The truck gang had left Hailey alone for a minute, probably to debate their next move, maybe just to test how long she would put up with sitting there and growing increasingly less comfortable before she tried to call them in to let her shift positions. And, unfortunately, the restraints did not seem to be giving way any time soon, no matter how much she tested it while she was unobserved.
It was difficult to resist the urge to try blasting an energy beam again, as if it would just work this time, as if the ability hadn’t been taken.
The worst part was that she couldn’t tell anyone– at least, not anyone who could actually do anything to help. Or maybe the worst part was that now she could think of somany ways that she might have been able to avoid it, if she’d known what was coming or if she’d acted on her misgivings or if she’d just timed her day differently. Maybe the worst part of it was the aftereffects, and she might have been able to deal with it better if she hadn’t been left sick for days and if her hands didn’t still feel cold and shaky 24/7 no matter what she tried to help it.
Somehow, the worst thing was not the fact that it had been some of her own fellow “superheroes” who had roped her into this situation. Or blackmailed, technically. Coerced, even.
(Man, she’d really been left for over ten seconds while awake, restrained, and unsupervised, and her go-to mental exercise was flashbacks? Maybe it was a side effect of being unconscious for so long.)
Actually, it was slightly weird, both of the very bad things that had happened to her in the last few weeks that involved her being taken somewhere against her will had happened right before she had a date scheduled. And the last time it had happened, she had texted home that she was just going to be a little late, only to be dropped off at her apartment hours later with a case of the worst… just the worst in general. And this time, she’d texted home that she was just going to be a little late, and now it was hours later and…
Was it better or worse that, this time, the only one that had betrayed her was herself?
(Well, her own incorrect assessment of her ability to handle a situation, but that didn’t sound nearly as poetic or dramatic, now did it?)
There was nothing quite like waking up to the feeling of being crushed and having no idea how one had gotten there, when the last thing in memory was a casual morning commute.
Car crash? Building collapse?
Something shifted and Mel was aware of a dull pain in his legs. Were his eyes closed?
There was a distant siren. There was shuffling, voices… actually kind of… familiarvoices…
“Over here!” Very familiar. Not from his family, though, or his friends or workmates or the guy he’d started dating– The familiarity was on the same level as someone from… TV? Was he hearing things?
“Excuse me, are you conscious? Good, please stay awake, you’ll be okay, we’re here to help,” the familiar, somehow soothing voice was saying through the pounding in Mel’s head. It was interrupted by a horrible metallic screeching. (Already-mangled metal door being torn in half by bare hands.)
That sound was too much.
He came to again with a gasp. Various voices were having quick exchanges. His legs felt a lot worse suddenly, not being crushed anymore but like they were… loose? Weirdly? Falling apart. Bleeding? The siren wasn’t distant anymore.
Hands were grabbing him and he wasn’t sure if he needed to get away or try to make things easier–
“Please don’t move!”
Mel’s eyes opened to see a familiar face hovering over his, haloed by angelic yellow light with pulses of flashing red from one side. Brown skin, dark freckles, beautiful hair that he wouldn’t dare touch even in his dreams, deep brown eyes that were even more earnest and mesmerizing in real life and possibly a little bit more due to what might be blood loss. Blue fabric tight across a muscular chest. Halcyon.
“Okay,” he faintly heard himself say without much thinking about it.
Something obviously happened, because Halcyon was a superhero. He was being rescued. By Halcyon. The superhero. Was he carryinghim?
Halcyon was saying something else, maybe explaining something, but Mel’s moment of clarity was fading fast. Everything was moving again. He held still as best as he could and Halcyon smiled reassuringly and, honestly, he felt kind of reassured.
The last thing Hailey remembered clearly was choking, and seeing light fly into the distance as her lifeline of a phone call was snatched away.
There had been something after that, less clear, where she was pretty sure she’d tried to make a break for it, but had been slammed into something and… knocked out again? She hadn’t been able to fly away, or she had but someone had stopped her, or she had been too disoriented and smacked herself directly into a wall (she would hope it wasn’t that last one just for dignity’s sake).
When she came to now, the first things she registered were the headache and the general discomfort in her whole body. She was propped up against a wall, arms at her sides, legs splayed out, head hanging forwards. That explained the strain in her neck.
Trying to take a deep breath in, she realized that there was something solid wrapped like a harness around her upper chest and shoulders. Her chin was resting on it. It felt like concrete, which was weird because concrete didn’t normally come in that kind of shape, but then she remembered the woman with the stonelike manipulation power from the night before.
Was it the night before?
How long had she been out?
A soft groan escaped her when she picked her head up, feeling like it was full of lead, and rested it on the wall behind her. (It was probably also concrete, but she wasn’t proficient in identifying materials only by putting the back of her head on them.) There was some kind of light on the other side of her closed eyelids. There was also the sound of a door closing and some voices starting up. It took her a second to catch what any of them were saying.
“…hold out for that long?” That was a raspy voice, not one she had caught before.
“Are you doubting my stoneworking?” That was Concrete Woman from before, and ‘stoneworking’ sounded like it may be shorthand for her superpower.
Hailey noticed a weird ache in her arms, up on the deltoid on her left but closer to the tricep on the right. It could be the aftermath of something from the fight or from the failed escape attempt, but it felt a lot more weirdly specific in its familiarity. Not just normal scrapes, cuts, bruises, or mild stabs.
“Are you saying you’ve used it to hold down a superhero before,” came another voice. Deeper, slightly familiar, as if she had heard it for a second but didn’t remember when or what it had been saying.
“I’m saying it worked on her legs yesterday.”
So that had been the night before. Or, wait, it had been after midnight when all that happened, so was that a “few hours ago” yesterday or a “over twenty four hours ago” yesterday?
“And I’m alsosaying–”
There was a skin-on-cloth slap, like someone hit someone else’s arm to get their attention.
“She’s waking up,” came the raspy one. There was the sound of several people turning in seats, probably to look at Hailey. She probably couldn’t put her head back down and pretend to be unconscious to keep listening in now, she should have thought of that before picking it up.
“Itold you the doses were fine–”
“Shut it and flank.” Concrete Woman sounded like the leader so far.
Hailey opened her eyes to look up at Concrete Woman, who was, as she had demanded, being flanked by two of the taller people from the truck. No new faces, so they were probably still just the smaller group, hadn’t handed her off to anyone else yet, and may not have met up with whoever they were delivering to yet. Or they had finished that trade while she was unconscious (for less than twenty four hours, hopefully), and were now just dealing with her…
“So I’m guessing I can’t, like, pay you to let me stand up,” she said after a second of eye contact and a breath in. The solid binds around her chest were just loose enough to let her breathe in most of the way, but got uncomfortable when she tried to fill her lungs too far. There was something holding her arms down, too, her hands feeling borderline numb against the probably-also-concrete floor.
That actually got a laugh out of Concrete Woman, one single bark of it.
“She thinks she’s funny,” she said to her goons, as if she hadn’t literally just laughed at Hailey’s very funny opening line.
The room they were in looked like a partially-constructed house’s sparsely furnished basement or some kind of empty storage room. Details were blurry past a certain distance, which she hoped was just a temporary just-woke-up kind of thing and not some kind of long-lasting side effect.
“Tough crowd, huh? You must hate stand-up night.” Hailey rolled her eyes up and closed them again. Talking was making her head hurt worse but she didn’t want to let them know that. “I’m going back to bed, wake me up when you’re laying out your whole evil plan in extreme detail.”
That one got a light chuckle out of probably the raspy-voiced one, which stopped after another sound of a skin-on-clothed-arm slap.
“We ain’t the supervillains from newspaper comics, kid,” the raspy-voiced person sounded like they had just started to laugh and then been reprimanded via slap and were trying to get some dignity back by defending their group’s honor. “We know how to keep our mouths shut around nosy hero types.”
“Got a lot of practice with that?” Hailey was about to go on, but when she cracked one eye back open for a Look, she saw that Concrete Woman was stepping in closer to her space, crouching down closer to eye level. “H-hey, personal space, girl,” she said, but wasn’t able to keep it casual enough to cover up her nerves, or hide the fact that she reflexively attempted to shift backwards.
“We moved past personal space, girl, when you decided not to mind your own business,” Concrete Woman said with a malicious smile. Hailey couldn’t decide if the smiling was worse or better than if she had said that exact same thing with a serious face. She watched with barely contained alarm as Concrete Woman reached for her neck–
Oh, actually just the restraints.
Testing them? It sounded like they weren’t all completely sure it would hold up for long, which would be great for Hailey. But, then again, she was a fairly well known superhero, and they seemed to know about her so they might just be concerned that she could energy-blast her way out of this. Probably better not to let them know she was stuck without that ability at the moment, if she could avoid it…
“If we’ve moved past minding our own business, too,” she said to distract from how she started to get tense when Concrete Woman’s inspection moved to the stuff around her arms and hands, “y’know I’ve gotta ask what exactly the plan is, here.”
Catching movement, she glanced up and saw Raspy shifting their weight and rolling their eyes, opening their mouth to presumably restate the thing about not being newspaper comic supervillains.
“I mean,” Hailey plowed ahead, “congratulations, you managed to kidnap a superhero, not exactly easy to do, but that’s also not a normal kind of crime, like, what are you gonna do now? Do you know what the protocol for this stuff is?”
“Sounds like something you could fill us in on, doesn’t it?” Apparently satisfied with whatever she was checking on, Concrete Woman sat back, still a little too close for comfort but no longer completely up in Hailey’s personal space.
“Ha, no, sorry, that’s a little bitsecret.”
“So I’m guessing we can’t, like, pay you to talk about it.” And that phrasing was definitely an imitation of her, not helped by the grin or by the un-reprimanded chuckles from the goons.
“It’s only not funny when I say it?” Hailey managed to put on an air of offense, and when she noted that nobody was looking, dared a second to strain her forearms upwards and find no give. “I’m starting to think you guys have some double standards in here.”
No give on her arms, her hands were starting to shake again, barely helped when she subtly clenched them into fists, flying wasn’t going to help if she couldn’t get out of these restraints, and she wasn’t sure she could rely on it not holding out.
“You really do think you’re funny, huh,” Concrete Woman said in a tone that made Hailey think that perhaps she did not, in fact, like it when the note of humor was gone. This was doubly confirmed when, a second later, she seized a handful of Hailey’s hair and forced her head back against the wall.
“Yeah–” she hissed through her teeth, blinking back spots that were a little concerning because the force of that should not have been strong enough to make spots show up in her vision.
“It’s ‘cause I am funny, keep up.” Even though she was trying to keep up the banter, there was no hiding the pain in her voice now. Better to let them know she experienced pain than to let them know she was presently experiencing a rising panic.
“Keep telling yourself that. It’s a good question, though.” The grip in her hair tightened and pulled her head to one side. “What are we gonna do with you, huh? Like you said, you’re not exactly a normal hostage.” Hostage? That had some more connotations than just captive or kidnapee, with some pros and some cons attached to those connotations. “Wonder what they’d do to get you back with all your limbs attached.”
“Sure you want to find that out?” Hailey did not regret the fact that this one got her head bonked back against the wall again.
“She said they have protocols,” said the deep voiced probably-man. “It might be a risk to contact them.”
“What? No, it’s actually a great idea,” Hailey assured. Another tug on her hair and another crack to the back of her head, a little harder this time. Self preservation should dictate that she stop talking now to avoid getting a concussion or something, but also if she didn’t say anything, she may not be able to manipulate (mansplain malewife–) her way around these guys.
“No suggestions from the peanut gallery,” Concrete Woman said, sounding amused.
There was a second or two where nobody talked. Hailey was starting to wonder how hard the next head bang would be, weighing it against how funny it would be if she timed another quip just right after an extended awkward silence.
“What about Spherica?” Raspy suggested after a second. Hailey’s eyes darted to them, widening for a second, then back to Concrete Woman for a second as she prepared to cover that up by shooting a Look around as if judging all of them. This Look was made a little more difficult by the fact that Concrete Woman had started contemplatively pulling her hair again to make her head tilt the other way. This was all getting very uncomfortable.
“Is that Heatwave’s… mmmanager?” asked Deep Voice. (His confusion was understandable, because nobody was entirely sure what was up with Heatwave and Spherica’s business relationship, probably not even them.)
“More importantly…” Concrete Woman brought her other hand in to push up on Hailey’s jaw for a second or two, both making it harder for her to talk and presumably framing her face for the others. (Yeah, yeah, she and her sister were identical, everyone been knew.) “Comet’s twin sister.”
“I bet she’d like a family visit,” Raspy’s statement was heavy with implications.
It was a nice night out. She preferred the cooler air, although it didn’t do much to help her stinging skin. And this was California, so it was only ‘cool’ compared to how hot it had been a few hours before. (Not that she’d been outside a few hours before, or very much at all in the last few days.) She would probably have been fine in just the threadbare clothes she’d been wearing during most of her latest infiltration, but the scarf and jacket she’d stolen (violently) on her way out was a welcome addition. It concealed most of her exposed injuries and some of the blood stained on her shirt, leaving anyone who saw her only able to wonder about what was up with the top half of her face.
A pretty normal sight, all things considered, to any experienced night guard at the building she was approaching now. The two at her preferred entrance melted out of the shadows as she approached, having definitely seen her coming from a distance.
“Excuse me, ma’am, what is your business at this…” one of them started, trailing off when she pulled the scarf down. She would like to think that it was just because they recognized her and not because the bruising had gotten that much worse since the last time she saw her reflection.
“Friendly afternoon visit,” she said with a winning smile, ignoring how stretching those facial muscles made her want to wince.
“…Can you tell us the date, ma’am?” the other one asked after a second of staring.
“November 3rd, 1923,” she said, still smiling, without skipping a beat.
“Past midnight it’s November 4th, ma’am.” The second one said evenly.
“Of course, the late hour must be getting to me.”
This passed quickly, like two actors going over their thoroughly memorized lines. After an exchanged glance and a pause that would have made anyone else start to doubt their delivery, the first guard nodded, pressed something on their communicator, and stepped back to get the door for her.
Not bothering to pull the scarf back up now, she walked confidently into the dimly lit back entrance area, making a beeline for where she knew the elevator was. There was a special code in here, too, to make it to the penthouse, but she had that one memorized as well.
Leaning back against the support bar for a minute was nice, though she had to position herself carefully so as not to let it dig into her back or side in a bad position. Closing her eyes on the ride up, she hummed slightly in appreciation of how smooth the elevators were here. No jittering to worry about, just a soft whirring and the slight feeling of vertigo as it came to a stop many storeys up in the air.
The more steps she took to get into one of the most well-defended areas of this place, putting a set of barriers between her and anyone who might have been in pursuit, the more tension bled out of her shoulders.
As soon as she stepped out of the elevator, she was met by the familiar face of the butler, who had evidently seen her coming and had already known that it was her, rather than the one other person who was allowed in that elevator with any regularity.
“Hey, Ash,” she said casually before they could get through a more formal greeting, raising one hand in a lazy wave and holding back a wince as it reminded her of a hit she’d taken to the shoulder earlier.
“Good evening.” They sounded as proper and English as ever, and she didn’t miss their perceptive eyes zeroing in on every unusual detail about her current appearance, not only the injuries but definitely also the ill-fitting clothes and hair in desperate need of a wash.
(She’d been lucky no one had decided an impromptu haircut was in the cards. She wouldn’t have been able to stop them without breaking cover, but that would have been a little more awkward to explain to her sisters than the usual aftermath of a prolonged fight.)
“…Victor won’t be in for another week, I’m afraid, but the room is open to you as always,” they said with the air of someone who was giving the usual pleasantries only as a precursor to a more serious subject change, and was not trying to hide it. “Are you alright?” And there was the serious part.
“Yeah,” she shrugged, rolled her shoulders, and this time could not stop a wince. She merged it smoothly into a more joking sort of smile-grimace. “It’s just from the job I’ve been on, there were a couple of “complications,” you know how it is. No death traps in the kitchen tonight?”
The attempt at changing the subject again was not successful, as Ashton followed her into the kitchen and shooed her away to wait on a barstool while they got her a glass of water with exactly one cube of ice. Or, a sphere of ice, because the fridge here was massive and fancy and had both a cube and a sphere option for how the ice could come out.
The water was wonderful to her parched throat, and she held the glass up longer than necessary to let the ice rest against the split in her lip for a few seconds. It was always nice to spend a few minutes after one in the morning sipping water with a tall British person in a suit and pencil skirt hovering over her every move.
“Need something?” she asked with a look over the lip of the glass.
“Are you sure you’re alright, Ms Roxanne? You don’t need… medical attention?” Right, yeah, they were a highly skilled government agent before they became a butler. Definitely had some good first aid training from all that.
“Just some bandaids and a full night’s sleep… And, again, you can call me Roxy.”
Ashton did not look convinced, and then they turned to where she knew the painkillers and general medications of varying strengths were stored. There was no stopping them from this now, but she could try anyway for the principle of the thing.
“I’ve done this before, Ashton, it’s not that bad.”
“To put it lightly, Ms Roxanne, you look as though you tried to fight a team of superheroes. Or, if I were inclined to be generous, won a fight against an entire street gang.” Maintaining stern eye contact, they set down a couple of pills and a cookie.
“Not as wrong as you could be.” Roxy picked up the cookie first, searching both sides with suspicion. It was the imported kind that was labeled ‘biscuit’ instead of ‘cookie’ and which everyone knew she secretly liked but pretended to be suspicious of anyway. Because they were in the US, so being suspicious of England was funny. “What’s this, weird, British thing– trying to poison me?”
“Would you like me to put the biscuit away and let you have an upset stomach? Please pardon me for assuming you haven’t eaten in the last hour.”
Not feeling up to a prolonged bit at the moment, Roxy caved and ate the ‘biscuit’. After swallowing the painkillers with the second half of her water, she let the ice sit for a moment again. It turned out talking too much made the split lip hurt worse, who could’ve guessed?
“I notice you snuck some melatonin in there,” she observed.
“To help you sleep. Pardon me again for assuming you may have some trouble, otherwise,” they paused and looked her up and down again, “considering.”
“Fair,” she admitted.
They sat in silence as she finished off the water one sip at a time. She debated waiting for the ice to melt enough that she could take another tiny sip every several minutes, just to see how Ashton would react, then decided against it and crunched what remained of the ice sphere.
Getting to bed wasn’t too much of a hassle. Ashton followed her to the master bathroom, because of course they did, but left her to go inside by herself. She only heard them step in once she was in the middle of showering, presumably to put some things on the counter and whisk away her dirty and one hundred percent stolen clothing.
Hot water would be nice and she happened to know for a fact that it was literally unlimited here, but she kept it to a mild, lukewarm temperature as she carefully cleaned everything she could currently reach without wincing, and let soap and water wash down her back unassisted to at least get the worst of it off back there. Drying off was a little bit of an ordeal, but the towels were very soft and she didn’t have any head wounds to stop her from wrapping up her hair. Everything she couldn’t get for the risk of aggravating some injury or another could just air dry while she went looking for first aid supplies to use on her face.
When she turned around to see how her back looked, she let out a low whistle. Who knew whips could do that when you weren’t being nice and responsible with them? (Probably every single person who’d ever been remotely involved with the “market” that her latest job had had her infiltrating.)
There were two options here. One, she could put on the silky robe Ashton had left hanging up for her and go to bed without dealing with all that yet, and probably wake up really sore and maybe with some kind of infection. Two, she could get some help tending to it and go to bed with some level of reassurance that it was fine, but at the cost of Ashton knowing exactly how bad it looked.
With a towel around her waist, she cracked the door and summoned them. Their face remained carefully neutral even after they saw, which definitely meant that they thought it was incredibly bad but knew that Roxy would not be taking constructive criticism on the choices she made that led up to it. That, or, they just didn’t want to get into it right now, in favor of getting her into a bed at some point during that melatonin’s window of greatest effect.
There was a lot more stinging disinfectant and a lot more bandaging going on back there than Roxy would have thought necessary, herself, but she wasn’t going to complain. Anything touching the whip marks directly was incredibly Bad with a capital B, but she had to admit to feeling a lot better once they were all cleaned and wrapped up.
The one joke she cracked about how it wasn’t as bad as it could be because she didn’t have any broken bones did not seem to go over well, so she conceded and didn’t say much until they were done. Ashton helped her into the robe and left her to get some pajama pants on by herself, continuing to hover and help until she was safely tucked in between Victor’s silk sheets.
It was still uncomfortable to lie down in most positions she tried, but, then again, that melatonin really was having a window of greatest effect.
- - -
Predictably, Roxy woke up sore. The painkillers had worn off at some point, so she got the full experience of throbbing and stinging and every attempted movement making her limbs want to go on strike. They had not yet managed to achieve independence from the rest of her, however, so when she decided it was time for them to get her standing up, they obeyed. The blackout curtains did their job well, so she had to pull one back slightly if she wanted to see by anything other than the soft, slightly futuristic floor lights on the edges of the room.
Taking stock, she determined that this was actually better than a couple of the times she’d come out of a mission injured. When her hair fell into her face for want of a headband, it was soft and light from being cleaned with incredibly expensive, high quality rich-people products, and she knew her back would have been a lot worse without Ashton’s help.
Speaking of Ashton, they seemed to have woken up before her, because she could smell something cooking. Possibly more than one something, which would make sense if they still felt like hovering but hadn’t come in to wake her up yet. There was the almost-imperceptible sound of voices, as if they were talking to themself or perhaps playing a video. Cooking tutorial, maybe.
The stolen clothing from the night before was nowhere to be seen; either it was waiting to be washed or Ashton had burned it. Roxy wasn’t worried about what happened to most of it, but it would be nice if the bloodstained parts had been saved in case she felt like getting them tested for genes.
Leaving the robe on the bed, she stretched her arms as much as they dared as she made her way to steal one of Victor’s shirts. They were long enough that she had gone around the penthouse in one with no pants before (but she would rather get stabbed again than get out of these soft pajama pants before eating something). There were no headbands to steal in Victor’s bedroom, and she didn’t feel like scavenging the bathroom for elastics, clips, or pins. So, with her hair loose, wearing no more than pajama pants, bandages, and an oversized button-up shirt, she pushed her hair back and stepped out.
Ashton was, indeed, doing their thing in the kitchen, wearing pants today along with an apron that looked a little too professional for someone making relatively normal breakfast in a non-restaurant kitchen. More curtains kept the floor-to-ceiling windows in the main area from letting in too much light, but from the angle and brightness she could still estimate that it must be later than she usually woke up. And from a glance at the clock, she could confirm that it was almost nine in the morning. She had reallyoverslept.
As she nosed her way into the cooking space, she found them carefully transferring what looked like small fried pies out of a skillet. Uncooked ones waited their turn on a plate nearby.
“You need a little more oil,” she observed, her voice coming out a little more thick and sleepy than she would have liked. Actually wait, hold on, she hadn’t seen anyone making these since the last time she visited family. “You can make spanakopita?” The question came out sounding like an accusation.
“I can make anything, given a good recipe, Ms Roxanne.” So that probably had been a cooking video she’d heard before. Ashton removed the last one from the pan and reached for more oil, but refrained from putting any new ones in until they had turned to shoo her away from the barstools. “I would invite you to wait in the living area,” was their way of banishing her, possibly to avoid having their cooking process nitpicked again. Possibly also to keep her from seeing them pull up a tutorial to nitpick their own cooking process with.
When she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, she was reminded of her shoulders’ present desire to complain about everything but especially movement. Sitting down in a chair that had a soft back would be pretty nice…
The living area was surrounded by sliding walls that could be used to keep it more or less separate from the adjacent sometimes-areas sometimes-rooms. At the moment, it had a wide doorway on one side, a deployed wall opposite the full length windows, and a view into Victor’s office area and the back of his tall spinny chair. Were she feeling inclined to snoop, Roxy would have looked into there, but was distracted easily by the setup surrounding one of the lounge chairs. A side table held a full glass of water with exactly one sphere of ice, a small pitcher with more water and no ice, and a tall mug of steeping tea. The matching table on the other side held a very inviting plate of buttered toast, with a fried egg sitting on top of one piece.
For a second, she thought about draping herself over a couch instead of taking the obviously intended seat, just to see how Ash reacted. But her desire for water and toast outweighed her desire for mischief at this time, so she sank down into the black leather and took a second to close her eyes and breathe in and will her strained muscles to relax. It wasn’t like the guys she’d been spying on could make it up here, even if they had somehow tracked her all the way to the building. And her next information rendezvous wasn’t until that evening, so she could take a minute to chill.
When her eyes opened, it was to the realization that her current seat was centered perfectly behind Victor’s chair, brought to her by the realization that said chair was slowly turning around.
Of the two supervillains that she was familiar with, she knew that one of them participated in dramatics mostly because it helped with the stress of the job, and partly because it was fun. Victor Stirling, on the other hand, having inherited quite a few things from his supervillain parents including a general style of mannerisms, was probably not doing the chair spin reveal thing ironically.
Before he came to a stop, facing her head-on, Roxy put together that Ashton must have called him about her condition either while she was in the shower or after she had fallen asleep last night. If he hadn’t meant to come back for another week, very few other things could have summoned him on such short notice.
She prepared a smirk and a tease about him being predictable, but both died before making it out when she met his eyes.
“So I’m not known for cutting business meetings short.” Starting off strong with a non sequitur, classic. Roxy’s smile started to edge back on as she watched Victor stand up from his seat.
“Catch you in the middle of one?” she asked, then remembered her voice wasn’t great at the moment and she would be partaking of some water before saying anything else.
“No, I was just starting the day in Spain, actually,” he answered while watching as if worried that she might have trouble drinking water, of all things. And without waiting for another response, he launched right back into… Ooh, he was monologuing.
“Allow me to paint a picture of it for you. It was past ten in the morning, I had completed much of my less savory business the night before, and had the entire afternoon ahead of me booked with meetings on the more savory side of things, when suddenly I find I’m receiving a call from my good, trusted friend Ashton, whom you may be aware I’ve expressly told to call me only in the circumstances of an emergency.
“And, upon answering this call, what should I hear them say, but that my girlfriend arrived at a late hour and is much worse for wear.
“Now, I know that my dear, competent, intelligent partner is experienced and knows how to handle herself in her work, so if Ashton is calling my emergency line, the situation she finds herself in must be truly dire, no? Certainly not the usual bouts of combat –which I am well aware you can normally teleport out of the moment they become too much– and certainly not gained from your usual heists and espionage, no, I was told that you seem to have been whipped?”
The worry in his voice was clear, and would have been clear even to someone who didn’t know him well enough to read him. As he drew closer, having apparently vented enough of his feelings for the moment to move to the next stage of his presentation, Roxy saw that his suit was rumpled and was probably, in fact, the same suit he had put on before 10 AM in Madrid. Had he slept at all? Maybe on the couch she had been eyeballing a second before this began. If anyone had gone into his bedroom while she was asleep, she probably wouldn’t have stayed asleep for very long.
“And I don’t mean to put down your skills, it would be foolish for anyone in my position to suggest that you aren’t a professional, or chose your mission poorly. But your present state is…” He broke eye contact to look down at the gauze covering her torso through the gap in the stolen shirt. He probably knew that it was there for everything on her back, but he wouldn’t be wrong to wonder if it was also hiding any bruises over her ribs or stomach area. She knew there was a pretty bad one peeking out by her collarbone.
“Roxanne. Roxy. I know that in our… business relationship, I tend to be the one who calls on you for assistance in these underground affairs, but you must know that you can call on me when something is… of a caliber where you may want my assistance.” He stopped a couple of steps in front of her, giving another up and down look. “You mentioned you were going into something undercover.”
“Deep undercover,” she confirmed. When he kept looking expectant, she continued, leaning forward to get to business, “It wasn’t in the cards to go in on the same level as the higher-ups, and we needed to confirm how exactly they get the victims and transport them. So I posed as one.”
Victor was quiet for a moment, his crossed arms rising, then falling as he took a breath and let it out.
“You remained just long enough to get the necessary information,” he assumed, and she nodded. Letting out another breath, he closed the distance and half-knelt in front of her in one smooth motion, reaching up to put a hand gently under her chin, moving it to cup the side of her face. “Then I hope you’ll be able to tell me,” his voice was softer now, not that that in any way concealed the dangerous undertone as his eyes lingered on her split lip, black eye, the faint bruise left from a harsh slap, “who did this to you?”
The superhero Comet was the best flier in the city, the only one who didn’t need support items to get or stay in the air and wasn’t a villain. Even with her other power of energy beams …not available to her at the moment (her hands were still so cold) she was capable enough to get by, focusing on rescues and playing support in fights.
The thing about being a superhero was that there wasn’t always someone to fire energy blasts at, but there was always someone who could use the help of someone who could fly. She hadn’t even risen… that much concern or suspicion, probably, since the second power had been taken. Just a look or two when she kept wearing gloves even outside of costume and a couple of comments about how her hands kept shaking. It was fine, anyway, when she was in costume and in her headquarters’ jurisdiction and could rely on backup at any second.
The superhero Comet was not in costume and was not within her headquarters’ jurisdiction. Hailey Park was outside her city’s limits entirely, all of her armored Comet costume was at HQ, and the backup set was in her apartment where her boyfriend had been waiting for their date that night.
She was going to be a little late.
Mildly suspicious activity wasn’t enough to make a call on, but she’d gotten a feeling on the way home, when she saw the truck being loaded across the street. Suspicious truck loading plus a feeling of pure instinct still wasn’t enough to call headquarters or the regular police, and she had told herself she would only follow for a minute to see if they did anything outright illegal or went somewhere completely innocuous and she could call to sheepishly explain that she’d been held up on the date by her own baseless paranoia.
Flying made it easy to move quietly and keep up, and to find the truck again after losing its tail once or twice. (Even though it felt weird to be doing this in sneakers and her boyfriend’s affectionately stolen jacket, without any extra eye protection. At least she knew to keep her mouth shut so she wouldn’t swallow any bugs.)
She’d been following for more than a minute, they had left the city, the sun was going down, and she still couldn’t shake that feeling that something was wrong here. Something familiar about the boxes they’d loaded… she couldn’t get close enough to verify that without being seen herself. Once they were out of city limits, they got moving too fast for her to get a good moment and shoot off a text with more elaboration, she had to keep her eyes on them and stay moving constantly to keep up. (Which sucked, because she was starting to think that the quick [Checking something out, won’t take too long <3] sent an hour ago wasn’t going to cut it at this point.)
They were in another town. She hadn’t caught the name. The truck had pulled into an area that wasn’t quite a parking lot, but also wasn’t small enough for Hailey to want to call an alleyway. Sheltered by buildings on all sides, nowhere high profile enough to have a night guard, just workplaces whose occupants had all gone home by now.
It was behind one of these buildings that Hailey had touched down and leaned as close to the corner as she dared, peeking out through a shadowed area.
The truck’s occupants didn’t seem to be unloading yet, almost as if they were waiting for something. They all seemed pretty distracted talking to each other, and their conversation wasn’t damning outright but it also wasn’t reassuring her. They spoke roughly, though only one of them looked rough enough to match. Whatever was in the boxes was important, somehow, but she couldn’t tell whether they were trading them to someone else, waiting for some kind of signal, or just stopping for the night. It was getting a little late, but they hadn’t been driving for that long since loading up…
“Did you ding up my truck?” rang out louder than everything else, coming from a shorter but muscular woman who had just walked around to the passenger side, where Hailey couldn’t see from her current vantage. The others swarmed to look, several of them taunting the one who seemed second tallest out of the group.
Hailey didn’t like not being able to see them all clearly, but the bonus here was that they couldn’t see her either so she could lean out a little more to get a better look at the boxes, finally catching a glimpse of the symbol on the side of one–
Eyes widening, she heard herself gasp, then drew back immediately and would have scolded herself if it wouldn’t definitely give away her position.
Someone needed to know about this, now.
After a few seconds of holding still, with her heart racing in her ears, it… didn’t sound like anyone had raised an alarm.
Not wanting to risk being heard moving, she floated herself a few steps farther back before taking out her phone, gripping it tightly so her shaking hands wouldn’t drop it again.
Had it not been silenced that whole time? (It was on vibrate, sure, so it wouldn’t be blasting pop lyrics unexpectedly, but she took an extra second to make sure its sound was completely off, and turn down the brightness for good measure.)
The first thing she saw was the last text window, now with several increasingly concerned follow-ups from her boyfriend. Her index finger hovered over the quick call button, but… she couldn’t risk it right now. She’d just hide its light against her shirt, float back to make sure she could still hear a casual conversation, there wasn’t a need to fly straight up and hit the panic switch. She could hide again and start to type, quickly not even fixing the mistakes caused by shaking or by fingertips being a little too cold for the touch screen to read immediately.
(A tiny smile couldn’t help forming when she saw [Hot HotBaby <3 is typing…] pop up on his side of the texts just a few seconds after she started. It was also a relief to know there would be a quick response.)
He knew about her… situation, with her power being “confiscated” and how it had happened, so he would know the urgency of getting this news out just as soon as she could tap out something at least slightly intelligible–
There was a face reflecting behind hers in the darkened glass.
With the phone against her chest again, she jumped forward, turning midair just in time to see something crash down in the space she’d just been occupying.
“Caught a little birdie over here~!” Called out the muscular woman from before, who was perched in a windowsill on the building Hailey had been using for shelter. How had she gotten there so quietly?
The thing that had crashed looked like it was made of the same concrete as this exterior wall. Some kind of material manipulation power? Specifically stone-like materials, or–
Whatever it was, Hailey was getting out of there immediately.
Two things happened before she could get more than an inch or so off the ground: Something heavy slammed into her from behind, and something solid caught around her ankles, trapping them in place. She was able to use the leverage from being stuck to keep from getting completely bowled over, but that would’ve been easier to recover from if she weren’t being held down and kept from getting any altitude. Arms came around and she realized the weight was a person (and that there were now several more people in the alley than there’d been a second ago).
This may have just gone from a situation to a Situation.
Fortunately, she had finely honed reflexes for just this sort of unexpected combat situation. Unfortunately, those reflexes relied on a power that she did not currently have.
Instead of a blast of cyan energy weakening the concrete bonds or making her assailant rethink their current course of action, what she got was a sudden icy numbness shooting from her fingers and palm up through her entire arm as her hand’s shaking intensified. That made it harder to try to wrestle them off manually, especially since she was still reserving one whole arm for protecting her phone and trying to hit the call button without looking.
Things were escalating a little too quickly. She managed to clumsily grab, twist, and throw them off before bending down to pull at the things wrapped around her legs, willing her fingers to keep working through the feeling of being frozen from the inside. (The phone was kept hugged to her chest– the less attention she drew to the light it let out and the attempts she was making to call for backup, the more likely it would be to do something.)
“Think you can break concrete? Good luck with that.”
There was a snort, then someone’s hand in her hair. They got her head pulled back before she could duck to the side and bring her forearm up to knock them away. All but one of the people from the truck was now clustered around her, as casual as if looking at a cool bug someone had found instead of a person who’d just caught them transporting–
“Hey hey wait is that Comet. You got heroes on our tail?”
“No way, Comet would’ve blasted–” The hand was back in her hair and the only reason she hadn’t lost her balance and fallen was that she was technically still flying right now. At least now she was wearing more of a glare than a look of wide-eyed panic. “Holy–”
For the first time, Hailey had a moment of second-guessing her decision to be a more publically open hero.
“Back off or I will start blasting,” she said, straightening up suddenly, and with enough force that there was actually a pause as wary eyes went to her hands…
And just enough quiet that the pre-call dialing sound could be heard from her phone.
“Shut her up.” Concrete Woman snapped and the group jumped into action.
It wasn’t the most choreographed assault Hailey had ever witnessed or been the target of, but it was still difficult to fight off four people with one arm that refused to respond consistently or register when it was touching something, while stuck to the ground. Before the dialing could finish, she found her arms being wrenched out of her control and someone behind her again with a forearm pressing sharply against her neck. She could get out of this hold if she had both hands free, but she refused to let go of the phone yet, she wasn’t confident enough that she could get out of this without any backup.
When she heard it pick up, the only sound she could get out was a –literally– strangled gasp, to which she felt that chokehold tightening further. None of the others spoke. Through wavering vision, she caught a couple of nods and jerking of heads in lieu of verbal communication.
‘Hailey?’ came the sound of her boyfriend’s worried voice, sparking off a fresh round of struggle as she turned her head and yanked her hand back, trying to get a less dangerous angle in the chokehold so she could get out one word, and trying to keep any of them from hanging up on him before he could hear it.
For her troubles, a hand pressed in over her mouth and nose and someone twisted her arm painfully, digging their nails into her skin, until the phone clattered to the ground.
Some of her muffled cries must have been heard, because she could hear her name being repeated more urgently, then breaking off into something she couldn’t quite catch because either he’d gotten quieter or there was a little too much blood rushing in her head.
Her eyes had been squeezed shut with effort, but even when she opened them everything was getting a lot darker than it really should be, and she was having trouble making sense of what she saw. Having gone still for a second, the hold stopped getting tighter and she was able to make out the rectangular glow, someone had picked it up, then another glow like it was being surrounded by some kind of energy… The form of someone drawing back to throw at maximum strength.
With whatever breath she had left, she screamed against the hand as loudly as she could, cut off after less than a second when it felt like her neck was suddenly crushed.
Voices picked up again as the spot of light sped into the distance and disappeared, but everything was already going black.
Mista and Narancia attempt to re-enact the Black Knight scene from “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” during a day off. It goes about as well as one might expect.
Fic Summary: Bucciarati and Abbacchio infiltrate a high-class gala to complete a hit against one of Diavolo’s loyalists. It was already going to be a tricky enough mission, but neither of them figured on Bucciarati’s mother and stepfather tagging along as well.
Fic Summary: Giorno encounters a familiar Stand-wielding white rabbit after being sent home from school. Things are bad enough as it is, but tripping balls with a fever results in some very messed-up fever dreams…and it is unknown if he will survive long enough to get out.
Fic Summary: Fugo and Bucciarati interrogate one of Diavolo’s surviving loyalists in Milan a few days after the fateful Battle for the Arrow, but the prisoner has a trick up his sleeve—and the torturer soon becomes the tortured.
Fic Summary: While in the middle of an assignment, Bucciarati gets a call from his mother about a possible Stand attack at her workplace. La Squadra Guardie del Corpo drives over to help her find the cause, but the mafiosi get snagged in the mysterious web as well.
Fic Summary: For Giorno, it’s already hard enough hiding the fact that he is a dhampir from most of the people around him. A sudden craving for blood unexpectedly causes him to lose control, and he attacks Narancia and Trish in an attempt to satiate that need.
Whumptober Fic Summary: Fugo and Giorno attempt to flee an assassin, but the two of them find themselves cornered on the edge of a seaside cliff by both the enemy and by Purple Haze’s virus.
Fic Summary: During an increasingly tense rehearsal for the school production of The Phantom of the Opera, Trish learns the hard way what could happen if one says “Macbeth” onstage in a performance or rehearsal that is not the eponymous play in question.
Fic Summary: A “business as usual” protection money collection assignment at a pub goes slightly awry when one of the patrons spirits Bucciarati away from the establishment in an attempt to use him as an unwilling getaway driver.
Another amazing month of Whumptober has come and gone. Everything I posted this year has strictly been on AO3, but I figured a post here would help people find my work! The theme this year follows my book characters - demigods and gods - through their Hellish lives. @whumptober2021
The Wolf-God’s Daughter-guns, rape mention, hog-tied, painful transformation, whump of a minor
Lightning’s Wrath-character deaths, blood, suicide mention, whump of a minor, decapitation, choking, electrocution
Don’t Let Me Die Here- burning, knives, blood, waterboarding, breaking bones, familial abuse, major character death, whump of a minor
In the Temple of my Father-familial abuse, slow torture, branding, cauterization, fire, whump of a minor
Once Qrow had gone, Lazuli turned back to him. Apparently she hadn’t really seen the extent of the damage. Or maybe she had and was just echoing previous thoughts. Either way, she gave a heartfelt quiet “cazzo” before heading for the kitchen. Now, Cardin hadn’t actually seen the damage himself. All he’d done was feel it. Frankly at the time that was enough, burning red hot and melting the numb from his legs like they were made of ice as Qrow did his best. Cardin scooted himself up to lean against the arm of the couch so he could look.
Red made four rings around his legs. Two above the knee; two below. The red spread in a wider band then the actual cuts did. They didn’t seem too deep. But Cardin wasn’t sure and he didn’t want to prod them right now. He did anyway. It’s not like it was the first injury he didn’t want to mess with but had to. Though, he guessed this time he didn’t ‘have’ to. A frown pulled at his lips. Was it bad he wished that it was? That he preferred to be alone. To handle this on his own, to not make anyone else have to deal with it. After all, it was his weakness. It was only right he dealt with it himself. As the pads of his fingers gingerly pressed at skin near the cuts, he hissed lightly. At least the pain was duller now. The blood had dried- it was flaky in some areas, likely where it’d been stuck to the fabric makeshift bandages- and it’d have to be cleaned away.
He grit his teeth to stand. Pain shot up his veins, dull like a heartbeat. For a moment he steadied himself on the couch’s arm. Before he could move for the bathroom, Russel’s mamma returned with supplies. A bowl was tucked under her arm, a rag half in the water already, a second rag was over her shoulder, and in her hand she had both a bottle of something that was most likely neosporin and a roll of bandages. The look she shot him was deadly. “Sit.” Lazuli said firmly. Cardin sat. Well, more flopped.
“I can’t believeyou’d get up-” she stopped herself, a hand up, “No, I can. What were you planning? Head to the bathroom, clean up and leave? Before I returned?” She took a breath and Cardin knew she was calming herself. Calm had always seemed her default. And it seeped into those around her. Like just her presence could clear every head in the room. The only time that ever changed was whenever Russel got hurt. (Something that happened both surprisingly often and shockingly seldom.) And… apparently… possibly when he got hurt, too. That wasn’t something he’d expected. The most worry he ever got about any injury was Russel’s concerned eyes when the boy spotted the scars- especially new scars.
Especiallythe burn. The way the brown flecks had swirled in Russel’s eyes. They’d almost changed colour. Bits of gold swirling through a sea of blue. (… no seas, not right now. Later, he’d be able to drift back, but not right now. Just like when he’d gotten the burn and was left unable to make fire related analogies for a short time, the water related illusion grated across his skin.) Gold streaked through a mostly clear sky, painting the undersides of clouds. Almost distracting from the darkness attempting to swirl within. Almost, but not quite. Russel didn’t ask. But he’d seen the way Russel briefly had to bite his tongue against the questions.
“I don’t want you to have to deal with it,” Cardin said, answering all the questions in one. It was odd to see the way Lazuli’s face twisted, trying to figure out whether it wanted to harden or soften. Eventually it settled. The look on her face was soft but the blue of her eyes took on the appearance of tempered glass.
“You’re my kid. I want to do this.” Her voice was as firm as her eyes. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this… with anyof this alone.”
“I’m fine,” Cardin said.
“Maybe,” Lazuli said and set to cleaning Cardin’s leg. It throbbed as she worked, but the pain was at a manageable level. The water was warm against his skin. Slowly, as she washed away dried blood, the water in the bowl tinted more and more red. Until the blood was gone. And the bowl seemed stained red. The pain returned when she used the neosporin. It cut hot tingles across his nerves and he hissed. “Sorry,” Lazuli murmured, blowing gently against it. Cardin shook his head but she ignored it in favour of wrapping clean bandages around the wounds. When she was done, she pat his knee and stood. Like it was a signal, Cardin heard the door open. They both looked toward it. Simin entered with Russel trailing just behind him. Cardin pulled his legs close before Russel spotted him.
“Cardin!” Russel broke out from behind his papai. Like Cardin had never shown up at night before. Though, he’d admit usually when they hung out at night Cardin came through the window. He didn’t want to disturb Lazuli or Simin so late. And he… didn’t want to answer any questions. Thankfully, Russel was good at not asking. Instead he’d just open the window and let Cardin crawl in next to him without a word. Without making him feel weak. His friend landed on the couch next to him and his eyes immediately locked onto the bandages. Once again, worry swirled golden through hazel irises. Once again, Russel didn’t ask. This time, though, he looked over to Lazuli. Cardin’s heartbeat shot up in response, worried what Lazuli might say. There wasn’t much she could, he hadn’t told anyone how he’d… ended up where he had. Or how he had. She frowned slightly and Cardin had no hope that she hadn’t been thinking about exactly that. It wasn’t often a huntsman showed up at your house, brought you a teen with rope wounds around their legs, and told you he drowned. Or, Cardin hoped it wasn’t often. The feeling- the pain of feeling slowly coming back from pins and needles to skin rubbed bloody and torn- wasn’t something he’d want anyone else to experience. After a moment, Lazuli shook her head and pulled Simin into the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” Russel asked once they were alone.
“I’m tired,” Cardin answered with half a smile.
Russel nodded and left the room. One of the blankets from his bed was in his hands when he returned. It was a thick brown blanket just this shade of the bronze with squares sectioned off by lines of silver thread the same shade as Russel’s hair. The blanket was softer than it looked. But just as warm as its cushy appearance said it’d be. He plopped down on the couch and pulled the blanket over them. Cardin lowered his legs when Russel scooted closer. But that’s the most Russel did. If Cardin wanted physical touch in this moment, Russel was there for it, but he’d have to initiate. A small smile curved his mouth. A true smile- the first of the whole day. Somehow Russel could always tell his tactile mood. Could always tell what he needed physically. Cardin shifted closer to him and settled at his side. For a while, Cardin drifted. He’s not even sure if he falls back asleep. But he knew Russel didn’t sleep. Though he wished he did. Between one moment and the next, Russel’s parents were gone and back. Simin sat on the couch next to them.
“Russel, can you leave the room for a time?” Simin asked.
“I don’t-” Russel looked over at Cardin with a frown. To Cardin’s own surprise, he took Russel’s hand. “want to.”
For a moment Simin just looked at them. Then the tiny smile curled his lip. “Alright.” He moved the table closer and sat on it, Lazuli joining him on its edge. “So Cardin, tell us what happened.”
Cardin looked down at his lap, unable to really meet Simin’s earnest red-brown eyes. There was a squeeze around his hand and he glanced up out of the corner of his eye to see Russel smile small. It was encouraging. Though not in the way Cardin knew he’d meant. It was meant to help gently nudge the truth out of him. “Nothing,” he said clearly, though he still didn’t look Simin in the eye.
“You know.” Simin rested his arms against his knees. “Wounds like those don’t usually come from drowning.” The truth behind those words had Cardin flinch, if just barely. “Whatever it was we won’t think lesser of you for it.” He didn’t say anything, just pulled at the skin between his thumb and forefinger. “Filho. Please.”
He… was really worried about him. A glance up told him they all were. It caused a sensation to creep along his skin, rankling his nerves. All while a very different heat spread out from his chest, different from the instinctual distaste at worryatweakness, filling his stomach and tingling at his fingertips. Embarrassment,
Words slowly clogged his throat.
I was thrown in.
I was tied up.
“I don’t have a semblance.” It came out more tired and less bitter than he’d expect. After all this time, he must’ve accepted it without even realizing. Russel’s parents looked at each other.
“We know,” Simin said.
Cardin looked at them. Vaguely he remembered what Lazuli’d told Qrow. ‘ Low aura. His ma was the same way. ’ (‘Weak.’ Barked. Scoffed. ‘Just like your mother.’ ) “… How did you know about my aura?” How’d you know about my ma’s wasn’t asked, but he thought she heard it.
Instead of answering, Lazuli looked at him. Really looked at him, it seemed. Light blue eyes traced his features. Like she could suss out any lies or half truths. “Is this what thisis about?” She asked gently, gesturing to his knees. Cardin didn’t answer. She sighed. “It’s a part of my semblance. I’m able to track aura.”
Cardin frowned and looked down again. “Then, do you.” There seemed to be a lump in his throat. He swallowed past it. “Do you know what’s wrong with me?”
“Absolutely nothing. Some people are simply born with less aura,” Lazuli said and though the words were soft, they were firm.
“So that’s why-”
“Yes. You just don’t have enough to support a semblance, no matter what happens. And your healing is…” Lazuli gestured to his legs, still under the blanket and tucked close to his chest. “delayed.”
“Like ma,” Cardin said, and he couldn’t help but think of finding out she’d collapsed when she was getting food. About how she’d apparently been sick and how her body had failed to heal. Because she didn’t have enough aura.
Lazuli nodded. “Like your ma.”
And just like that, he’s told he isweak. That he’ll never be strong. Some part of him had already known he was like his ma. That he’d never have a semblance. But it was one thing to feel it inside of you and another for someone to tell you it was true. Before, he thought the weight on his chest would lift with confirmation. He’d be told he’d never get a semblance and the weight would dissipate. It’d fade like it hadn’t really been there, a mess of words untangled to float away. The pain would still be there, of course. With the confirmation it’d probably increase. But the weight would be gone and that’d be enough. Except the weight didn’t leave. It didn’t fade, it didn’t unravel, it didn’t float away to never come back. It simply shifted. Like a cat, finding a new place to settle and get comfortable. A little closer to his lungs. A little snugger against his throat.
A hand squeezed around his. “But that doesn’t make you weak.”
Right. Cardin wanted to scoff, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get the sound past his throat.
“I knew your ma. And she was one of the strongest people I ever knew. Even without a semblance. I’ve also seen you. You’re strong Cardin. And you might not believe me now. Or in years. But it’s true. You’re determined and protective and that’s where your strength lies. Now! That’s enough heart to heart for me, you know that’s more Simin’s thing anyhow.” Lazuli clapped her hands on her thighs and winked before she stood up. “Get some sleep, you were dead on your feet when you got here and you were being carried.”
Cardin stared at her but didn’t argue. There was no point. It was true, he was tired and they both knew it. He tried to hold what she said in his mind and think on it then but it slipped from his grasp. With it, a bit of the weight at his throat.
“Thank you.”
She smiled. “Of course.”
In the morning his body wasn’t on the couch where he’d left it. He wiggled out of Russel’s loose grip, almost rolling off the edge of the bed before he caught his feet under himself. The action hurt his wounds but he gritted past that. Who’d moved him, he wasn’t really sure. (Though he had the feeling it’d been Simin.) Unlike his house, when he woke someone was always already in the kitchen. The smell of bacon wafted out from where Simin stood at the stove. Further down the counter, Lazuli was making chocolate chip waffles. It was Simin who noticed him first.
“Good morning, Cardin,” Simin greeted with a bright smile that he hesitantly, and a bit forcefully, returned.
“You’re awake early,” Lazuli said. “It’s a nice change. Usually I have to drag Russ out of bed.” The smile became a little smaller. A little more forced. This was the first time he’d ever spent the full night. Previously, whenever he visited Russel after the sun had fallen it was through his window and he’d left before the sun had risen once more. As far as they knew neither of Russel’s parents even knew he was ever over at night.
“Though that’s to be expected. You’ve always been an earlier riser, haven’t you?” Simin asked with a twinkle in his eye. He had the feeling those secret nights weren’t as secret as they thought. A bit of panic spiked through him. It wasn’t given time to grow. The spatula waved toward him, flat part twirled in a dismissive circle. “It was never a problem.”
Cardin stared at him, mouth agape. So they hadknown? And said nothing. His mouth clicked shut before they could fully catch his shock. Once again he was hit by just how different his father was from Russel’s parents. He swallowed. If they hadn’t been awake, he would’ve snuck out to return home. Now, though. At least he’d have breakfast before he left. The walk wasn’t far, but his legs still smarted so he wanted to take it slow while he could and it’d be easier to do after eating at least some food.
Russel came out of the room looking wide awake almost the minute breakfast was finished being made. A smile was shared between Cardin and Russel’s parents. The other boy had spectacular timing. “It smells great out here.”
“Thank you, filhinho,” Simin said with a smile and Russel gave him one just as sunny.
“Now that you’re awake, help Cardin get out the juice,” Lazuli said.
“Alright, mamma,” Russel nodded. Cardin already had out the cups, juice, and ice tray which he was twisting to loosen. He grabbed the juice from the table. “You do the ice and I’ll pour?”
Cardin nodded. Together the work went quickly and before Cardin knew it, four cups of juice had joined the plates and silverware. The food was set down right after.
It was… nice, to eat breakfast with others. The table was partly quiet; hazy and soft with the start of the day. The only true noise was Russel’s soft chatter. It filled the spaces between them, made them fluffy with noise. Until Cardin couldn’t really focus on anything but the food and the words and the people. He smiled and breathed easily. Eventually he would have to return to his house. But this was nice while he had it.
‘Eventually’ came with empty plates. It came with helping clear the table and washing the dishes. It came with humming from Simin that eventually morphed into whistling. Cardin looked at the three moving together through the kitchen, a morning dance that each knew, and felt a pang in his heart that he pushed down and away. A part of him didn’t want to leave. He wanted to learn that dance. Wanted to stay for the mornings and the quiets and the colours that weren’t actually there but could be felt in every soft look and unspoken action. But it wasn’t his place. The time had come to go and he closed his eyes. “I'll… go home now.” There’s a pause as Cardin took a moment to get the word out. Because there was more than just this morning. There was last night too. There was Qrow and Lazuli and blood and bandages and half believed encouragements. They’d helpedhim. Lazuli helped him. Simin helped him. Russel helped him. And it was respectable to say after that. It wasn't… out of place here. Not like it would be at his house. But it still wasn’t completely normal for him, not like this when it was basically an admission that he’d been given help. That he’d been weak enough to need help. To accept it without question. “Thank you.”
Worry lit up Russel’s eyes and he averted his own to ignore it, hand still awkwardly gripping the back of the chair. In his peripheral he noticed Simin and Lazuli share a look. “You’re not… going back,” Lazuli said gently. That made him pause, blinking hollowly.
“… what?” His heart started again- it had stopped?- and his first word felt distant, fair from his own ears like it was in a tunnel- but his next were better. Louder; more there. “I have to go back. My father- I have to.”
But did he really?
Of course he had to. It was his father. Since he lived, had an obligation to return home. He’d help the wounds as best he could, wait for them to scar, and continue with training. Just as he always did, nevermind his own desires. The obligation of a Winchester. The destiny of a Winchester. Be strong. Have a strong semblance. Become a strong huntsman.
…
His fingers worried at his sleeve. Of course, he’d already failed at one of those. Failed just by being born, presumably. Too low aura. Not even the capability to develop a semblance. ‘If this doesn’t work don’t bother returning.’ “I have to.” The words sound weak and doubtful, even to his own ears. What would even happen if he returned? Surely he’d still have to follow the rest of the Winchester legacy, even if he failed at one of the most basic steps. Be strong. Become a strong huntsman. But could he even do that, without a semblance? ‘Weak. Just like your mother.’
‘I knew your ma. And she was one of the strongest people I ever knew.’
He breathed.
Even without a semblance, he could still be a huntsman. It wasn’t what he wanted, wasn’t the strength he thought he had. But he had to be, so he would be. There was no other choice for him. The name ‘Winchester’ cemented him there. So he would return. He would become a huntsman like it was required of him and then… And then maybe next time he wouldn’t be saved.
“We talked to Oliver,” Lazuli said and Cardin looked up at her. Something passed through his body. But he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. An omen, maybe. A cocktail of worry and fear and questioning why they’d even do that- a sudden wish that he hadwoken up early like he’d planned to. That he was home already, in his bedroom like he’d never left it and mostly ready for the day. Curiosity to what his father even said and a deep dread at what the words might’ve been. “He said we could- keep you.”
Cardin swallowed. What? Just like that he’d been… given up? Given away? A problem that had no solution, that could only be moved and forgotten about. There was a lump in Cardin’s throat. He didn’t even have the choice to return now, did he? Weak. Unwanted. Unusable. Part of him wanted to curl into a ball. Take that stupid cape with him and sink back to the bottom of the lake where he was warm and floated higher and higher, thoughts far away and unnecessary. His fingers dug into his sleeve and his teeth bit into the inside of his lip. He blinked, and his eyes met red. It was like Simin could see past him, yet he didn’t. Simin looked like he could but he chose to look right at Cardin instead.
“It will be different,” Simin said and the words sounded kind. “But we hope it’ll be a good kind of different.”
He blinked. And the other half of the sentence, the other half of the meaning filtered in. ‘We could keep you.’ They- But he was broken and weak. A future huntsman without something as basic as a semblance. Someone who could never even develop one.
A glance over at Russel, who smiled small at him and kicked his ankle under the table. Not meanly, just… there. A simple touch, a small connection, so Cardin knewhe was there.
‘We could keep you.’
They wanted to keep him. Against all odds they actuallywanted to keep him.
“Why?” Cardin asked. He wasn’t sure where to look, who to look at, but he had to know. “Why?”
Simin put a hand in front of Cardin, for him to take if he chose to. Cardin didn’t move. “You’re a part of this família. We care about you, Cardin. And we want you here. For more than just a night.”
It felt like he was reeling. Like he’d been tossed into the sky to fall only to be thrown back upwards before he could hit the ground, again and again. If he hadn’t just woken an hour ago, he’d go back to bed. Russel reached out and this time, he took the hand offered him.
“I think it’ll be nice, to have you. It’ll be fun, we’ll be brothers!” Russel smiled at him and even now, his joy was a bit infectious. Soothing. He swallowed.
“Why would I want to give you more opportunities to annoy me?” Cardin asked, tightening his hold on Russel.
“Because you know I enjoy it,” Russel said. “And because you know you’re not getting rid of me at this point. No matter what you do, you’re stuck with me.”
And Cardin knew it was true. There was no uncertainly there- not with the rare show of stubbornness on Russel’s face. He was stuck with Russel. No choice given. It was comfortable and warm, suddenly. “Alright.”
“Alright?” Lazuli asked.
“I’ll… stay. Past the night,” Cardin said. All three seemed to breath at once, something relieved that still left Cardin confused. But maybe for right now, that was okay. Right now he had someone he knew truly believed he would stick by him. Right now, he believed it too. And maybe that was all that mattered.
Maybe one day, it would be okay. And next time, he wouldn’t have to be saved.
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!)
Whew, I managed to do @whumptober2021 - for a second time! It’s an entirely Untamed/MDZS whumptober with a variety of pairings/characters and in total just above 100k
✨ All fics are linked below the cut or can be found in my whumptober 2021 collection ✨
(Please see tumblr and ao3 for detailed content warnings)
/ = Pairing || & = Gen/Character-Focus||⭐= Personal faves/recs
No. 1 - ALL TRUSSED UP AND STILL NOWHERE TO GO
“You have to let go” | barbed wire | bound - Jiang Cheng & Wei Wuxian - 1.8k - tumblr||ao3
The rain is still pelting down, harsh winds pressing it against the window shutters and concerned Lán Huàn looks at them. It’s been raining for a few days, not atypical for the season but the amount is troubling. Yesterday, word came back from Cǎiyī Zhèn that the lake has started to swell up but that for the moment the protective arrays have been holding the water at bay.
He looks down at the letters on his desk, searching for the familiar seal of the Yúnmèng Jiāng Sect. He cannot find it. It might have an obvious explanation, such as the messengers not getting through because of the rain. In his heart, he fears it’s for a different reason.
Jīn Guāngyáo’s voice rings through the room, soft and spoken with care. Perhaps it’s their gentleness that tears Jiāng Chéng away from the laptop and paperwork in front of him.
Title: From the nightmare we’ve created I want to be awakened
Pairing: 3zun
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Graphic Violence
Excerpt:
It should hurt, Lán Huàn thinks distantly. Right now, it really doesn’t. Most likely because the spike is so sharp. Blood is pooling from the wound, beginning to colour his light robes in red. They will probably need washing after this-
A strange burning sensation starts to spread, running along his meridians, towards his heart and head. Distantly, he realises that that starts to hurt.
Lán Huàn feels the first spark in his chest when Niè Míngjué lowers his weapon, still glaring at Mèng Yáo, still clearly hurt by whatever has transpired between them, and Mèng Yáo looks at him, emotions flickering across his face, regret, grief and fear intermingled, his hands tightening in Lán Huàn’s robes.
Both of them are exhausted, Lán Huàn thinks. They will need some rest and, in time, Niè Míngjué will see reason and Mèng Yáo will have time to explain himself in a calmer atmosphere. And then, his two friends — no, not friends, they mean so much more to him — will be beside him.
Lán Huàn smiles at them and he doesn’t even realise the hope settling deeply into his chest. Instead, relief floods him when he tells them both softly, ‘Let us get you both to a healer, shall we?’
Title: My love’s an iron ball wrapped around your ankles
Pairing: Lan Wangji/Jiang Cheng/Wei Wuxian
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None
Excerpt:
Lán Zhàn searches for Wèi Yīng and Jiāng Chéng, a slight worry rising within him. But he sees the two of them, Wèi Yīng having one arm slung over Jiāng Chéng’s shoulders, who is rolling his eyes but grinning at the same time.
Something inside of Lán Zhàn relaxes and he smiles at them softly. Wèi Yīng gives him a wave but suddenly he freezes and Jiāng Chéng straightens up, moving his mouth to call out.
It’s too late.
A tentacle wraps around his ankle, pulls it out from under him and Lán Zhàn slams into the ground.
Lán Huàn presses back against the tree, hoping that the cultivators on the steps above him are not looking down. His light blue and white robes have to be easily spottable. But he can’t do anything about that. Not now. He can’t move. Lest the cultivators from Qíshān Wēn Sect spot him.
Ōuyáng Zǐzhēn glances up to his shackled wrists with a swallow. He tugs at them but they hold firm, not budging. Well, it would have surprised him if he had been able to simply slip free of his restraints. But maybe if he tries harder? He pulls again at the shackles before grimacing at the sharp edges of metal digging into the skin of his wrists.
Title: There’s just too much that time cannot erase
Pairing: Jiang Cheng/Wei Wuxian/Lan Wangji
Rating: Teen
Warnings: No warnings apply
Excerpt:
Lán Zhàn is surprised to find a small group of Yúnmèng Jiāng Sect disciples at the entrance of the cave system. Apparently, Gūsū Lán is not the only sect that has been asked for help. ‘Huh?’ Wèi Yīng says next to him, sounding equally surprised. ‘I wasn’t aware they were going to hunt here as well.’
Pairing: Jiang Cheng & Jin Ling (with maybe a little xicheng but could also be read as friendship)
Rating: Teen
Warnings: None
Excerpt:
Jiāng Chéng’s heart is beating in his throat. His hands are clam, sweat running down the back of his neck. His grip around his gun is white-knuckled and yet he shifts it again, tightening the grip. ‘Ā-Líng?’ He calls out yet again.
Jiāng Chéng picks up the scent of blood first, tearing his thoughts away from the letter. His nose twitches when he smells it, the iron tang in the air. A frown passes over his face. His tail swishes from left to right before he focuses on keeping it as still possible. It doesn’t help anyone of his disciples to let them know he is agitated.
Pairing: Song Lan/Xue Yang/Xiao Xingchen (Focus is on the SongXue)
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Choose not to warn
Excerpt:
‘- and code violet, Xuē Chéngměi, you are up,’ his supervisor rattles off. ‘Get going now!’
Xuē Yáng’s shoulders sag and he shoves the rest of his bun into his mouth, chewing it as fast as he possibly can while he stands up. Luó Qīngyáng tosses him Jiàngzāi. He catches his sword and only just holds himself back from snarling at her for touching it. It would have been no use. She has already turned around, her own sword in hand as they race through the station towards their ambulance.
