[Image Description: An illustration of a dreamscape, shattered and dark. In one corner of the illustration is a closeup of young Cloud’s face, open-mouthed in horror. He is kneeling behind a terrible and familiar scene. Sephiroth smiles, wing spread, delighting in his strength. Impaled on his sword is an older version of Cloud, eyes empty and white, without pupils or irises. He is kicking and writhing in pain as Sephiroth lifts him on Masamune’s blade. His hands clutch at the sword, trying to stop himself from sliding down it. Sephiroth looks like he is having so, so much fun. End image description.]
[Image Description: The illustration is rendered in striking white and black line art over a sea of green. In it Zack Fair carries a shaken Cloud Strife. Zack’s expression is one of deep concern as he easily carries his friend. Cloud’s expression is tense and haunted. He’s gripping Zack’s pauldrons tightly. There are dark circles under his eyes, and raw spots on his ankles from being bound. Sephiroth stands with his back to the viewer, reaching out towards Cloud. He is pictured with just the edge of his face visible. His lips are parted softly in worry. His left hand is clenched in a fist at his side, and with his right he is hovering inches from Cloud’s cheek, not quite touching. End image description.]
The days crawled by. He woke. He dressed. He went to work. He was at every meeting. He was fully present. He observed the troops training. He went out on missions. He went to sleep.
The others sought him out. Zack first. “Have you seen Cloud?” then Angeal “Did Heideggar mention anything in that last meeting?” even Genesis “I thought you knew everything.”
Sephiroth was not a bad liar by any stretch of the imagination. It usually didn’t matter to him what anyone believed or didn’t believe. But it stung, this time. It stung watching Zack fret, doing squats in the middle of his office, muttering “He already nearly died this year…” and hearing Angeal confess to him in worry “all his things are still in my apartment.” and Genesis’s “Pity. He seemed fun.”
Sephiroth slipped up into the labs when he could. Moved like a ghost through familiar halls. Checked the monitors. Second ward, medical bay, block four.
Just three rooms away from the surgical machines where Hojo lobotomized unruly test subjects.
[Image Description: In the corner of a room made of Glass huddles Cloud Strife. On his ankles and wrists are silver cuffs with a green and red button, locked shut but currently disconnected. He is wearing green scrubs, too short on his legs, too big around his neck. His feet are bare. His eyes are dull and listless, dark circles underneath them, and his cheeks are hollow. He is chewing on his left pointer finger, so hard he’s drawing blood. His reflection is not of himself. The shadow of an older man with completely empty eyes and no expression on his face stares down at him, sitting at his side. The room around him is empty and green. End image description.]
It had been Five No Seven? Six. Days, He thought. Since the— Since—
Breathe through it. Live through it. You have before. You must again.
Shinra hated— Hated paperwork and— No one would— Would report this, so— Six days, and— Soon forever, and—
Cloud stood up in his prison and paced the walls again. Tried to draw in enough breath to stay calm. Tried to stop his mind from repeating, and repeating and—
[Image description: In a dark, dingy room, Sephiroth kneels, surrounded by piles of his own cut hair. His face is bloodied and bruised. He doesn’t appear to care, but is instead is looking up behind himself in concern and confusion as a shadowed figure drags Cloud in by the hair, shoving him down to kneel at Sephiroth’s side. Cloud has a bruise on his cheek, but his attention is focused entirely on Sephiroth. The image has Sephiroth and Cloud both in full color, with a grey background. End image description.]
“Genesis said ‘turnabout is fair play.’ I don’t think that equates with ‘good idea,’ Zack.”
He didn’t know how it happened. He certainly hadn’t intended it to happen. The last thing he wanted was to make more of a mess than he’d already made.
‘Stop saying you ‘made a mess,’ Spike, some guys tried to kill you.’
But after waking up in Angeal’s apartment, he just… Hadn’t left yet. Angeal hadn’t asked him to. Zack had brought up his stuff from downstairs. He’d had two days off from work, and then he’d gone back to it. Everyone acted like nothing had happened. According to Angeal, officially nothing had. Some janitors got paid extra to clean up the locker room that night, and some security footage was erased.
Cloud thought about what the troopers had said, about people at Shinra hating paperwork. How they’d have declared it a suicide.
[Image Description: A black and white illustration. In an empty dreamspace Sephiroth from Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core kneels before a literal pile of bodies. Behind him, an older version of Sephiroth looms, smirking, one arm sliding down the younger Sephiroth’s chest as he leans forward to whisper in his ear. Before the younger Sephiroth are a pile of crumpled bodies, slowly crumbling to ash. The younger Sephiroth is reaching out to them weakly, a dawning look of stress and terror on his face. End Image Description.]
Day Two: Pick Who Dies Note: This chapter contains references to canon character deaths & some gore.
“You could have warned me.” Sephiroth said flatly the moment he was certain he was dreaming.
“Oh?” He had the Other’s full attention at once. Felt the weight of his gaze like a physical force. “You found him, then?”
“Yes. Nearly dead in the trooper locker room. And now I’ve created more paperwork for myself by intervening.”
“Nearly dead?” The Other asked. Concern in his voice? No. interest? He wasn’t sure.
“Yes. You didn’t know?”
“This was the first change.” The Other responded, but it was offhanded. He was looking up at the empty sky, considering. “You saved him?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Very good.”
There was something in the way he said it. The almost purring quality. It made Sephiroth feel…
Once a string of Marlboro slime had gotten beneath his leather jacket, tracing down his spine. He shifted, trying to shake the physical sensation of the memory.
[Image Description: A black and white illustration by artist Tomowowo shows FFVII Crisis Core Sephiroth holding up a bloodied, shaken Cloud Strife. Their eyes are the only coor in the image. Cloud’s mouth is open and bloody. His eyes are teary and panicked. His whole body is tense and terrified, his hand clenched in Sephiroth’s lapel. Worse than the blood and the terror, Cloud’s neck and wrists are bruised and raw. Sephiroth is supporting him easily, his expression bordering between concern and confusion as he supports Cloud against his knee. He is holding a thick, bloodied leather strap. There is a splash of blood on his cheek. The floor and wall behind him are covered in blood, and a dead man’s hand is just visible at the edge of the frame. End image description]
Day One: Hanging Note: Warnings for strangulation and blood in effect in this chapter.
“Whoa, dude, that’s fucked up!”
Cloud was running low on coherent thoughts, but he could still think ‘shit’ clearly enough. It was almost all he was thinking. Playing on loop in his mind as he struggled, bucking and thrashing. The knee pressed into his back pushed harder, shoving a wheezing sound from his chest.
“Let” — Cloud grit his teeth against the pain — “Go!” He couldn’t taste anything but blood. This was bad. This was very, very bad.
Do something, he ordered himself. Think of something!
Shit, his mind thought in response. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
“Stop wiggling.” The guy on top of him said.
“Dude, yes! Check this out, I think it’ll work! He’s short enough.”
Cloud twisted. Straining against the hold on his arms. Caught sight of what they were—
“No!” He gasped.
“Hah! Look how pale he just got. Not so cocky now, are you?”
At least Cloud’s mind had adopted a new chant. Looking at the loop of leather. Taken from the trooper’s suspenders, repurposed into a make-shift noose.
[image description: With his back to the camera, the Other Sephiroth looms. Before him, Sephiroth is on his hands and knees, struggling to rise. But he is looking up in surprise and alarm. Between them, armed with Masamune, his hand out protectively, stands the Other Cloud. Fractured, and empty, but standing. Feathers fall around them, the moment sudden and stark, and fraught with horror. End image description]
He couldn’t seem to focus. Couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He was awake, he was fairly sure. It felt like he was awake. Like time was linear. Like his body was real. Like the hands on him were solid, and warm, and safe.
Cloud’s voice, and the sawing sound of rope being cut, and a sudden rush as blood flow returned from his cramped legs. Someone was behind him. The sound of more sawing. The vast thing behind him slumped out of its bonds. His wing. Yes. He had that right now. They hadn’t cut it off, even though they should have. That and—
“Talk to me.”
Cloud’s voice. Sephiroth swallowed. Squinted his eyes open. Cloud was a blurry smudge in a world that didn’t love him. In a planet he would always be separate from. In a life he’d chosen anyway.
“Cloud.” His voice didn’t sound like his own. Fuzzy and strange.
“Well, he’s got that one down.”
Genesis, speaking from behind him. A hand on the massive abomination of a wing at his back. Brushing over where the ropes had held it still.
[image description: A collage of images by artist @tomowowowo, featuring Sephiroth and Cloud in various positions and situations, as well as images of Aerith, Zack, and Vincent– Each image is a small, cropped portion of a larger illustration. The text over the image reads “Boomchick & Tomowowo’s Whumptober 2020 Three Fourths Point.” End image description.]
We are entering the final week of Whumptober 2020!
Tomo and I have been working non-stop to put together an unforgettable story out of this 30 day challenge. Catch up now on:
Summary: A chance at happiness leads Sephiroth towards devastation. A twist of fate throws Cloud Strife’s life off course. Their friends’ lives hang in the balance.
One week left in this amazing Challenge!! Here’s the link to the story so far!! Catch on or re-read @boomchickfanfiction incredible stories and my drawings!!! We hope you’ve been enjoying as much as we have!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️
[image description: A pair of images. In the first, Sephiroth sits, cross legged, beside Vincent at a small campfire. His left hand– the metal prosthetic– rests over a sleeping Cloud’s shoulder. A little possessive, perhaps, but mostly affectionate. Cloud is curled up slightly, and Tifa is asleep beside them. Vincent is speaking to Sephiroth softly, his expression calm and still. Beside him sits a suspiciously-wrapped bundle. In the second, Sephiroth is bent. On one knee. His head is bowed, his eyes shadowed, his posture stooped. Cloud kneels beside him, holding his prosthetic metal hand in both of his own hands. His worry and concern are clear, and painful. end image description.]
Sephiroth’s voice. Cloud gripped the side of the cliff. Spat again. Blinked the tears out of his eyes.
“Give him a minute,” Tifa objected, her hand still on his back, steady and cool. He was too hot. He was burning hot, and the world was swimming, and that was not his favorite way to climb a mountain.
“I would if we had a minute.” Sephiroth objected. “Stay with him. I’ll go ahead.”
“No.” Cloud growled. Clawed his hands. Forced himself to his feet. “We’re going together.”
“You’re sick.” Tifa said, her hand still steady on his back.
“So’s he.” Cloud nodded ahead of them to Sephiroth. He wasn’t looking at them. His gaze was fixed on the towering mountain. On the distant lights of the reactor.
Behind them, the helicopter was landing in Nibelheim.
[image description: Sephiroth and Cloud are seated across a table from each other. On the table are two plates of food, partially eaten, and Cloud’s mostly-drunken water glass. Cloud is hunched over, his hands pressed on either side of his head. His eyes are squeezed clothes, tears gathering on his eyelashes. Sephiroth has turned from Cloud, staring down at his own water glass with a look of horror and betrayal. The background is stark, and the dripping lines from the top indicate impending doom. end image description]
Sephiroth’s first impression of Nibelheim was that it made him hungry.
Not for the stew Angeal had put together on his mother’s fire out of their foraged herbs and hunted meats, augmented by his mother’s kitchen.
Gillian had not had enough bowls for them all, but had passed them what she had. Sephiroth had sipped the concoction from a mug. It had been delicious. Hearty. Better for being under a roof. For watching Gillian gently touch Angeal’s back, and Angeal not pull away. For hearing Zack loudly proclaim ‘I don’t get it. I’d love a wing.’ and Genesis laughing ‘see? He gets it, Angeal.’
No. Not for anything anyone could cook. Not for anything he could eat.
But Nibelheim did make him hungry.
So hungry.
Cloud’s steps lagged beside him. He paused. Looked to him. Face still too pale, eyes still a little unfocused, but remarkably recovered in comparison to the near-catatonic body he’d carried to shelter the day before.
“Cloud?”
“Sorry, I’m good. Just…”
“Hm.” Sephiroth looked to the rickety town gate. The name spelled out above it. It was nothing. It should have been nothing. His eyes were drawn towards the mountain towering behind it.
“How does it feel,” he asked, not really tasting the words as they left his lips. They were empty. Hollow. Starving. “Coming back to your hometown?”
[Image description: An image drawn all in blues and whites shows Sephiroth and Cloud, both huddled up in a small stone shelter in a snowy wasteland. Cloud is in Sephiroth’s lap, curled tight, his hands held close to his face as he shivers there. Sephiroth is holding him close with his right hand, his left absent underneath the cloak he wears to stay warm. His expression is strained as he stares into the meager fire he’s built up in their shelter, and his lips are pressed against Cloud’s scalp, his affection as clear as his fear. End image description.]
“It is genuinely unfair,” Cloud muttered into his scarf, “that snowstorms exist.”
“Mm.” Sephiroth’s face was tucked behind his own scarf, his eyes narrowed against the driving snow, flakes landing in his long, dark lashes.
No, no, no Cloud told himself, dragging his eyes away and shoving his hands deeper into his own armpits in his too-thin-for-this jacket. Don’t go all dreamy about his eyelashes right now.
He should have remembered, of course. That at this time of year there was no guarantee of nice weather this far North. But he’d let himself relax on the long trip here. The days of walking, jogging, racing across open, empty land. He hadn’t been prepared for how fast he was now. He hadn’t really opened up to run since his last trip to the labs. Not except that one sprint through the woods when he’d heard fighting.
Now he’d had a chance to experiment. Or, no, that wasn’t really it.
He’d had a chance to play . And Sephiroth had played with him. Sprinting through forests at Cloud’s side. His incredibly long stride eating up the ground. Pausing only if he got too far ahead, hair whipping around his jawline as he turned back to wait. Smiling.
[image description: Standing out in the lush green of a fresh wilderness, Cloud and Sephiroth stand, facing each other, dressed in traveling clothes and with a backpack full of gear. Their hands are linked, fingers twined together. Unlike previously, Cloud is not touching Sephiroth’s prosthetic hand. He is holding onto his right hand, as tightly as he can. He and Sephiroth are smiling at each other, sharing something deep, and new, and powerful. A moment just for the two of them. A silent promise before a new beginning. end image description]
“Oh,” She breathed, staring out at the field that stretched below her. “Oh, wow.”
“That’s quite a sight.” Genesis agreed, pushing his bangs out of his face, the new grey streak in his red hair an unsettling highlight. “I mean, we’re in the middle of nowhere, exhausted, and filthy, but that is quite a sight.”
Aerith elbowed him, refusing to let his dour attitude spoil her fun. This was the best thing she’d ever seen. Standing atop the small bluff, looking over the field before her. The flowers, and flowers, and flowers.
“Whatcha got?” Zack called up from behind them, from where he was walking with Angeal.
“Want to go down in style?” Genesis asked in a whisper.
Aerith felt her grin grow. Lifted her arms in answer. Genesis’s hands gripped her waist, Beat his wing hard, just once, and they were flying down the steep cliff face together. Sweeping over the flowers in slow spirals.
“No fair!” Zack’s voice followed, full of laughter, even as Aerith shrieked in a combination of delight and terror, clinging to Genesis’s coat.
[image description: An illustration of an outside scene, with wild bushes growing up in the background. Sephiroth stands straight and startled, hands lifted up away from his waist. He wears a long cape and casual clothes, with gloves. His left hand– the prosthetic one– is covered in cuts and slashes. Glued to his side is a furious, scowling Aerith. She is gripping Sephiroth in an extremely tight hug, glaring towards the camera in protective fury. She is small in comparison physically, but her determination burns. End image description]
Den of M[arionettes] Whumptober 2020
Art by @tomowowowo, story by Boomchick
Read on Ao3 Read from Beginning on Tumblr
————-
Day 18: Paranoia
“Well, we all know where to avoid, right?” Genesis had said, spreading out the world map from his library across Angeal’s table.
“Kalm,” Angeal and Sephiroth had dutifully chorused.
“What?” Zack blinked. Looked between the three of them with his visible eyebrow furrowed. “Why? What’s in Kalm?”
“Generally, Shinra spies waiting to pick up anyone who’s trying to escaped from Midgar.”
“What, seriously?”
“Seriously.” Sephiroth smirked. Chuckled. “Never go to Kalm.”
“Boring town anyway.” Genesis said flippantly. “What’s the plan?”
—————
“So,” Aerith said slowly. “Camping trip?”
“To start,” Zack replied happily, wandering towards the wall beside her. “But again, don’t know when or if we’ll ever come back. So if you don’t want to come—”
“Zack. I told you. I’m coming.” She threaded her arm through his, stepping a little closer to his side. “Now where are your big scary Soldier friends?”
“I don’t know how to begin.” Sephiroth said, sitting at the table and staring listlessly down at the journal he’d asked Zack to bring back for him.
“You could go with the whole ‘I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you all here today.’ That’s a classic.”
“Zack,” Angeal sighed. “Not right now.”
“I… didn’t call you all here. It’s Angeal’s apartment. I assume he invited–”
“It’s just a saying.” Angeal interrupted quickly. “Less joking, puppy.”
Sephiroth’s eyes were so tired. Even his confusion sounded weary. Angeal had never seen him so tired. So dispirited…
Cloud had bounced back quickly from the mako addiction. No doubts about that. He sat near Sephiroth, nursing his cup of tea. Sometimes his eyes wandered off to look at something on the wall, but he came back quickly now. When Zack had first carried him into the apartment, Angeal had thought…
Well. They’d lost people to the Mako before.
Now he and Genesis were both looking at the book. The gun in the room. The only thing Sephiroth had asked for since. They kept glancing up to each other, as if the two of them
“Just start at the beginning.” Angeal encouraged, fighting the urge to reach across the table.
So far Sephiroth had reacted badly to any attempts to touch him.
[Image Description: A drawing of Cloud and Sephiroth, both shirtless, standing before a softly glowing green background. They stand apart from one another, holding eye contact, both of their expressions pained and sorrowful as they hold eye contact with each other. Sephiroth’s cut-short hair falls loose around his bare shoulders. His left arm has been replaced with a shining black metal arm, laced through with green mako energy. Cloud is holding the metal hand to his face, pressing his cheek against it. Sephiroth glances in agony to Cloud’s right shoulder where there is a hand-print scar, black, and streaked through with red, like lava under the surface. A similar scar marks the center of Sephiroth’s torso where Genesis stabbed him. They both look… hopeless. End image description.]
“It is not so much that I mind the work or the outcome.” Hojo said conversationally.
Sephiroth said nothing. Watched, dispassionately, as one of Hojo’s surgical machines ripped the bone of his forearm. As another inserted the metal screw at the end of a thick metal bolt. He watched it twist into his body with grim acceptance and did not let the pain show.
“It is the lack of responsiveness that I object to.”
Sephiroth felt the Other moving in his mind. Closed his eyes to focus. To try to stop it.
‘Stubborn,’ the Other accused, the thought flowing through him like one of his own.
“For all intents and purposes the re-attachment should have been a full success.” Hojo was saying. “And yet the decay set in almost immediately. Now why do you suppose that was?”
Sephiroth’s back arched up off the table as the metal drilling down into his forearm went deeper. He felt his neck tense, his tendons tighten, but he did not scream.
‘You hurt no one but yourself through this.’ The Other was joyless in his mind for once. Almost sullen with disappointment. He had been ever since Sephiroth had cut off the arm.
[Multiple warnings apply. Please check tags if you have concerns, either on this post or on Ao3!]
[Image description: A dynamic moment. Sephiroth is standing behind Cloud, his left hand resting on Cloud’s right shoulder. It could be a tender moment, but something has gone wrong. Sephiroth’s hand is too tight. Cloud is tense, twisting towards him, mouth open in a pained exclamation. Sephiroth is gripping his own arm tightly, his brows deeply furrowed and startled and afraid. His shaggy shoulder-length hair sways with his attempt to move away. Under Sephiroth’s left hand, Cloud’s shirt is starting to smolder and burn. end image description]
Cloud held the fractured half a face in both hands, carefully. Held up as if it were on a body roughly his size. Because it would have been. The reflection had looked so much like him before…
Well. Now he looked like one eye, most of a cheek, a few locks of hair, and half a mouth.
The mouth was the most recent addition. Cloud had pieced together the face over a month of dreams. Finding splintered fragments of him in the middle of nightmares. broken like porcelain, but they still felt like skin, and hair.
The mouth had come much later. A single visit in the middle of the night during Sephiroth’s long, stretching absence.
"You’re back!“ Cloud had cried, carrying the rest of the reflection’s broken face wrapped carefully in his jacket.
The reflection had shaken his head. Whispered “thank you,” and then he’d reached up. Clawed his own fingers into the hole in his head. Tore off one last chunk of his face. Then he had vanished again, just as abruptly.
[image description: A warm illustration of Zack and Aerith. They are standing close together. Aerith is holding pink ribbons and Zack’s black eyepatch, clearly working on something. Her hair spills loose around her shoulders. Zack is watching her, fixated. He is turned with his missing eye towards the viewer. His eyelid is stitched closed over the empty socket. In his left hand he holds one of Aerith’s flowers, slowly lowering it from his face. The only color in the image is the blush on both of their cheeks. end image description]
[image description: A pair of images. In the first, Cloud is standing before Sephiroth, wearing a cozy hoodie. Sephiroth is seated before him, face is pressed into Cloud’s chest. He has one hand gripping the back of Cloud’s hoodie. Cloud is gently resting his face against Sephiroth’s head, his expression one of soft concern. In the second image, Cloud is cradled in Sephiroth’s arms. Cloud is fast asleep, curled up against Sephiroth’s chest. Sephiroth has a tender expression on his face, and has just pressed a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead. end image description]
“Quite certain, Cloud. My legs are quite sturdy. Would you like to feel them?”
“Don’tflirt with me, I’m walking you home from medical!”
“Alright. When shall we reschedule for? Friday?”
Cloud snorted. Ducked his head. His hands shoved in his pockets, his stride shorter than Sephiroth’s— One and a half steps to Sephiroth’s every one. But they walked side by side.
Sephiroth hadn’t asked him to come down. To walk back with him. To do anything, really. But Cloud had shown up anyway, when Sephiroth finally replied. Replied to the backlog of 54 messages, sent over the last 11 days, while he had been floating and—
He yanked his thoughts away from that like pulling on a Chocobo’s reins. Glanced down to Cloud, walking by him with his chin tucked and his hands in his pockets.
[Image Descriptions: A trio of images. In the first, Genesis sits at a table, a cup of tea forgotten and pushed to the side. His elbows are on the table, his fingers interlaced. He is leaning his head on the back of his hands. He looks worn down. Exhausted. Behind him, Angeal stands, holding his own cup of tea, looking drawn and worried as he keeps one eye on Genesis. In the second image, Zack sits with his back to Cloud, his expression sad and concerned. He wears an eyepatch over his right eye, and a SOLDIER hoodie. Behind him, sitting curled up on the seat, is Cloud, hiding his eyes and sobbing softly. In the final image, two versions of Sephiroth exist simultaneously. On the left, he floats unconscious in a mako tube. On the right he is on hands and knees, bruised and wounded, with one hand over his stomach, glaring up at someone before him with surprise and hatred. End image descriptions]
The tea was cold. Definitely. It had gone cold long ago. If he sat here long enough, maybe it would grow a film of mold. If he sat here long enough, maybe he would too. Maybe he already had.
“Genesis.”
Angeal again. Trying to talk him up. Or talk him down. Genesis didn’t know which Angeal thought he needed.
“He’s fine. They said he’s healing. No harm done.”
“Oh,” Genesis laughed. It felt like there was acid in his mouth. “There was harm done. Or don’t you have eyes?”
He didn’t move while he spoke. Kept his elbows braced on the table, his fingers laced, holding up his head. He felt… Old. Old, and tired, and the bitter kind of angry.
“Why didn’t he block?”
“Genesis.”
“Why didn’t he? What was he thinking? You saw him, he just… He just stood there, and I—”
He took a breath. Hold it together, he told himself. Hold it together, hold it together. He could feel it happening again. That library feeling. He’d started to think of it as his shadow coming loose. Like some part of him that was always there but that he couldn’t see, unspooling. Making new shapes behind him.
[image description: An image of a cramped huddle, black and white except for the blood. Closest to the viewer, with their backs turned, are Genesis and Cloud. They are looking towards where Angeal is crouched before a wounded Zack. Angeal’s hand is in Zack’s hair, and he is looking at Zack, deeply worried. Zack’s right eye is a mess of blood, spilling down his face. He bears bruises and bloody wounds all over his face and arms, but he is looking up at Cloud with his good eye, and smiling sweetly through the pain, as if nothing at all is wrong now. End image description]
So, thought Cloud to himself, what he was learning from his ‘educational field trip’ with Zack boiled down to this.
He was getting much, much stronger. Almost like being surrounded constantly by the elitist of the elite was rubbing off on him.
If Zack says something is ‘going to be super easy,’ he should say ‘no thank you.’
If Zack says something is going to be ‘fun,’ he should run as fast as possible in the opposite direction.
He had to start getting better about not freezing up when people grabbed him.
If Zack had known that he was trapped in the labs, he’d have torn the science department to kindling looking for him.
Because yeah. He was stronger. He could slice a dire rat in half. He could face down monsters and gangsters alike at Zack’s side. He could shake off a hit and keep fighting. They likely began enhancements on you Sephiroth had said, inspecting the injection marks on Cloud’s inner elbow. You may find changes in yourself.
But that was just the effects of lesson one.
Lessons two through four came when Zack jogged off to check on something ahead, promising a continuation of their adventure. The moment he was out of sight, a dozen hands were suddenly on Cloud. Lessons two through four came in as he locked up and shut down, terror freezing his blood and his body in memory—
Dude, that’s fucked up—
— and by the time he had the wherewithal to struggle, his hands were tied behind his back and there was someone tying a gag around the back of his head, muffling his screams.
[Image Description: Sephiroth and Cloud stand together in a quiet moment. They are dressed casually, but appear locked in some sort of intense moment together. Sephiroth’s shorter hair falls loose around his face and shoulders. Cloud, significantly shorter, is reaching up to place his hand on Sephiroth’s chest. His touch is gentle and concerned, and his expression is a picture of soft worry. Sephiroth is staring down at him, fixed but not angry. He appears to be confused and startled, but not upset. If anything he has a faint look of yearning about him. As if he is seeing something he wants very badly, and dares not take. End image description.]
Which would have worked better if Sephiroth wasn’t one of the four people working together to ensure Cloud was never alone to be snatched away from them again.
Not that he had really been snatched away before.
“Hey,” Cloud’s first text had read. “Zack and I are going to catch a movie. Just want to get out of the building for a while.”
“Have fun,” Sephiroth replied. “Wish him luck with the enhanced hearing.”
“Earplugs” Cloud said, with four ear emoticons on each side of the word.
Sephiroth chuckled and thought no more of it. Until the next day, when—
“Hey,” a text again, “I’m really tired. Just heading back to Angeal’s to sleep. He’s there, so no need to come by. Sorry.”
And that was the first time the thought pulsed through him in terror.
We would like to once again thank you from the bottom of our hearts for this year’s great event. We saw so much amazing content, thank you all for sharing it with us! We value each and every one of you for putting your all into this event - whether you filled one prompt or 31, or even more, we’re proud of you all. You did a great job, well done!
We’d like to give a special shout out and congratulations to our completionists! We’re very happy to see that our prompts motivated so many of you - 174 people, if our maths are correct! - to finish the whole list. You did some fabulous work, thank you for sharing!
Without further ado, here’s to all of the Whumptober 2021 completionists!
(Please imagine the following list read out in a grand announcer voice for extra drama.)
SugaryWaffles123AO3
maybewren Tumblr AO3
StormXPadme Tumblr AO3
Kel Tumblr AO3
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We would like to once again thank you from the bottom of our hearts for this year’s great event. We saw so much amazing content, thank you all for sharing it with us! We value each and every one of you for putting your all into this event - whether you filled one prompt or 31, or even more, we’re proud of you all. You did a great job, well done!
We’d like to give a special shout out and congratulations to our completionists! We’re very happy to see that our prompts motivated so many of you - 174 people, if our maths are correct! - to finish the whole list. You did some fabulous work, thank you for sharing!
Without further ado, here’s to all of the Whumptober 2021 completionists!
(Please imagine the following list read out in a grand announcer voice for extra drama.)
We would like to once again thank you from the bottom of our hearts for this year’s great event. We saw so much amazing content, thank you all for sharing it with us! We value each and every one of you for putting your all into this event - whether you filled one prompt or 31, or even more, we’re proud of you all. You did a great job, well done!
We’d like to give a special shout out and congratulations to our completionists! We’re very happy to see that our prompts motivated so many of you - 174 people, if our maths are correct! - to finish the whole list. You did some fabulous work, thank you for sharing!
Without further ado, here’s to all of the Whumptober 2021 completionists!
(Please imagine the following list read out in a grand announcer voice for extra drama.)
We would like to once again thank you from the bottom of our hearts for this year’s great event. We saw so much amazing content, thank you all for sharing it with us! We value each and every one of you for putting your all into this event - whether you filled one prompt or 31, or even more, we’re proud of you all. You did a great job, well done!
We’d like to give a special shout out and congratulations to our completionists! We’re very happy to see that our prompts motivated so many of you - 174 people, if our maths are correct! - to finish the whole list. You did some fabulous work, thank you for sharing!
Without further ado, here’s to all of the Whumptober 2021 completionists!
(Please imagine the following list read out in a grand announcer voice for extra drama.)
Welcome to Whumptober 2021! May the Whump be with you :)
To all of you who participated last year - we have changed a few of the rules, but overall things have stayed the same. To everyone new: WELCOME!
Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.
With that being said, we’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. We wish you all the fun!
(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information, and FAQs are posted below the cut!)
Delayed drowning | Chemical pneumonia | Oxygen mask
Panic flared within him.
Why was it that every time he went on a mission that was supposed to be simple it went sideways in the worst possible way? Missions that could be classed as “overly complicated” seemed to go off without a hitch, especially when they went in with the most far-fetched of plans. Did the Force just enjoy toying with the universe, flipping the expectations of all beings it affected just for the fun of it?
Luke was running, legs pumping as fast as they could, and his lungs began to burn. Just breathe, in, out, in, out… no. That didn’t help. It reminded him far too much of another unsettlingly familiar sound that insisted on haunting his dreams – and his waking hours, a sound that emanated from a being who was, in fact, here, as well.
Against all odds, defying all of their intel, Darth Vader was close – on planet, definitely, in the same locale, almost certainly, in the same facility, far too likely. Darth Vader was here, pursuing Luke, relentless to bring him in after claiming to be his father. (Even though Luke very well knew the truth of their relation, he chose to deny it, no matter how strong the Force sung in confirmation.)
Alarms had been blaring for several minutes now. Somebody, either on their side or the Empire’s, had hit something within the labs, and now it did not matter what side anyone was on, they all just needed to get the kriff out of this place. Poison was flooding into the air, some chemical gas under development in this facility, and it wouldn’t be long before the corridors were saturated with its potency. Many had been close to the exits, the majority of people already outside the building, but Luke had been deep within, extracting data. Artoo needed just a couple more minutes to get what they needed, minutes Luke was certain he could endure and be treated back at base for any damage he sustained, but then that blasted man had to show up.
Of course Vader could stand to take his time pursuing Luke. That respirator of his had to filter out toxins like this. So Luke took a much more circuitous route than he would have normally to escape the building in hopes of eluding his hunter. Naturally, this meant more exposure to the toxin, and he could feel his lungs struggling to keep up with his frantic movements.
Finally, he reached an exit, but it was not an ideal one. Nowhere near the landing pad or anywhere he could slip into the nearby forest, Luke was nearly cornered, his only real escape the river adjacent to the facility. Maybe he could move quickly enough to evade Vader and meet up with anyone else from the Alliance. The growing pain in his chest was suggesting otherwise, though.
And all hope was indeed lost when Vader appeared in the doorway, looming over him and looking out at the limited terrain for Luke to slip away into.
“There is nowhere else for you to run, Luke.” He seemed far more satisfied than he had any right to be. “You would do best to come with me and allow yourself to be looked at aboard my ship. Your exposure to this facility’s work will only cause you complications down the line if left untreated.”
“I won’t join you,” he spat, glaring fiercely into the death mask. “I can’t join you! Even if you – ” His words caught in his throat, and he could not bear to finish that thought. Even if you are my father. Luke couldn’t just give up on everything he believed in, even if he… even if he wanted nothing more than to know the only family he had left.
His desires were strong, his need for family even more so, but he knew loyalty. His aunt and uncle had taught it to him, the Alliance had reinforced it in him, and his friends – especially Leia and Han – kept it true in him. As much as he wanted to know his father, to be close to the man he’d grown up idolizing, Vader had done nothing to earn his loyalty as of yet. Something within Luke whispered of the possibility, somewhere, some ways down the line, but right now…
“I’m sorry.” Right now, he had to do what he knew was right in his heart. “My place is not with the Empire.”
And he threw himself into the water.
Several sensations crashed over him all at once, all of them leaving him breathless. The river was cold, far more frigid than he’d been expecting, and Luke gasped loudly against the icy waves. That same gasp forced water into his lungs – water that had been filling his mouth anyways, due to his lack of swimming prowess. Fear, shock, and additional panic gripped his chest, and Luke began to flail against the current, using any movement he could to try and keep his face above the water and control his swift movement through the water. He’d always considered that he’d choose death over the dark side, and he’d even faced the reality of that decision once before, but this…
Something about this felt different. It was less abrupt than throwing himself into the abyss. There was a process involved, a chill that permeated his bones, a fear that swept through his being. Luke had not realized it until now, but water could pose a true and genuine threat. So much of his life had been spent scrounging for it, savouring what few droplets one could extract from the atmosphere and treating it as a nearly sacred substance, he never once considered there could be such a thing as too much. Facing that now forced a genuine terror to ripple through him, compounded by the repeated bombardment of waves crashing into his face.
As he struggled to take in more oxygen than water, Luke could feel his head growing light and his mind fuzzy. His thrashing had already grown weaker, and he was exhausted enough that he did not even realize how he called out for his father through the Force. before unconsciousness overtook him.
***
Foolish boy. Foolish, reckless, idioticboy.
Vader did not know it for a fact, but he was nearly certain that his son did not possess the ability to swim, least of all to combat the current of the raging river running alongside the laboratory. The sting in his chest felt like Bespin all over again, his son choosing death over him once again. It was clear the boy did not know what he was turning down, nor did he recognize the danger he was getting himself into with his continued defiance.
But no more. While Vader could not dive in after him directly, he could make an effort to stop the boy from facing the most permanent of consequences for his actions. The echoing cry that rippled through the Force only served to further his conviction of this.
With a sweeping gesture, Vader summoned a large piece of driftwood, fairly flat and wide enough to support his weight, and leapt towards the raging waters below. Balancing atop the wood, he propelled himself onwards towards the dim presence of his son, momentum guided by the Force.
The boy was below the surface, skin pale from lack of air, but he was still conscious, if only just.
His prosthetics did not register much sensation, but it was clear how frigid the raging waters were by what little he could feel and the way his son was trembling. With far too little effort, he pulled the boy up onto the piece of driftwood with him, and guided their trajectory towards the bank. Tumbling onto the shore, Vader was quick to remove his cape and wrap it around the frail form in his arms. Through bleary eyes and soaked lashes, the boy looked up at him, pale eyes dull as he fought to stay awake.
“F – Father?” The word was weak, croaked out and nearly lost to the wind, but Vader heard it, crisp and clear as a bell.
“Yes, Luke,” he replied, gathering his son close to his chest. “I am here. You will be alright. Simply allow yourself to rest, now, lest you make your state worse.”
“I – I won’t… I don’t want to…” The protests were weak, his struggles even moreso, and nearly half-hearted. The boy still wished to escape, but he was succumbing to his sorry state, and the feeling of comfort provided by the very man he sought to elude.
Luke would come around to his point of view yet. Of this, Vader was certain. It would only take time.
***
He was stable.
The boy was stable.
Luke would live.
He just had to continue saying this to himself in order to stave off the restlessness that had already taken hold of him. Pacing outside the hyperbaric chamber – not his, but designed to be just as effective – Vader repeated these words over and over and over again in his mind, fearing what may become of his son.
Luke would live. He knew this. Countless med droids and even organic medics had assured him of this fact. What remained to be seen, however, was the state of his lungs following his recovery.
That facility had been developing a particularly potent chemical, a gas that would ravage the respiratory system from the inside out, meant to be deployed as a weapon. Its premature release could very well have had devastating effects on allies and enemies alike, and Luke had been exposed longer than most. With the toxin weakening his lungs and the water that had filled them following his escape…
The Son may reflect the Father even further than had initially been expected.
Should the bacta prove insufficient, Luke may be forced to live out the rest of his days on a respirator. Certainly he would require an oxygen supply when he awoke, for a limited time at the minimum. Vader felt pride at seeing certain reflections of himself and his past in his offspring, but for the boy to suffer in ways reflecting his own anguish was nigh unthinkable.
While Luke’s lungs had not immediately filled completely with river water, preventing him from an acute case of drowning, there was still fluid that persisted within, working in tandem with the chemicals insisting on breaking down his functions.
“Youwill pull through, child,” Vader rumbled outside the tank, staring at the pale, frail form within. “You must be stronger than I, in order to face the Emperor. I will not allow this incident to be your undoing.”
And if it was?
The hell he would bring down upon those who placed his son in this state would be unmatched by anything the galaxy had ever seen in all of its existence.
***
The first thing Luke noticed as his eyes fluttered open was the sterility bombarding every one of his senses. All he saw was a bright white backdrop, all he heard was a steady background buzz, all he could smell and taste was a pure, overly clean flow of air, all he could feel was an overly purified covering draped over him. None of this felt right, especially considering his last memories of plunging into icy currents and flailing about wildly in an attempt at self-preservation. This was far too comfortable for where he should have been.
A gentle pressure set itself against Luke’s face, covering his nose and mouth, reaching down nearly to his chin. Instinctively, he brought his hand to whateverit was and attempted to pull it away, but stopped short when a vise-like grip caught his wrist.
“Leave it be, Luke.” That voice was far too familiar, and if he was more lucid than he was now, he might have begun to thrash or resist. “It is there for a reason. Resistance will only cause you further harm.”
“Harm?” His eyes took a moment to focus, but when they did, they met the dark, angular features that had haunted his nightmares for years. “Vader. What did you – what did you do… to me…” He couldn’t hold back the wheezing and coughing that wracked his frame, causing his lungs to burn and the device on his face to feel even more present than before.
Vader’s fists clenched in the seconds that passed before he answered. “Believe what you will, but it was not my actions that led to your current state.” Was he imagining the subtle rage burbling below the surface of his voice? “Thoughtless science and your own… recklessness have placed your respiratory system in a state of intensive recovery. Speaking will only serve to worsen your condition.”
Luke’s eyes blew wide, terror threatening to overtake him. He opened his mouth to shout in protest, but an astonishingly warm presence wrapped around his vocal cords and silenced any sound he’d hoped to utter.
Vader’s stance shifted, his helmet dipping downwards and his shoulders hunching somewhat. He appeared almost… mournful. “I cannot speak to the permanence of your condition.” That… held far more regret than he’d ever expected from someone like Vader. “You have received the best treatment possible. However, your future remains unclear. Please, son, for your sake… listen to me, and allow yourself the opportunity to recover.”
A strange sensation was building within Luke. He’d always hoped to feel something like this, but he’d given up on it long ago. Now… the impossible felt somewhat within reach. Nodding slowly, he felt something lock itself into place, sealing his fate. He would remain with his father, no matter the state of his wellbeing. And, somehow, that did not seem the death sentence it once had.
So much of the future remained unclear. Perhaps he would need a respirator to live out the rest of his life. Perhaps his father would cause him nothing but pain, as they moved forwards. Perhaps he had doomed himself for all eternity.
“Pick who dies” | Collars | Kidnapped || Manhandled | Forced to Their Knees | Held at Gunpoint
The butt of the blaster connected with the back of his head once again, and Luke tasted blood. Not for the first time, he found his thoughts struggling against the fog that had settled over his mind, panic forcing his heart into overdrive. He was on the ground, kneeling before his captors, and the impact caused him to keel over and land in the dirt. Bound hands had barely stopped him from falling face first into the ground below, but he could feel the sharp bite of the gravel dig into his palms as he braced himself with weak arms.
“Are you an idiot? Answer the question.”
Question? He wasn’t sure he understood much, right now, the drugs still working their way out of his system. He remembered being captured. He remembered being dragged here. He remembered his friends being dragged along as well, screams and shouts and chaos. But he didn’t remember a question.
“I – I’m sorry, I don’t – what question?”
A different sort of pain shot through him this time, a pain that danced across his skin, radiating from his neck down towards the rest of his body. He was convulsing, now, unable to continue supporting his weight and tumbling forward into the dirt after all. The same gravel that had bit into his hands was now grinding against his cheeks. A ragged cry rung through the air, and Luke found himself sympathizing, dimly, with whoever was screaming like that, not realizing it was his own voice that was echoing so loud.
Rough hands grasped at Luke’s hair, tearing his body upwards and his head backwards so his bleary eyes could take in the scene before him. Kneeling, all in a row, was an assortment of beings, some he recognized, some he didn’t. All appeared filthy and pitiful, a sorry sight much like he imagined he looked himself. There was desperation in the eyes of most, defeat in many, and in some… Some bore a defiance that was far more familiar than it had any right to be. The ones wearing defiance were the people he knew best, he was sure, even through the haze that hung heavy over his awareness.
Seeing them – recognizing them – sent a surge through him, and Luke found his awareness perk up just a touch.
“Deafand an idiot,” another voice scoffed, gruffer and higher pitched than the first. “Really is a good thing we’re here to teach this whelp a lesson before trying to fetch any sort of price for him.”
No… the word price echoed in his head, and he felt a pool of dread gather in his gut. As delirious as he was, there was no doubt who his captors were: slavers. And the people before him were set to be sold off as well.
Gritting his teeth, Luke gathered up as much strength as he could and glared up at his captors, placing as much heat as possible into his expression. All this accomplished was to earn him a condescending smirk and another smack across his cheek.
“Yes, yes, he really is a sorry case,” cooed the first voice. They’d begun circling Luke, clearly not the one still gripping his hair, and he could only catch vague glimpses as they passed in front of him. “I have no idea how someone like this could’ve earned such a significant bounty, but here we are…”
After a few moments of pacing, this particular captor knelt before Luke and offered a toothy grin. They were humanoid, but there was something off about them. Cybernetic enhancements? A different species? He couldn’t quite focus on their specific features, no matter how much of that heat he harnessed, but he knew that, whoever this was, they were not someone he wanted to spend an abundance of time near.
“But perhaps that is not entirely your fault, at the moment.” The gleam in their eyes told Luke that they were fully aware of how dazed and confused he was. “True, you were rather… underwhelming even before we subdued you. But I suppose we should be patient, considering just how addled your mind must be. That particular cocktail we gave you is potent enough to take down a rancor, let alone a wretch like you.”
Harnessing that heat once again, Luke worked to meet the eyes of his captor. They were predominantly green, with a yellowish hue. The pupils were not fully slitted, but neither were they perfectly round. Their features were ambiguous, and he found it hard to get a clear picture of who they could possibly be, but all he knew was that he felt pure, unadulterated anger towards them.
“Go to hell,” he croaked. With all the defiance he had within him, he spit in their face. Feeling satisfied and with his resolve bolstered somewhat, he found a few more words. “What do you want?”
A flash of anger passed through those yellow-green eyes, but it was quickly replaced with a self-satisfied smirk. With a casual swipe, his captor removed the saliva from their face with their sleeve and stepped to the side.
“Y’see the pathetic excuses for people laid out in front of ya?” Anger flared in Luke, but he simply gritted his teeth and bit back his response, nodding stiffly against the grip on his hair. “All folk you wanted to save.” His gaze flickered across them all again, concentrating more on their features, and the pool of dread in the pit of his stomach only grew deeper and heavier. “Too bad you can’t save them all. Cause, see, our transport simply does not have the room for you all. We still get paid for proof of capture, dead or alive, but the journey will end sooner for some of you than for others.”
Panic was beginning to etch itself across the more unfamiliar faces before him. Luke could feel the sentiment reflected in his heart.
“Please…” The word spilled forth unbidden from Luke’s lips. “None of them deserve to die. Or to be captured. Just let them all go. It’s me you want, isn’t it? Just let them go, just take me, and I won’t fight, I promise…”
The pain bloomed once again, briefer this time, but more intense. His head was jerked backwards, and Luke found himself looking up at a very human face, silvery-blue eyes cold as durasteel, bearing an intense dislike for the creature they gazed upon. “He still doesn’t get it, does he, boss?” Long, slender fingers reached to trace across Luke’s neck. “This piece of scum is gonna have to make a decision one way or another, and ain’t nobody getting out of here alive.” Though he felt pressure on his neck, he did not register any sensation on his skin as those fingers continued to drag. And that’s when it hit him – the source of his pain, before, was a collar, set to administer electric shocks, should he disobey.
It took a great deal of self-control to keep from emptying the contents of his stomach right then and there.
What did they want with him? With the others? These didn’t seem like typical bounty hunters or even slavers. There was something far more… sadistic to them that set Luke on edge.
The leader, whoever or whateverthey were, met Luke’s gaze again with a sharp-toothed grin. “Ye’ll be comin’ with us regardless, wretch, don’t you worry. And you’re far too valuable to take in dead, so don’t ya go tryin’ to sacrifice yerself. I know that’s how you hero-types operate. But I need yer opinion. See, I just can’t decide who’s gonna be dead weight. One o’ yer Rebellion buddies? Could be a bit more defiant than they’re worth, even if they are skilled. Or maybe one o’ these peasant-type folks. Much more docile, but lacking in skills. So whaddya think… little Jedi?”
His blood turned to ice in his veins, and his eyes flew wide as he gained full awareness of his situation. They knew. Somehow, they knew he had the Force. No wonder they’d called him valuable. (That was stomach churning on its own; comparing his life to others and knowing it was only because he had been born with some talent they lacked made him feel even queasier.) He still didn’t know, fully, how he’d landed himself in this situation, but Luke absolutely didn’t know how he was supposed to get himself out.
Without a miracle – or some very quick thinking he was not capable of summoning at the moment – someone was going to have to suffer because of him.
This realization prominent in his mind, he scanned the faces one last time, eyes finally landing on the familiar features of one of his wingmates, Wedge Antilles. He wore fire in his eyes, a righteous rage against what they were being subjected to, and the heat in that expression was almost enough to make Luke sweat. Wedge’s face slackened when his eyes found Luke, revealing sympathy and care as they exchanged heavy, mournful glances.
In an instant, the fire reignited as Wedge’s gaze flickered from his friend to his captor, and he began to struggle. “Don’t say anything, Luke, they’re just trying to get to you!” He gritted his teeth, a significant look exchanged between them and then – “The bird of prey has already left her nest. You know she always flies true, given the time.”
Bird of prey? Bird of prey… Luke considered that for a moment that felt like an eternity before finally realizing – The Falcon! Of course they’d sent out a distress signal. Han and Chewie (and, maybe, Leia) would know where to find them. There was hope for the lot of them yet. He just had to keep stalling.
Turning his eyes towards the leader, Luke narrowed his eyes. “How do I know,” he croaked, “that you’re telling the truth? About not having enough room? About someone having to die?” He felt the gears in his mind turning so fast he could scarcely keep up, and his mouth seemed to act before his brain could finish processing. “You get more out of taking people alive, you have to, so why wouldn’t you make it work? What is this about? Why are you – ”
The sound of blasterfire cut his words short, and the eyes that had been filled with flames just moments before now stared at him blankly, shock and defiance blending with the unmistakable emptiness that accompanied death.
Wedge was dead.
And…
And it was Luke’s fault.
Perhaps not directly. He hadn’t given the word. He hadn’t pulled the trigger. But they had both been defiant, and now his friend was dead.
The others were crying out in shock, those who dimly registered as fellow Rebels shrieking in outrage, the innocents wailing in horror. Luke was silent. He was in shock. Through everything, he hadn’t expected… this.
“Foolish little Jedi. You have no idea who we are or what we want. Don’t presume to guess. Just know that your fate holds a particular interest to us, and we will see it through. Now, it is time for you to sleep again, and face your new life on the other side. Rest well, little Jedi.”
He didn’t. A bite in his neck pumped him full of drugs once more, and a fitful, restless unconsciousness overtook him. The lifeless expression of his former friend haunted him, the dull eyes still filled with raw emotion burned into his vision, even through his faded awareness. He had no idea what was in store for him, but Luke was certain that this anguish was only the beginning…
Ignore that it is May 2022. This was in my drafts from last years challenge.
“What happened?”
Kerry wasn’t sure who said it, but she found herself awkwardly positioned on the ground, head in her hands, a knee pulled close to her chest as she finally heard it.
“I…” her heart was beating fast; her voice stuttered. She could feel panic setting into her like a fire burning in her stomach, only she didn’t know why.
She couldn’t think straight at all, so she just kept her head down. It was easier that way. And maybe when she looked up it would make sense when she was ready.
Her eyes were shut tight as she thought back, trying to remember what exactly had happened. She didn’t know why this question had been directed to her.
Could they not tell she didn’t know?
Everything was silent. Not peaceful. But silent. This silence was heavy. She could feel its pressure all over her body. She felt around her head, her hands sequentially going over each recognizable feature as she tried to ground herself. She could feel her glasses. The mundane finding brought a wash of relief throughout her body.
She had her glasses. Something was normal.
But her head still ached. That wasn’t normal. A dull ache contrasted against the stinging feeling on the forehead. She moved her hand up. It was sticky.
“I’m bleeding?”
Her words sounded distant even to herself. Everything was dark and muddled, she wasn’t even sure she had spoken aloud. The only confirmation was when the voice returned.
“Are…are you okay?”
For the first time, Kerry noticed that the voice sounded just as unsteady as she felt. It was strained, forced out with an abnormal amount of effort. Something was wrong.
Kerry turned on the ground towards the voice. It whimpered. But this time it wasn’t as clouded, she recognized the voice.
With growing concern, she started to crawl towards it. It was still dark and the area she was in was cramped. She extended a hand outwards, pressing down into the carpet and pulling herself forward. Only it didn’t feel like carpet.
She felt the pool of blood. The pool of blood she was leaning on. The pool of blood that was holding her upright.
“Oh god, Susan!” She called out, her brain making connections without her. She didn’t know why she had screamed the woman’s name. Nothing made sense.
She slowly pulled herself to sit upright, opening her eyes. And for the first time, it wasn’t dark anymore. It was right there in front of her. The answers to all the questions.
Kerry’s eyes meet the blondes, wide, scared, and wet with tears.
“Is…is that your blood?” Kerry asked. It was a stupid question. She knew the answer.
It was quiet, and then, “It is. My head, my back, everything hurts.”
Susan was clutching at her wound, her other hand over her mouth and eyes closed.
Kerry watched in horror as blood seeped through her fingers as she pressed them against Susan’s neck.
It was then the world rushed back into focus.
And it all came back to her with violence.
The seminar. The terror. The screams.
Susan.
“Please don’t move!” Kerry sputtered out, swapping out Susan’s weak hands for her own and pushing down on the entry wounds. “I’m here. I’m here.”
This snippet takes place in the same universe as Recovery, the hurt/comfort series I’ve had the pleasure of co-writing with LuvEwan, Firondoiel, and sanerontheinside. Based on @dontfeeltoohot ‘s sickfic whumptober prompt list … Fuzzy pain tugged at the corners of Obi-Wan’s consciousness. He barely registered it. An awkward lump of pillows supported his back, dipping slightly in the middle–ugh, he had allen asleep on the couch again.
Someone was moving around in the kitchen. [Qui-Gon?] he probed their Force-bond carefully, and only a pleasant hum replied. Qui-Gon was not too far, likely somewhere in the Temple.
The old sofa creaked as he reached for the light, and he heard footsteps in the common area scurrying in response.
“Hi!” Anakin said.
“Where’s Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan mumbled groggily.
“He had to go talk to Master Yoda about Ragoon 6. He said it might take a while. Are you feeling okay?”
“Fine,” Obi-Wan affirmed.
“Do you want to get in your chair? I’m not as strong as Master Qui-Gon but I bet if we worked together we could manage it!”
Obi-Wan wished that he were ten years old and had that kind of energy. Anakin was already moving back towards the door to fetch the hoverchair. Obi-Wan suppressed a sharp whine as he shifted his spine to sit up halfway. Nope, that wouldn’t do. This morning’s painkillers were ancient history.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan called out to stop him. “Maybe after…um, maybe in a couple minutes. Can you bring me the pill organizer from the counter?”
“Oh, right. Master Qui-Gon said that, too. I’m supposed to make sure you take two of the blue ones, and one of the pink ones cut in half. And you can take the white one if your tummy’s upset, but you don’t have to.”
“I know,” Obi-Wan huffed. “Just bring it to me, please.”
Obi-Wan tried to pay attention as Anakin babbled, but found himself dozing in and out. Qui-Gon would worry about him sleeping on the couch too often, and whether it was good for his back. Obi-Wan daydreamed about just melting into the soft cushions, letting the old couch claim him. Two hours later, he was just awake enough to register the noise of the front door, then Anakin’s feet scurrying across the room to warn Qui-Gon to be quiet.
“He’s still not up?”
“No, he was,” Anakin whispered back. “He took his pills, and had like, one bite of toast.”
“Hmm,” Qui-Gon sighed. Obi-Wan kept his eyes shut, feigning sleep. The middle cushion dipped as he sat down beside them.
“I know you said it could take a really long time. But I think he’s getting a little better,” Anakin said.
Obi-Wan almost snorted and gave the game away. He felt Qui-Gon’s calloused hand stroking the hair on his forehead. “Of course he is,” Qui-Gon agreed. “But it’s hard work, Anakin. He’s very tired most of the time.”
Obi-Wan couldn’t help but stir a little bit.
“Good morning, Obi,” Qui-Gon whispered as he placed a kiss on his padawan’s forehead.
Akechi wakes up aching. He doesn’t remember how he got here but he’s shackled to something hard and flat—he cranes his neck up and ignores the powerful stab of pain in his head and neck. It looks like stone. It looks like his legs are shackled too.
He lets his head drop back down and tries to think. They were chasing a serial killer in the Metaverse—this is his palace.
But if Akechi is here, where are the rest of them? Not better off than him, for sure.
He makes a decision and grits his teeth. This is one of those tricks he hoped would never have to come in (ha) handy. But he doesn’t want to wait around for a crazy serial killer to get to him, so needs must.
Doesn’t make it easier to dislocate his thumb on purpose. He yanks and twists with brutal force, ignoring the pain as best as he can and swallowing the shrieks down to soft hisses when he can’t. But he whimpers when he finally gets his right hand free, and sits up to stare at his mangled hand through blurry eyes.
It’s just the pain getting to you, he tells himself, and doesn’t think about how bodily injuries incurred here stay in the real world too.
