we’re there for.”
“It’s different. I don’t know.”
“We’re the adults. The adult adults. We’re here to look after you.”
“I jus’ wanted to look after things.”
“I appreciate that, but it hasn’t worked out too well this time.”
“I know.”
“You can’t just get away with it.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“There has to be some punishment.”
He shrugged. “I don’t expect otherwise.”
“I know, but I don’t want it to be like it used to. The problem is that we have to have some repercussions for our actions, you know?”
“I understand that. I was never under any illusion that there wouldn’t be? I fucked up.”
“I just don’t want you to think we’re out to get you.” She said softly, leaning against him. “You were brave standing up for us, but it was just directed at the wrong person. With some stubbornness in there too, I bet.”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
“I don’t know what went on, but he’s not a bad guy, you know?” She continued. “He’s been through a lot, not unlike you.”
“He started the fight.”
“Did he?”
“He shoved me.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
“So forgive me for being somewhat on the defensive.”
“I don’t blame you for that.”
“But you’re still mad at me. Why can’t I just go back to my flat?”
“Because I don’t want you to go back and just cut us off.” She said, frustrated. “You go back to your flat and you get off scot free from us and you beat yourself up.”
“You keep talking about consequences. Whatever they are, I can take them, but I’d rather you stop pussyfooting around them and just tell me straight. I’m assuming you’re not going to beat the ever loving shit out of me, so I kind of need to know where I stand.”
“Of course we’re not going to hit you.“ She took a steadying breath. "Right now, I need to focus on Hars and getting him out of hospital. We can talk about the consequences when you’re back home.”
No. 1 - ALL TRUSSED UP AND STILL NOWHERE TO GO
“You have to let go” | barbed wire | bound
Harrison and Fao had finally started to get along, much to the pack’s relief. It gave Sheila and Fred a (well deserved) break, and Finn a distraction.
They’d spend afternoons after school in the Sanctuary, dicking around until Sheila called them in for tea or bed.
Fao loved being able to hare around the sanctuary after college. Once he’d burned off his excess energy, he always focused better. He found his homework easier, and he slept better too. Finn was quickly becoming like a little brother to him, and Harrison was a friend. He didn’t get on with many people at college, it was nice to have someone.
Him and Harrison often got caught up playfighting, Finn left to his own devices somewhat. The older boys were bigger and stronger, he couldn’t always play with them. They didn’t even notice him slip away deeper into the sanctuary, whilst Fao and Harrison scrapped.
It really wasn’t fair anymore. Harrison always used to play with Finn and now he had Fao, often leaving Finn alone. With nothing to do and nobody to play with, Finn set off to explore.
They’d been doing some work round the back of the sanctuary, repairing where someone had tried to break in and ruin it all. It wasn’t all bad news, though, as they’d ended up receiving a grant from the local council, and the extra publicity had led to an increase in funding too.
He knew he’d be told off for playing around there, but assumed that exploring would be fine. He was only sniffing around anyway.
Despite his bravado, he was still skittery, especially when he was by himself. He was spooked by a bird flying at him, seemingly from nowhere, and he jumped back, tripping over his paws.
He didn’t feel the pain at first, but as he tried to stand, it burned through his leg and down his side. It surprised him and he yelped, overwhelmed with the pain for a moment. Finn tried again, trying to stand. It was agony.
He turned to nose at his side, met with barbed wire and blood. His leg was the same, and every movement tightened the wire around his leg. He yelped again, his cries growing more desperate as he struggled.
Fao and Hars must have been too far away, or maybe they’d even left. He continued to struggle, desperately trying to get free. His muzzle was covered in blood, mainly from his leg and side, but also from his attempts at pulling the wire off. He howled again, as loud as he could. It was filled with pain and fear, terrified he’d be left alone to die.
Fao and Hars hadn’t heard him at first, his yelps far too quiet over their own playful growls and the soft breeze that carried through the woods. They carried on scrapping, leaping about chasing eachother, until Finn’s howl pierced the air.
Fao stopped dead, digging his claws into the dirt. He called back to Finn, trying to let him know they were coming, before he rushed off in the direction of the howl, nose to the ground to find where he’d been.
Finn was too busy howling to hear Fao, panic overtaking him. He continued to struggle, screaming in pain as he got more and more tangled.
Finn’s pained screams terrified Fao. What the hell had he gone and done to himself? As he got closer, Finn’s scent was overwhelmed by the scent of blood. Lots of blood. Not long after that he saw him, caught in a pile of scrap, what looked to be barbed wire. He rushed over, pressing his nose to Finn’s head.
At the sight of Fao, his screams got more desperate, trying to reach him. He leaned into the older wolf, paws scrabbling on the floor to get closer.
Fao rushed over, trying to stop Finn from struggling too much. The more he wriggled, the more Fao could see the wire pulling at him, ripping through fur and flesh and causing the bleeding to get worse. He pressed up close to him, trying to soothe him. It was going to be okay, they’d make sure he was.
Finn couldn’t move with the weight of Fao on top of him. He was too stressed for Fao to help, though his cries slowly dwindled into whimpers, his whole body shaking.
Fao whined softly, trying to reassure him. He twisted to look for Harrison. They needed help, and now. This wasn’t good.
Harrison wasn’t as fast on his paws as Fao, but had been stood there long enough to see what had happened. He jutted his nose towards the camera, a warning to Fao. They couldn’t shift, even if he went to get help. They couldn’t blow their cover.
He’d run back and get help, Finn needed Fao more than him, and the other wolf would probably be better at calming him down.
He bolted off, paws pounding against the ground. He just had to hope someone would be free.
Of course they were next to a camera. If Fao wanted to shift, he’d have to leave Finn. And he couldn’t leave Finn without someone else there with him. He whined again, trying to stop Finn from moving so much.
Finn kept struggling, pressing his nose to Fao and then turning to bite at his leg. Why wasn’t Fao helping?
Fao huffed, and gently licked Finn. He sent him an image of the camera, and then tried to send him one to soothe him too. The more he moved, the more it was going to hurt.
It hadn’t occurred to Finn about shifting, but the more he thought about it, the better it seemed. The camera didn’t matter, they could sort that out after, he was sure. He whimpered, pawing at Fao with his free paw and trying to beg him for help.
Fao shook his head, nosing gently at him. He just had to stay still, it would be okay. They’d get him out. Harrison would come back and Fao could move away to shift and they’d get him out of the mess.
Harrison had grabbed as many people as he could, out of breath and only barely covering himself with a towel. The pack sprung into action, Steve and Sheila heading to Finn while the rest shut the cameras down and went ahead to prepare the clinic. It didn’t sound good.
Waiting for the pack was like torture. Every minute that dragged by felt like an hour, watching Finn bleed onto the dirt. He was clearly terrified - Fao could feel how scared he was. He was in a lot of pain, too. He wished he could do something to help, but it was just a matter of waiting.
Steve ran ahead, his medical kit slung over his back. He arrived at the boys’ side breathing heavily as he knelt down. Finn was covered in blood, but nothing was pouring out. He’d need to get him back to the clinic before doing anything, but he could already see Finn would need stitches.
“Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay, Finn. You’re doing so good.” He started murmuring, quickly drawing up a sedative - it would be easier to assess without the risk of him shifting or pulling away.
Fao whined, gently nudging Steve’s side. Could he shift and help without getting caught?
Steve shook his head slightly, pushing Fao’s muzzle away for show. “Not yet.” He whispered. “They’re still on.”
He sighed, and went back to fussing over Finn. If he couldn’t shift, he could at least keep Finn as calm as possible. It was hard to tell, but it looked like Steve was about to sedate. That would help, but it would probably scare Finn more for a bit.
“Thank you.” He returned to fussing over Finn, gently and quickly getting a cannula in. “You’re okay, Finn. Just relax, okay?”
Fao whined, desperate to do more. But he couldn’t, not unless he shifted. He nosed at Finn again, all he could do.
Finn snarled at them, trying to pull his paw away. Steve was quick to respond, a low growl in warning as he gave the meds. They wouldn’t take long to work, but Finn needed to stay calm.
Fao stretched out to lay next to Finn trying to send over a calming thought, forcing himself to relax to relax the younger boy. He sent images of the two of them asleep together, the way they slept during the moons.
Despite the panic and pain, Finn slowly began to relax. He nudged Fao, trying to fight the sedation. Steve stroked Finn’s shoulder, quietly shushing the young wolf. It would be okay.
The sedation finally took hold, leaving Finn more out of it than not. He didn’t fight as Steve began cutting him free, choosing instead to press closer to Fao. His wounds were deep, and they’d have to fully sedate him to sort them, but they needed to move him. He’d be okay.
Fao stayed with him, careful to avoid the wire as Steve cut Finn free. Once they got him free he could shift and help Steve at the clinic, but for now he was still useless. It felt like an eternity to wait.
Sheila finally arrived, nodding to Fao. “Your bag is just by the tree. Go shift.”
As soon as Sheila spoke, Fao darted away to grab his back and shift. He hurriedly pulled on his jeans, rushing back over as he pulled a t-shirt on. His hands were covered in blood, but he had to get back to Finn. He had to help.
“I’m here.” He breathed.
He was quick to help Steve with Finn, trying to stop the bleeding the best he could. There was no time to think, to wait about for instructions. They only had a limited time until the sedation wore off, they needed to get him moved and into the clinic as quick as possible.
Steve got done as much as he could before taking a step back. He couldn’t do any more without the clinic. He kept murmuring to Finn in hushed tones as he picked the wolf up, hopping on the back of the ?truck?. He invited Fao up with him, the other boy very obviously calming Finn down.
It wasn’t a far drive back to the clinic, but it felt like an eternity for Sheila. She spent the drive glancing over her shoulder, checking on Steve and Finn. Her youngest had started to fight through the sedation, whimpering and whining as he struggled. Without the clinic though, Steve couldn’t give any more. He quietly shushed Finn, running his fingers through the small bit of fur that wasn’t covered in blood.
Fao sat with Finn and Steve, doing his best to soothe the younger wolf, keeping a careful eye on his breathing. It wasn’t long to the clinic, and he helped to get him out of the car and straight through into their theatre. Finn would need proper intervention to fix this. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best thing for everyone.
Finn batted a paw at Fao as everyone rushed around him. He made a quiet whine in protest, but the anaesthesia was strong in his system. He couldn’t have done it without Fao, had to tell him that he loved him. He huffed at him, his head too heavy to lift.
Fao leaned over to kiss his nose. “You’re okay. We’ve got you. Just go to sleep, it’s alright.”
For once, he did as he was told, slipping under. With Fao close, he didn’t panic either, letting the anaesthesia take over.
He stroked over his ears. “I love you. We’ve got you.”
No. 28 - IT’S NOT JUST IN YOUR HEAD
“Good. You’re finally awake.” | nightmares | panic
Returning home after his injury was odd. Easter things were still strewn around the house, Easter eggs still waiting to be eaten, but he had no memory of any of it. Everyone treated him like he was going to break, and half the time, he believed them. His whole world had turned upside down in a matter of moments, and he no longer knew where he stood.
Though they tried to keep it as normal as possible, it couldn’t have felt further from it. They’d all become used to being in hospital with Finn, used to all the busy of the ward and rehab. There were no longer strict mealtimes, observations every few hours, or the nurses popping in for a chat. The only normal thing was his bedtime.
After a day being home, Finn was all too glad to go to bed. He changed into his pyjamas and brushed his teeth before clambering into bed. Fao, of course, read him a bedtime story, staying until Finn fell asleep.
When Finn woke again, it was dark. He stretched out slowly, finding Lion under the covers and pulling him closer. He tried falling back asleep by himself, but he just couldn’t drift off. Things felt wrong and he couldn’t settle. It was easy to make up his mind, grabbing his blanket and lion before padding into Fao’s room.
“Fao?” He whispered into the darkness. “Fao?”
Fao stirred, lifting his head in the darkness of the room before he reached out to flick the light on. “Finn? You okay?”
He squinted at the light, scrubbing at his eyes as he made his way to Fao’s bed. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Oh, come snug then.” Fao said, moving over and pulling the duvet back.
Finn clambered into bed, wriggling to find the right spot. He tucked himself against Fao’s chest and sighed happily. “Night.”
“Night, Finn. Sweet dreams.”
His dreams were the opposite, nightmares mixed with reality and twisted into something worse. He woke with a panicked cry, trying to push himself away from the nurses holding him down again. When they didn’t immediately let go, he screamed.
Finn woke Fao long before he woke up. His brother wriggled in his sleep, digging his elbow into Fao’s ribs. He kicked out, getting Fao in the shin as well. Despite his attempts to wake him up, Finn was truly fast asleep until he startled awake and tried to push Fao away. He wasn’t exactly strong, and so when Fao didn’t move, he screamed.
“Hey, hey. Finn. It’s me, it’s Fao. You’re safe.”
Between the panic and (word?), Finn couldn’t hear him. He kept fighting, struggling with the duvet and the hands forcing him into the bed. His hands curled into fists as he tried desperately to get away.
Fao sat up. “Finn? It’s me, it’s Fao.” He said slowly.
Finn had finally escaped from the duvet and he backed up against the wall. His chest heaved as he tried to figure out where he was. It was too quiet for the hospital, but he could hear Fao in the dark. His nails dug into his legs as he tried to catch his breath.
“You’re alright.” Fao soothed. “You’re safe, you’re at home.”
The light flicked on. “Boys? What’s wrong?”
Fao looked up, the big lights making him squint. “Nightmare, I think.”
Finn dived for Fao, burying into his brother’s side. He gripped onto him tightly, fingers digging into his skin.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
“Do you need anything?” She asked quietly.
“Maybe some water?” Fao asked softly.
She nodded and quietly slipped away. Finn had chosen Fao for comfort, she might as well help how she could.
Finn struggled to catch his breath, pressing closer to Fao. Tears streamed down his face and he whimpered softly.
“I’m here, you’re okay. Take a deep breath, yeah? Copy me.”
“Tryin’.” He managed between sobs.
“You’re doing really well.” Fao encouraged gently. “Well done.”
He shook his head, he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t doing well at all.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now, just me and you.”
He pressed closer, curling further into Fao’s side. Fao was a comfort, he always had been. He was always there for him, had always protected him and stood up for what he needed, especially when he couldn’t do so himself.
“I’ve got you. Mum’s gone to get some water, you’re doing so well. Focus on trying to slow those breaths a bit. Well done.”
Slowly, he began to calm his breathing, focusing on Fao and copying him. Sheila returned with a glass of water for each of them and silently placed it on the bedside table beside them. She shot Fao a look, but didn’t dare to disturb them. As she left, she flicked the lights off, quietly pulling the door to.
Fao flashed his mum a smile, grateful for the water and the quiet. “Well done Finn, that’s it. Shall we have some water, hmm? Gotta be thirsty from all that crying.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Just stay here then, hmm?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to try and sleep?”
“Not tired.”
“Shall we at least get comfy?”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“No point not being comfy. Have you got Lion?”
“He’s here somewhere.”
“Shall we find him?”
“‘Kay.”
Fao moved to push the duvet back, looking for the stuffed animal. He was easy enough to find, thankfully, and Fao handed him to his brother. “Here.”
“Thank you.” Finn said quietly.
“It’s okay. You cuddle up to Lion, yeah?”
“And you.”
“And me.”
“Tell me a story?”
“What sort of story?”
“A good one.”
“A good one, eh?”
He nodded. “Please.”
“Alright. A good story…” Fao moved under the duvet a little, getting comfortable before he started to talk. He kept his voice low, in order to try and get Finn to feel sleepy again.
No. 25 - HIDE & SEEK
escape | flight | hiding
“Faolan!”
Fao stiffened at his desk, but didn’t say anything. If he didn’t react, maybe Tomas would think he wasn’t home. It was a long shot, but he had to try. It felt childish, to hide. But what else could he do?
“Faolan! I know you’re in there, you stupid fag! You can’t hide from me!” Tomas growled. “You’ve been stealing my cigs, you cunt!”
Fao bit his lip. He knew he shouldn’t take them, hell, he knew he shouldn’t smoke them at all. But there was a thrill to taking them from his uncle, and they really did help him out when he was stressed.
He had so much work to do, his GCSEs looming, that he frankly didn’t have time for Tomas being Tomas. He had pages of maths homework to do, and a French essay he’d not even started yet.
Tomas stopped shouting, and it seemed like he’d forgotten about Fao and the missing cigarettes. Fao managed to do his maths homework, even get halfway through his French essay and was considering going to bed when the door swung open and in burst his uncle.
“You’re gonna pay, you fuckin’ cunt!” He growled, clutching a mostly empty bottle of vodka.
Fao flinched, dropping his pen with a clatter. “Please, I…”
“Please!” Tomas mocked, laughing.
“I’ll buy more!” He protested.
“You’ve done enough, fag.” He slurred.
Despite being drunk, Tomas moved quickly, grabbing Fao and pulling him off of his chair. Fao’s knees scuffed on the floor and his breath caught in his throat. Fao managed to fight back a little then, stronger now than he had been as a younger boy.
But his fighting only served to make Tomas angrier, and after a few kicks to his ribs, Fao was gasping for breath. His side burned, his chest was tight, and he struggled to speak between trying not to cry and trying to stop the room from spinning.
He managed to kick the bottle from Tomas’ hand, thinking it would stop him. But instead, the bottle shattered on the hard wooden floor.
“You always ruin everything! Stupid cunt!” Tomas snapped, grabbing what was left of the bottle. The neck and part of the top were mostly intact, and he closed his fist around it. “I should’ve got rid of you like I did to your Da.”
This time, instead of the kick Fao was waiting for, Tomas pushed the broken bottle into his face and then kicked him to the floor. The glass caught just below his eye, where blood immediately welled up.
Fao cried out in pain, clutching at his face. He curled up on the floor then, surrounded by vodka and broken glass, trying to stop the sobs that escaped him. It was weak to cry. Tomas got angry when he cried.
But he couldn’t help himself. There was blood everywhere, and for a moment he was panicked he couldn’t see. But the world shifted back into focus eventually, and his sobs fell silent. His uncle was gone, apparently satisfied with his punishment.
He knew he needed to move, to get up and go to bed. But he didn’t trust his legs to hold him, and if he made a fuss Tomas might come back. If he didn’t move, and stayed put, maybe he’d be okay. He couldn’t do anything else.
Pt 5 of Circe’s Story, other parts in Masterpost.
Yeah.. this is where it starts to get real bad for her. Heads up if you aren’t good with what I’ve been told are “viscerally described” fight scenes. I just really like writing them.
CW: Slavery, minor whump, gore, death, sci fi typical violence, non-con drug use
Even when they entered the small arena, it didn’t click in her mind. Ka’hairal had come home late from some event. She hadn’t known the details, had just been told to ready more formal attire.
He had left quickly and it had been quiet that evening. She had been able to read more of the manual, slowly sounding out the letters. But she only had a few seconds warning from the boot steps, thudding down the hallway to leap to her feet, staring down at the floor.
She could smell the alcohol on him as he barged in, flinging his formal jacket on the bed. However, he didn’t toss himself down as he usually did. He stood in front of her instead, muttering to himself. “She’s gonna lose dressed like that..” as he stomped to the wardrobe, rifling through. She watched as a set of hand wraps as well as a jacket of leathery material were thrown on the ground.
“Put those on and come with me.” Ka’hairal said, already moving out the door. She scrambled to grab the clothing off the floor. Put them on? On what? Come with me. That was easier. She held the clothing tightly as she followed Ka’hairal down the hallway. He seemed to be heading out of the compound, weaving his way to where the shuttle was parked. The driver was waiting for them when they got there.
Ka’hairal climbed in but she paused outside, not quite sure what to do. She hadn’t been in one, not with one of them. Her palms began to sweat before there was a sharp whistle from inside, one she knew as a summoning. Boarding the ship, there seemed to be two rows of finer seats and a metal bench. Easy.
“I said to put those on.” His voice spoke from the front row. “We are going to Segar’s party.”
Segar. Her stomach plummeted as she put on the hand wraps, securing them around her wrists. He had been the one she had kicked. Pain began to spike up her back from the healed scar tissue.
“He asked for you specifically. There’s going to be a tournament.” She could have sworn she could have heard the smirk in his voice. Her hands were shaking as she pulled the slightly large jacket on her, unsure whether or not to do it up.
It was less of an arena than a large, open roofed ring with a slight pit in the middle. Many Batarians were mulling around, around Ka’hairal’s age. There were humans in the mix too. More than she would have expected. It was odd to see them standing still in the crowd, silent among the enthusiasm and drunken conversation.
Ka’hairal waved his hand and a few responded, beckoning them over. Glancing around as they moved through the crowd, she noticed that the other humans had more on than usual around. It was a weird assortment, a helmet, someone was wearing what looked like a sheet of metal tied around their torso.
The sinking feeling in her stomach grew as they got closer to the group. Icarek and Segar were there, laughing as Balak joined them.
“Good, now we can start. I’ve set up the matches already.” Icarek began, starting to move towards the ring.
Segar gave Balak a clap on the shoulder, “Gonna admit, I didn’t think you would do it.”
Balak gave a shrug, “She’s gonna win. I’m not overly concerned”. His hand lowered to his hip. And it all hit her at once. There were two swords hanging, not just his. The second was one of the practice ones, but real metal, not the safe material the training ones were made of.
The other humans. The ring. This was a fight pit. And not one of the sanctioned ones either. The noise around her muted as she began to run through this. She was going to have to fight. And she couldn’t lose. Not with Balak here. To disappoint? To fail? It would be better to fall on the sword.
They were moving towards the ring. She followed, lost in panic. Icarek was stepping into the middle, calling everyone’s attention. The crowd began to push in around, everyone trying to get a view. He was talking but she couldn’t hear above the blood pumping in her ears.
Some humans began to enter the ring, filing through. They seemed to all be a similar type, strong and muscled, wearing hand wraps and barefoot. Young, maybe a year or two older than her. The age of the crowd. A countdown sounded, she felt the noise around her swell as the men began to fight.
It was brutal, ugly fighting. There didn’t seem to be any rules. Blood began to fly from broken noses and smashed jaws. The crowd pressed in further. She took her mind some place else.
She was very proud of this trick, though she had no one to share it with. This ability to leave her body, leave the present, dissociate from whatever new horror she faced that day. The bloodbath continued in front but she no longer saw it, didn’t acknowledge it as reality. It was some holo show and the audience clapped as a single man remained standing, swaying slightly on his feet.
Money was exchanged around her and a new group entered. They were similar to the first group but they had weapons. A part in the deep of her brain began to scream, trying to get her to run, telling her this would be her fate. The holo show continued, this time with smashed in skulls from hammers and guts falling out of stomachs. There was a smell but she wasn’t there. Not until she had to be.
There was a small break and she began to pull herself back into her body. The ring was cleaned and raked, the stains of blood and viscera swept away. Servers carried drinks through the crowd and she watched as Balak and his crew boistered back and forth loudly, recalling their favourite parts of the fight. The slaughter.
An alarm on Icarek’s omnitool sounded and he offered Segar a pat on the back before heading back into the ring. Balak and Segar clasped hands and Balak began to walk away. She followed and they continued close to the ring. Icarek spoke again over the crowd.
“It has now come to the tournament section of tonight’s entertainment. Would those participating please bring their fighters to the ring entrance. Again, fighters to ring entrance. We will begin as soon as the first contestants arrive.”
Balak continued to move to the front until they were right in front of the ring before he turned to her. She bowed her head as he reached for the second sword, handing it to her. He didn’t say anything as he stepped back, leaving a clear entrance into the ring.
She paused for a second too long as he grabbed her shoulder tightly, pulling her through towards the ring. She stumbled forward but caught her feet underneath her, maintaining a hold on the sword. The crowd was still loud as she stood in the center, people beginning to call out bets and odds.
There was movement from the entrance and another girl stumbled in. She was younger than her and about half a foot shorter. She clutched a dagger in her two hands.
This girl had never held a weapon before, that much was clear. Looking over to Balak at the edge of the ring, he gave her a nod with his chin towards the girl. Icarek joined back in the ring, speaking loudly. “Our first fight of the tournament will commence. Fighters, ready, set,” there was a pause that stretched, “Begin!”.
The two of them stood still in the middle as the crowd began to shout, egging them on. The smaller girl moved first, running with her dagger outstretched. Disarming her was a simple matter of stepping to the side before slamming her hilt down on the girl’s wrist, grabbing the dagger from her opening hand. She followed through with a punch to the face afterwards, her hand still wrapped around the hilt.
The smaller girl crumpled to the ground, clutching her face. She watched forward and rested the sword near her neck, as Balak would do at the end of fights. She turned back to look at him with a confused expression on her face, as the crowd was still yelling loudly, working themselves up. His eyebrows raised slightly and he gestured again at the girl, prone on the ground. She looked down at the girl, who stared up at her, paralyzed by the point at her throat and back at Balak, confused again. He tilted his head right slightly and her stomach twisted as he gestured again with his chin towards the girl.
Oh. Of course. It couldn’t be easy. It couldn’t be like practice. A chill swept over her as she stared down at the girl, who was now crying softly.
She knew how to do this. She was there as Balak was taught, was shown where the human heart was, how to stop it. He had held the blade to her chest as his tutor has shifted the blade slightly, showing him how to slip it between the ribs.
That had been years ago but it had stuck. How Balak had leaned into the blade slightly, just to see what she would do. He liked those kind of games. Seeing how far he could push, what he could make her do. Like what she was doing now.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she lowered the sword from the girl’s throat before she closed her eyes tightly and plunged the sword into the girl’s chest. The sensation was sickening and she could hear the gurgles coming from the girl’s mouth as she withdrew the blade. Something warm splashed across her face but she kept her eyes closed as she turned away,
Not opening them as she walked back to the entrance.
Balak’s right tilted head almost made her stumble backwards but she kept going, standing before him. She heard the crack before she felt the pain of the slap, her head wrenched to the side. She was pulled back by a hand crushing into her chin, forcing her head back towards the ring.
The girl’s body was being taken off, leaving a trail of blood in the sand behind it as it was dragged away.
“You do not look away.” Balak hissed from behind, turning her head to follow the path of the body. “You keep your eyes open. Or that’s what I’ll do to you.” He released her roughly, then turned back in order to watch the next fight. She slipped in behind him. The blood drying on her face began to itch but she stood still, allowing the world to slip away from her again.
Blood spilled across the sand of the ring. The fights seemed to go on and on, each as brutal. There was no hesitation after her fight, all those entering the ring were ready to kill. The crowd around laughed and cheered, booing when a particularly large fighter was taken down by a smaller one.
Balak was stepping aside again and for a solid moment, she thought about running. She would be grabbed before she had turned fully and taken the step but that act of refusing, of saying no. Of not having to kill.
But the consequences of that were greater than whatever she could face in there. The fights had been short for the most part, to the death. They weren’t drawn out, weren’t an example to others. A death here wouldn’t hurt as much as that rebellion would. So she found herself walking back out into the ring. She noticed that she had been clutching that girl’s dagger the whole time and she forced her fingers to release themselves, tucking the dagger away into the waistband of her pants.
Her opponent was already in the ring, slightly taller than her, with a thin frame. Their hair was shorn short and there was a twitchiness to how they stood. As she got closer, she began to recognize the bags under the eyes and the sallow skin. And when they smiled, there were the telltale red stained teeth.
They were a red sand user but from their tics and twitches, the way they scanned around, she would guess that they were in withdrawal. They didn’t seem to have a weapon on them but her attention was drawn away before she could examine further. Icarek entered the ring.
“We are now entering the second round of the tournament. Give it up for round two!” The crowd chanted, yelling out. “Fighters! On my mark! Ready, set, begin!”
Before she could turn back to face her opponent, something barrelled into her, knocking her back onto the ground. It fell with her as her breath was knocked out of her chest. She looked up to see the other fighter on top of her chest as a fist slammed into her face. Another followed it and she pulled up her arms, trying to shield herself from the blows. Pain shot through her face and her arms as the blows rained down. Think, think, think.
She jerked her knee upwards and got it around their right leg. Pushing up her hips and legs, she flipped the position so that she was on top of the addict, pinning their arms under her knees. The shock on their face made her sneer slightly and she slammed her fist into their face. It hurt but the handwraps cushioned the blow slightly. They screwed up their face, trying to call on some biotic force. She cracked them across the face again, causing their head to snap to the side.
It felt good to hit something. The momentum of it carried her blows over and over. The pleading eye closed and she felt something crack underneath her knuckles. The shouts of the crowd were white noise at this point. Her mind was as empty as it was watching the other fights, a backseat row seat to the view of someone’s face crumpling inwards. Feeling the body first struggling, then twitching, then still underneath her.
By some strength she didn’t know she had, she was able to stand up, to leave the ring behind. She couldn’t look up until she stood right in front of where she knew Balak was. A hand roughly gripped her chin and pulled it up so that it faced towards him. It was yanked side to side before the hand left her face. Before she could pull it down again, a pair of hands grasped either side of her nose and jerked it back into place.
The white hot pain caused her legs to give out for a moment but she caught herself before failing, instead just stumbling backwards and bringing her hands up to her face. She hadn’t realized that it had been broken, the excess of scar tissue and nerve damage across the bridge of her nose must have blocked some of the pain.
She slunk into place behind Balak. Her nose throbbed but she forced herself to stay in the moment, in the crowd. She had made a mistake, zoning out, not having a clue what to expect from this fight. So this round, she forced herself to watch.
The larger guy with the sheet of metal strapped across his chest was first. The makeshift armour was splattered with blood and he carried a heavy club. His opponent was smaller but still muscled, holding a longsword like he knew what to do with it. The swordsman was skilled but the metal covering the man’s chest was proving to be rather effective. With an impressive twist, the swordsman slipped his sword under the large man’s guard, slashing through the straps that held the armour up.
He wasn’t quick enough to pull back and the club slammed down onto his arm with a loud crack, the man letting out a loud scream. The sword fell to the ground. The fight ended soon after that, the swordsman’s head cracked open on the sand.
It was hard to keep her focus after that. She came back in the middle of the third fight in time to watch a fighter get impaled through the back. She struggled to stay in the moment, taking in the strength of the woman who had stabbed him as she withdrew the sword and the body fell to the ground.
The final combatants of the round entered the ring. There was a slight uproar as the two entered. One of the young men had obviously been injured in the fight before. He was limping heavily, though she couldn’t see any blood. The other man had a smile on his face as he twirled his sword, waiting for Icarek to count them in.
The crowd could taste blood and began to push inwards. On Icarek’s “Fight!” the man surged forward, swinging his sword downwards towards the injured man.
It got confusing after that. The injured man’s leg seemed to collapse underneath him but instead of crumpling to the ground, he moved into a roll to the side, slashing his sword out. It wasn’t clear what he had attempted to accomplish until the other man stumbled and fell to the ground with a scream. Blood began to pool around his ankles and she was able to see that his tendons had been sliced through, preventing him from walking.
The young man strode up to him lazily, limp magically gone and jammed his sword between the downed man’s shoulder blades. With a twist, his scream was silenced.
The crowd roared. Her stomach sank. She was going to die. She was going to die here in this ring for the entertainment of these monsters. Her whole fucking life a waste. All of it for nothing. All that bullshit for nothing.
She spent a hard moment staring at Balak’s back, gripping the sword tightly in her hand. But he stepped aside and the ring stretched open in front of her.
The man with the club was in there. She looked back, trying to catch Balak’s eyes. To beg for help. But he just looked back lazily, smirk egging her on.
She felt something then, something burning in her gut, tensing her muscles. She wanted to scream from the frustration of it all. But she was going to win. Just so that she could knock that stupid fucking look off of his face one day.
There were murmurs from the crowd as she entered the ring and some laughs peppered the room. The man in front of her smirked as well, looking down at her. Icarek stepped into the ring.
“Welcome to the semi-finals, ladies and gentlemen. Are you ready?” The crowd thundered, feet stamping, blood thirsty. “Let us began! Ready, set.” The pause. She slowed her breathing, focusing on her opponent, on how he shifted his weight. “Fight!”
She was off the second it was called and not a moment too early. The man dashed forward, slamming the club down in the spot where she had just been. She tried to circle behind him but he was faster than she realized and she was forced to pull back, slipping around again. There were boos from the audience at this cowardly behaviour. It didn’t matter. Did they think she had any honour, any pride left to lose?
He seemed to favour his right side so she faked to his right before slipping around to his left, managing to take a slice at his side. She didn’t get back fast enough though and she felt herself lifted off the ground as the club slammed into her side.
Crack. She couldn’t breathe. There was no air left in her. She lay on the ground, gulping and trying to press herself up as the man slowly began to approach. He lifted his club above his head, rallying the crowd. Her ribs screamed at her as she forced herself into a crouching position.
As he neared, she began to try to stand, failing and falling back down to one leg, her sword being used to prop herself up. He stood in front of her and raised the club again. She sat, muscles tensed.
As the club was brought down, she pushed herself into a forward roll, bringing her close within the man’s guard. She pushed to stand, leading with the sword tip and impaling it in the body hulking above her. The body crunched as she did. The crowd hung silent for the moment. Then the body above her crumpled and began to fall forward.
Her sword had gone up below the rib cage and reached within the chest. She didn’t have long to study her work before she sank to a knee, doubled over from the pain in her side. Looking up, she saw Balak at the side of the ring. For once, instead of leaning lazily, he was upright. She saw him flick his hand beside him and bit down on her lower lip.
She was going to have to walk. Slowly, she pushed herself up, arms wrapped over her side, trying to keep it from shifting further. Every step sent another wave of pain through her body. She could taste blood in her mouth.
Before her was Balak. She braces herself for another attack but instead, she felt hands lowering her to the ground, speaking quickly.
“Icarek, what are the rules on medigel?” She heard Balak say, calling the other boy over.
“Not allowed until the end. And don’t even try it, it’ll get you banned.” Icarek replied.
“Kra’tash,” Balak cursed. She opened her eyes slightly, noticing Segar staring their way.
He began to make his way over, clapping Balak on the shoulder, “Do not worry, friend, I’ve got something for you.” Segar pulled out a small case and shook out a couple pills, handing them over to Balak. “Videilict. Open up the capsules and you can get her to snort it or just rub it on her gums.” He looked up, the sounds of the next fight occurring in the ring. “You’re going to want to hurry.”
Balak grunted, tearing open the pills and shaking them into the palm of his hand. A hand roughly tapped the side of her cheek and she opened her mouth, feeling a rough hand run powder along her gums. She struggled not to gag, to keep breathing through her mouth. The finger was out of her mouth and she gasped for breath, shaking slightly.
“Is it addictive?” She heard Balak ask as she struggled to breath through the aching in her side.
“Nah, not really. Only if you give it to them frequently.” Segar replied, “Though I did give you a double dose.”
The pain was everything and then it wasn’t. She paused for a couple moments, waiting for it to flood back in. But it didn’t. She blinked slowly as she pressed to her feet, keeping a hand on the wall in case she fell again. But she didn’t. And it didn’t hurt. It felt great, actually. Energy coursed through her and she fought back a smile. She twisted her back slightly, feeling the scar tissue. It didn’t stretch but it didn’t hurt like it usually did.
Balak turned back to see her standing and raised his eyebrows slightly at her rapid change in condition. He stepped closer, leaning down to her, looking her over. With a huff, he gestured his head over to the arena. There was only one fighter standing, the young man. The other body that had made a mess on the sand had been dragged out. It was her turn.
She felt the buzz of the crowd around her as she entered in. The lights felt brighter than they had been before as she stood across from her opponent.
He looked unscathed. There was blood on his clothes and splattered across his face but none of it seemed to be his. She had only seen him fight the once but she knew enough to shift her weight backwards, preparing her defense.
Icarek entered into the ring, standing between the middle of them. “Welcome,” his voice boomed, “to the grand final of our sudden death tournament.” There was a chuckle through the crowd. “Only one may have the honour of victory.” Honour. She would have spat if her mouth wasn’t so dry.
“Without further ado, Fighters.” Icarek backed up to the edge of the ring. “Ready, set,” The arena was still, silent. No one moved. “Fight!”
The man exploded forward, slashing downwards with heavy blows. She was prepared and was easily able to block and parry. It was the same as her fights with Balak. But this time, she had to win.
She managed to catch the sword at an angle along their hilts and gain leverage, pushing him back a few steps before pulling back, buying herself a couple moments. Whatever Balak had given her, she could feel her heart racing in her chest, her eyes hyperfocused in on her opponent. Time felt slowed and she was able to follow his movements, predicting where his sword would fall. She was able to keep up and she began acutely aware of the fact that without those pills, she would be dead by this point. He raised his sword above his head with a single arm and she moved to intercept it.
A pain exploded in her left thigh and her leg collapsed beneath her. Looking down in shock, a dagger had been driven into her leg. She hadn’t even seen him draw the dagger. The sword was coming down swiftly and she too raised a single arm, her other hand grasping at the wound on her leg. The swords clashed and with a deft twist, hers was forced out of her hand, sent skidding around the sandy flooring of the ring.
Fuck.
The roaring of the crowd was overwhelming as he stepped in closer, lowering his sword to her neck. His eyes were smiling, victory in sight as he cockily looked out to the audience.
Swiftly, she shifted to the side and reached up with her off hand, pulling his sword arm inwards, the sword going over her shoulder. At the same time, she reached with her right hand into the belt of her pants, drawing the dagger that she had hidden there. Blood spurted as she dragged it through his wrist, feeling it cut against bone. He let loose a wild yell, grabbing her wrist and twisting it roughly, forcing the dagger to fall to the ground.
She struggled to stand but despite the drugs coursing through her system, she was unable to place weight on her injured leg. Suddenly, there was a crushing pressure around her neck as she was hauled upwards. She wanted to scream, feeling the dagger moving within her leg but no sound escaped.
Weapons forgotten, the man held her off the ground, his face contorted with rage. Blood flowed freely from his injured wrist over the front of her tunic as both hands clasped around her neck, crushing inwards. Panic flooded her senses as she hopelessly grasped at his hands, clawing in desperation.
Darkness began to fill in the sides of her vision, narrowing her vision. She tried to kick out with her legs but the dagger shifted slightly and she lost hold of his hands, sinking further into his grasp.
She closed her eyes, going limp, allowing her hands to fall to her sides. The crowd exploded but the man kept his grip, intending on squeezing the life from her.
In a fluid motion, she jerked her left leg upwards and yanked the dagger out of it with her right, the drugs taking the full brunt of the pain. Her eyes forced open, she jammed the dagger through the side of his neck and tore it back out, a spray of blood exploding in her face.
For a moment, he still hung on and she feared that she had somehow missed. She watched as his eyes widened and his mouth gaped open, only a gurgle coming out. The hands loosed and she fell to the ground with a crash, his lifeless body tumbling to the ground beside her.
She gasped for air, her lungs aching as air was forced through them. Her leg throbbed and her hands grasped at it, pressing down onto the wound that was now bleeding freely. The world was still hazy around her as she lay there, consumed by the sheer will to keep breathing, for her heart to keep beating.
There was a sharp jab into her leg and a hiss as something was injected. Under her hand, she could feel the wound began to knit itself together. Her eyes jerked open to see Balak standing above her, head tilted slightly to the left. A swell of emotion rose in her that she hated herself for having. Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself to her feet, keeping her eyes on the dirt stained with her own blood. The combination of the medigel and the drugs kept her moving but she could feel where it was going to hurt once it wore off. Icarek was shaking Balak’s hand, raising his hand upwards in victory.
She felt nauseous. The lights were still too bright, the noise was too loud. But she kept it in. Save face. She swayed slightly as they stood, not able to listen to their conversation. Something about credits? She wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. She was so relieved she almost cried when she heard Balak snap, the crunch of his footsteps leaving the ring.
Limping along, a tear of gratitude slipped out once she realized that they were making their way back to the air shuttle. The driver looked incredulous as the two of them climbed into the shuttle. Aware of her blood splattered condition, she sat carefully in the back, trying to not get the mess on anything. They were silent as they took off. She could hear Balak typing away on his omnitool, firing off some messages. She allowed her brain to shut down, the hum of the air shuttle filling the silence.
They landed before long and Balak disembarked first, gesturing for her to follow along. She descended as quickly as she was able, a spike of fear shooting up her when she realized that she had made him wait a moment. But he didn’t comment, just began to lead the way through the house to his quarters. She kept her eyes on the ground, though she heard the gasps and the mutters of others as they walked through the complex.
The drugs were beginning to wear off and a heavy fatigue settled over her. Her ribs began to act up again, sending shooting pain through her side with every step. Entering into the quarters, Balak took a seat, gesturing for her to pour him a drink. She moved slowly over to the cabinet, biting down hard on her lip in an effort to keep her vision focused as she moved back over to him, handing him the drink with a bow.
A hiss escaped her lips as she pushed herself back up and she froze for a moment. But he didn’t comment and she made her way back to stand by the wall, resisting the urge to slump against it.
“I knew you would win.” Balak broke the silence, taking a sip. “You would never shame us like that.”
Her body was shaking from the effort of standing at this point but she forced herself as still as possible.
He waved his hand. “You’re dismissed. Go clean yourself up. I’m leaving again so you may have the evening off.” She bowed deeply, almost losing her balance but catching herself at the last moment, making her way towards the servants entrance.
“Stop.” He called out as she reached for the door and she choked back a sob before turning back around. “I was impressed by your performance.” The words hung in the air as he took another sip, swirling the amber coloured liquid in the glass. “You may go.”
She stumbled through the door and gently shut it behind her, letting the latch click in place before she pressed her back against the wall opposite the door, letting herself slide to the ground. A sob began to build in her chest and she bit down on her hand to stifle the sound. She curled inwards, huddling on the ground.
But everytime she closed her eyes, all she could see was their faces. The addict, the large man. The young man, choking for a breath that would never come as he bled out. The dead, open eyes of the young girl as her limp body was dragged out of the ring.
It was a while before someone found her, shaking and muttering, alone on the ground.
Oh friends, things get rough for Circe from here on out but I really enjoy writing fight and combat scenes. Hang onto your hats! This is also an introduction to Segar and Icarek, who are some assholes who are going to show up a lot more.
This is part 4 of the Circe story. You can find the start back here on my masterpost.
CW: slavery, slave whump, female whumpee, minor whump, combat violence (with swords), electricity whump (I’m not sure how to tag this, it’s a shock net instead of a collar)
The girl stood at the side of the room, hands tucked behind her back. Ka’hairal had brought three of his school friends back with him that evening and had requested that they be served refreshments. She kept an eye carefully on the glasses, making sure that they were never empty. And she listened.
“So when do you think you will be given your ship, Ka’hairal?”, the one furthest from her asked. He was slightly smaller than the others but had an erudite look to him. “Your brother got his when he was around your age, right?”
Oh friends, things get rough for Circe from here on out but I really enjoy writing fight and combat scenes. Hang onto your hats! This is also an introduction to Segar and Icarek, who are some assholes who are going to show up a lot more.
This is part 4 of the Circe story. You can find the start back here on my masterpost.
CW: slavery, slave whump, female whumpee, minor whump, combat violence (with swords), electricity whump (I’m not sure how to tag this, it’s a shock net instead of a collar)
The girl stood at the side of the room, hands tucked behind her back. Ka’hairal had brought three of his school friends back with him that evening and had requested that they be served refreshments. She kept an eye carefully on the glasses, making sure that they were never empty. And she listened.
“So when do you think you will be given your ship, Ka’hairal?”, the one furthest from her asked. He was slightly smaller than the others but had an erudite look to him. “Your brother got his when he was around your age, right?”
Ka’hairal sighed and leaned back in his seat. “I wish but my father has decided I have to continue schooling,” he moaned. “My brothers and him are already out fighting and two have been lost, honourable deaths. I’m tired of them treating me like a child though, I’m ready to fight.”
One of the boys leaned over to clasp Ka’hairal on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, my friend. I have been listening in on my father’s meetings. Soon, the humans and the Alliance will get what they deserve.” The group chuckled and moved on, changing topics to making fun of the way one of their teachers spoke.
The girl noticed the third boy looking over at her once or twice. She was used to this look by now. It was an appraisal, something the Batarians were good at doing quickly, assessing the value of the slaves around them. The conversation eventually slowed and the girl ducked around the group, refilling each of their glasses. When she reached the third boy, as she was about to turn away, he grabbed her wrist. She froze.
“Hey Ka’hairal, is this the one you were telling us about?”, he asked with leering eyes, “the one who your father allows to fight?” His hand tightened on her wrist, crushing the bones slightly. The girl was silent, looking at the ground.
Ka’hairal sat up a little straighter. “She is. My father has permitted her to become my training partner, so that I may better understand how humans fight.” He paused for a second. “She fights like a human.” They all let out a bark of laughter at that and the boy released her wrist, allowing her to move back to her position by the wall. Out of sight. Safe.
Until the furthest one, the small one, spoke up again. “I would like to fight her. I’ve never fought a human before. I think it would be an interesting experience.” The other two nodded and joined in.
“Yeah! I want to see what it’s like!”
“Come on, Ka’hairal!”
The girl felt her stomach drop. These Batarians and their fucking pride.
“Sure, why not?” Ka’hairal said with a laugh in his voice. Like he got to show off a new toy that the others coveted.
Fuck.
Ka’hairal always beat her in fights, though half of the reason behind that was because she couldn’t hit him back. And there was no way she could beat these three. Even if she could based on her abilities, it would likely shame them to be beaten by her and that would be worse. So she would have to lose.
The girl was starting to learn that she didn’t like losing.
The four of them stood up and Ka’hairal turned to look at her. “Go get the practice swords and ready the training arena. We will be down soon.” The girl bowed and left the room, dreading what lay ahead.
The girl had set up the training area by the time the four boys made it down. There was a selection of training weapons as well as some dummies that she had set up in hopes that they might take a swing at them instead of her.
It didn’t look like her distraction had worked though and Ka’hairal beckoned her over to select her training sword. She went for her favourite. It was slightly smaller than the others but the balance better suited her frame. He directed her to go stand in the middle and as always, she did as told. Her palms sweat slightly and she tried to wipe them off on her pants. The sand was hot beneath her feet.
She itched to run. But that wasn’t an option.
The erudite one was up first, since it had been his idea. He stepped up and, sensing that the girl was not going to make the first move, attacked. The girl sidestepped and parried, never pressing the offensive. It seemed that at first the boy was just testing her defenses but now he started in earnest, his strikes growing heavier and heavier. He was stronger than he seemed and it wasn’t before long that he slammed the hilt into her chest, knocking the wind out of her and forcing her onto the ground.
“Yeah! Go Icarek!” the other boys called from the sidelines as the girl coughed on the ground, forcing herself up to all fours and then to standing. They clapped him on the back as he rejoined them and the girl spat blood out. She had bitten down on her tongue on impact and the taste of iron filled her mouth.
The next one stepped up, the one who had boasted about his father, and again, the boys cheered. He didn’t spend any time testing the girl’s defense and went straight to it, raining down blows as hard and as fast as possible.
It frustrated the girl. His defenses were wide open and he didn’t protect his core but she couldn’t take advantage of that. Instead, she simply defended the blows until she couldn’t anymore.
This time, it was a leg sweep that took her out and she tumbled back onto the ground, landing roughly on her side. The boy moved the tip of his sword to her throat and pressed a little.
The girl could hear the cheering and the laughing on the sideline as he pressed harder. The tips of the swords were dull but the pressure was painful and by the time he walked back to the sidelines laughing, her eyes had filled with tears. Rasping a deep breath, she pushed herself up her feet.
She rocked her neck side to side, stretching it out. Being knocked down was nothing new. She slid a foot backwards, readying a defensive position.
“Come on, Segar! Show them how it’s done!” Ka’hairal called out from the side. The boy who had crushed her wrist earlier stood up with a wicked grin.
He stalked towards the center lazily. They both stood still for a moment before Segar lunged at her. The girl swiftly knocked his blade away. The blows rained down, slamming into her.
The girl was forced backwards as the onslaught continued until her back was pressed up against the arena wall. Her eyes glanced down as her heels scraped again the wall.
In a second, he had disarmed her and reached for her throat, lifting her up off the ground. Her hands struggled to find purchase on his arms as she was lifted up against the wall. The group of boys were laughing. They were cheering and whistling and she couldn’t breath. She couldn’t breath. She couldn’t fucking breath and her vision was starting to go and she needed to do something now!
“AHH! Fuck! Kra’tash fucking kicked me!” Segar cried out as he staggered backwards, clutching his gut. The girl fell to the ground for the third time, coughing and struggling to breath.She leaned her back against the wall in an attempt to get to her feet.
The other boys had rushed over to surround their injured comrade, checking him over. It was clear that nothing but his pride had been hurt. But his pride wasn’t nothing.
The girl started to make her way towards the exit, leaning on the wall. Her vision swam in front of her as she turned to look behind her. Panic filled her as the loud one detached from the group and storm in her direction.
She tried to curl over but he grabbed her by her hair. The girl let out a cry as he started to drag her back to them, throwing her on the ground in front of them. “Well, Ka’hairal,” he huffed, arms crossed, “what do you do with them here?”. He pressed a heavily booted foot onto her back, leaning heavily.
Ka’hairal shrugged, looking down with distain. “I don’t want to replace her, so we can’t tell my father or he’ll get rid of her. I don’t really care but she’s useful.” He said with a shrug before taking a moment to think. Appraising.
“I want her to stay that way.” He concluded, giving a nod with his chin. The weight of the boot lifted every so slightly and the girl drew a shallow breath.
Segar stood up to his full height. “I have an idea. Let’s fight again. Except this time, we can use real weapons.” The boys looked around at each other with glee.
“We can’t give her a real one though,” interrupted Ka’hairal, “that’s also against Father’s rules-”
“- So?” interrupted Icarek, “Give her the practice ones. She brought this upon herself.” Ka’hairal clapped him on the back with a grin and stepped back. The pressure left the girl’s back and she was able to push herself up, grimacing.
She couldn’t see a way out of this one. If she just gave up, they would be disappointed and make it worse for her. If she ran, then they would enjoy it too much and might get carried away. Best to stand her ground, for however long that might be.
The girl noticed that they had formed a ring around her. They were all of age to carry their longswords with them. Ka’hairal kicked her practice sword over to her and she knelt to grab it, her body already sore.
She didn’t pause for a moment as she reached for it and started to sprint to the other side of the arena, where she had set up the dummies. She slipped by Icarek, who hadn’t been prepared for the sudden movement, and pivoted to see the boys running towards her, grins on their faces. Segar lunged for her and she kicked a dummy into him, knocking him backwards momentarily. She ducked as a slash from Ka’hairal that decapitated the other dummy next to her.
The girl twisted around in time to parry a blow from Icarek and to slam his sword into the ground. She stepped on the blade, forcing it to the ground, then let loose a horrible scream.
The biggest boy, the one who had grabbed her by the hair, had his sword bloodied. The pain that spread across her back was so intense that it blinded her momentarily. The vision of the blood dripping off the sword seared itself into the back of her eyes.
Her arms spasmed and she barely managed to dodge another lunge from Segar without dropping the sword. Ka’hairal kicked her knees from behind and she fell to her knees, hands still clenched around her practice sword.
Looking up wildly, all her mind could register was Icarek’s blade swinging for her throat. Her training was not perfect, she panicked and tried to duck the blow. A burning hot pain exploded across her face. She cried out, sword slipping out of her hand to tumble to the ground. Her hand reached for her face, coming away soaked with blood.
And then everything was pain. She had forgotten Ka’hairal’s submission net until it had knotted itself around her, restricting any movement. The electricity caused her muscles to spasm, forcing blood out of her back and onto the ground. Her face twitched and seized, agony arching through every exposed nerve. Looking up, she saw the four Batarian faces smiling down at her.
It was too much. She needed to scream but she was already screaming. Blood pumped down her face and pooled on the dirt beneath her head, soaking her cheek and hair.
All she could smell was blood and ozone. Maybe hair burning.
It was getting hard to breath. And she was so weak. And so cold.
The blood felt warm against her face as her eyes flickered closed.
Mercifully, the world went dark.
