Hey, I'm Electron! (god, that sounds like a bot, I swear I'm not a bot lmao)
This blog is used to write fics, take fic requests, and basically other fic stuff I don't want to do on my main
I mainly write for My Chemical Romance, but some other fandoms I'll write for are Fall Out Boy, Panic! At The Disco, The Maze Runner, Teen Wolf, the Umbrella Academy, All For the Game, and the Outsiders.
What I will write: Whump (within reason), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt No Comfort, Angst
What I will not write: NSFW, smut, rape/noncon, Waycest, crazy age gaps, really kinky stuff
(I just don't feel comfortable writing that type of thing)
The lists will expand as I think of more tags, let me know if I missed anything.
Also, I BLOCK FREELY. DO NOT BE A CREEP, DO NOT SEND REPEATED SUGGESTIONS OF DISGUSTING THINGS. THESE ARE THE RULES OF THIS BLOG, AND I WILL NEVER WRITE OR POST ANYTHING I AM NOT COMFORTABLE WITH.
I'm echoed_electron on ao3 as well, if you prefer to read fics over there!
Febuwhump 2026 Masterpost
So yup, that's my blog. You send requests, I write fics.
love it when whumpee is high as a kite on painkillers. their brain-to-mouth filter becomes non-existent.
caretaker is by their side, taking care of them as they babble and giggle and cry. caretaker tries not to let the things whumpee says get to them. a more honest idea of what happened to them is horrifying and heart-wrenching.
"oh, this doesn't hurt—" a little giggle, "Before, I had to stay still and. there were, veryyy big needles, and it would make me cry. but then I'd get hurt. more."
"blankets? for me? why? but I won't die if I'm not warm!"
"no, no, let me stay on the floor! please don't hurt me, please, I'll be good, don't tell—" choking on whumper's name, "—please. I'll do anything."
"hey, do you think I'm broken?"
"c'n sl'p?" mumbling drowsily, "y'u c'n thr'w me o'ts'd aft'r!"
caretaker has to endeavour to make their voice gentle and unassuming, their responses soothing. they can't let their anger or their sadness show. they can't.
Prompt: Character who struggles with SH accidentally hurts themselves too badly to handle on their own, receives help/treatment from another character- despite how angry and ashamed they feel. Other character is trying their best but is just so frustrated and can't understand why the other would do something like this. -🏁
Tags: SELF HARM AND LOTS OF DISCUSSION ABOUT IT!! PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS WILL BE TRIGGERING TO YOU!!, Funpoison fighting, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Self-Destructive Behavior
Summary: Party Poison has been cutting for years. It's an old habit of his, something he does to relieve his stress and anxiety and the constant pressure he feels. He should have known not to cut so deep, should have known the wouldn't couldn't take any strain, but how could he could have predicated to Draculoid attack that gave everything away?
Word Count: 1,620
Fic under the cut!
The Dracs had the Killjoys surrounded, pressing in on them from all sides. Party Poison was doing his best to hold them back, to keep them far away, but every time he moved the cuts on his arm would send new bursts of pain dancing across his skin, and his hands would shake too hard to make a good shot.
A blast from a ray gun shot past his ear and he flinched, heart stuttering in his chest as he realized just how close he had just come to death. How easily he could have lost his life in that moment.
In reality, Party didn't want to die. Sure, he'd cut himself, but not with the hopes of death. That was just the only method he'd been able to find that could quiet his thoughts whenever they got too loud.
And he especially didn't want to die by a Draculoid's hand.
He breathed deeply, steadying his hand and making shot after shot until the crowd finally thinned. Ghoul caught the last Drac in the chest, sending it tumbling backwards as it breathed its last breath.
The four stood there for a moment, breathing deeply, adrenaline still coursing heavily through their veins. The burned bodies of Draculoids scattered the ground around them, lives they had taken, and Party's stomach turned. His arms were aching and his head hurt.
"Wait…" Jet's voice sounded from behind the redhead. "Pois, are you bleeding?"
Oh, fuck.
Now he could feel it, the familiar sting on his upper arm and a chilling wetness soaking his sleeve. He brought a hand up to touch the spot, and his fingers came away red.
"But your sleeve isn't damaged…" Kobra said, reaching out but freezing just inches away from making contact. "Were you shot?"
Party opened his mouth, wanting to reply, to push the worry off of himself, but his throat had gone dry. He couldn't speak. What was he meant to say, anyways? There was no way to answer the question without giving himself away.
"I'm sure it's nothing," he muttered, hoping they'd leave it alone. His head was spinning; he still felt sick looking at the Dracs and nauseous at the thought of his friends finding out what he'd been doing to himself. It took every bone in his body not to bend over and upheave the contents of his stomach all over the hot sand.
Ghoul's brow was creased in worry, and Party couldn't think, couldn't think, couldn't think-
Witch, he'd cut deep, too. He should have known the wound couldn't handle any stress, but how could he have predicted the spontaneous Draculoid attack? They'd come out of nowhere, and oh, fuck...
"We… we should get back to the car," Party mumbled, stumbling over his words. He pressed his hand to the cut again, trying to stop the bleeding, but whatever he'd managed to do seemed to have restarted the healing process entirely.
The others nodded, but nobody moved. They all had their eyes fixed on him- Destroya, there were too many eyes- and he knew he had to move or no one else would. His stomach was churning, and he could barely see straight from the pain in his head, but still, he forced himself to take a step. Then another. Then-
His knees caved, and the ground rushed up to meet him. He was shaking, and despite every effort, he could feel his eyelids beginning to close. His vision became mixed with flashes of darkness, and when he could see, everything was fuzzed over around the corners.
Party could hear the Killjoys around him, talking, shouting, and he tried to hold on. For them, and for himself.
Still, his last thread of consciousness slipped from his grasp, sending him plunging into black.
------
When Party Poison blinked awake, the first thing he registered was the lack of the comforting familiarity of his jacket. He blearily turned to the side and saw…
Saw himself.
Saw his skin, mottled and marred and twisted with marks he'd loved in private but were sickening to see on display. Saw deep gashes where he'd sunk his freshly sharpened blade into, his moment of quiet that helped, really truly helped. Saw blood, bright and crimson and awfully reminiscent of his hair, drying on his hot skin.
Saw Ghoul, sitting a few feet away, face expressionless, holding Party's stained jacket.
The black-haired man's eyes flicked upward quickly, a mere glance, but they quickly shot upwards again once he realized Party was awake. He half-stood, hovering, unsure whether he should be sitting or standing for the conversation that was to come.
Ghoul settled on sitting, sinking back into the chairs and holding out the electric blue jacket, a silent question that he voiced anyways.
"Pois, what…?" He couldn't seem to find any more words that suited what he wanted to ask.
The redhead firmly remained silent, looking away and glaring at the opposite wall. He didn't want to have this conversation now. He didn't want to have this conversation ever.
"Please, you have to answer me," the man insisted, but Party kept his lips decisively closed. He didn't owe anyone any explanation. They just needed to leave him alone.
Ghoul was getting fed up quickly, though. The floor creaked as he stood, walking over and grabbing Party Poison roughly by the shoulder. He rolled the older man over, and the redhead couldn't help but let out a quiet cry as his wounds rubbed against the rough fabric of the couch.
Ghoul's face went white; clearly, he hadn't thought through his actions before executing them. Still, he didn't apologize, instead staring down at the other man and awaiting an answer.
"Won't you leave me the fuck alone?" Party rasped, his throat alerting him of its pain as soon as he spoke. He felt a dull headache beginning to throb behind his eyes again.
Party Poison knew Ghoul wanted to help, he really did. But he couldn't bring himself to care. This wasn't a problem to be dealt with, it was just a thing Party did, and he wished it could be treated as such.
It didn't matter that he cut himself. It brought him relief, and it wasn't a problem.
"No, I won't!" Ghoul shouted. "I care about you, I don't want you to keep doing this! If… if I understood why you did it, maybe I could help! Maybe I could try to stop it!"
"I don't want to stop it!" Party yelled back, ignoring the pain that was plaguing him from all over his body. "It's not a fucking problem, you're just treating it like it is!"
"You passed out in the middle of the desert, Party, that sounds like a problem to me!" The younger man's voice was rising as his anxiety and anger with the redhead's stubbornness mixed together. "And look at yourself! You're covered in cuts and scars and blood! You'd have to be a fucking imbecile to think that's not a problem!"
"Stop acting like you know jack shit, Ghoul! It's not you I'm hurting, it's just how I… I cope! It helps, and I'm used to it. So stop trying to insert yourself somewhere you don't belong and leave me the fuck alone!"
"But…" Fun Ghoul's voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. "You are hurting me. Seeing you.. seeing you just drop like that, and then finding out that you did it to yourself…" He pressed a shaking hand to his forehead. "I hate it, Pois. I hate that you think you need to do that to feel better." His face crumbled as a tear slid down his cheek, and Party felt all the anger he'd felt towards the other Killjoy flood out of his body in an instant.
"I am sorry," Party said softly. "There was a reason I kept it hidden, you know? I didn't want you guys to see it, I didn't want to scare you. I just want you to accept that I have to do it, can't you do that?"
"I can't." Ghoul's answer was firm. Not angry, just direct. "I can't because I couldn't live with myself if I let you continue on living like this. Please, let me try to help you, let me find other methods for you to deal with everything, just give me a chance. Please."
Party could feel himself caving, the earnestness in Ghoul's voice sending tendrils of shame deep into his heart.
But he couldn't make promises he couldn't keep.
"I can try, Ghoulie. But I don't know how well I'll do, it's how I've coped for years now. I don't think I can't just… stop."
Ghoul nodded. "I get it, and I'm not trying to force you to go all cold-turkey out of nowhere and everything. But I do want you to be able to live without cutting someday, so maybe whenever you feel the urge, you could come talk to me? Even if you still feel like it after, maybe I could help enough so you don't feel like you're carrying everything alone. So you don't feel like you have to cut so deep.
Oh.
That sounded… nice.
Party felt a tear sliding down his cheek, and he sniffed before giving a whispered reply. "I can do that, Ghoul. I can do that."
Ghoul nodded, bottom lip trembling, and he lowered himself to the ground, wrapping his arms around the redhead's midsection. He was more careful this time, avoiding any wounded areas. "Thank you. I just want you to be okay, okay?" "Okay," Party replied softly, and he hugged the other man back. His headache had faded and for the first time in what felt like forever, Party felt happy.
I love a dazed, out-of-it, purely broken whumpee. One who is so gone and dead to the real world, they don’t notice a single thing going on. Perhaps it’s a learned coping mechanism to get through the torture. Whumpee, who is pliant to whumper’s will and clocked out to the pain not because they want to, but because it’s the only way they get through it all. Perhaps it’s what whumper was waiting for—finally breaking them into an impossible, unrecognizable shred of a being doing barely more than living despite it all.
Whumpee, so mentally broken and having physically given up so completely that they are numb to anything happening to or around them. They see and hear and feel nothing.
Not whumper.
Not whumper’s continued torture.
Not even caretaker who’d only just rushed in, ready to fight for whumpee, hoping and praying that whumpee hadn’t yet perished, only to see them doing little more than staring up at nothing, eyes dull and unseeing, with their head rolled back, barely reacting more than the involuntary flinches of their body’s nervous system and not because the feel anything happening to them. Looking more dead than caretaker ever thought a still living being could be.
Dazed. Unresponsive. Gone.
And make sure a friend or loved one sees how broken they’ve become.
Leader hides their fear and gives a reassuring smile to their team, then follows Whumper out of the cell, while the team is left in anxious uncertainty.
After some time Leader returns, seemingly uninjured. They claim nothing has happened: they were just talking with Whumper. But Leader had always downplayed their pain, and now the team doesn't know what to believe.
Apologies if this isn't completely coherent, I'm a bit tipsy & very tired. ^^°
Anyway here are a bunch of general wump ideas in no particular order!! (None fandom specified)
1. Character A is a closeted alcoholic, they thought they were hiding it well (maybe they actually were, up to you) only to get caught by a distraught character B (plus others for more drama if wanted.)
2. Character is stranded from their loved ones after a natural disaster, both think the others are dead.
3. A character is chronically and has been hiding it out of the fear of being a burden. However there is only so much they can handle on their own. They end up begging another character of help even though they desperately don't want it.
4. Character A gets food poisoning from character B's cooking, character B now needs to take care of character A. B feels incredibly guilty and desperately wants to make it up to A, who is very firm that accidents happen and it's okay. Shenanigans ensue
5. Medical malpractice & recovery
6. (Please feel free to completely ignore if you're not comfortable with this one!!!)
7. Character who struggles with SH accidentally hurts themselves too badly to handle on their own, receives help/treatment from another character- despite how angry and ashamed they feel. Other character is trying their best but is just so frustrated and can't understand why the other would do something like this.
Sorry if this is too much, you absolutely don't have to do any of these if you don't want to!! I hope you're well!!!! -🏁
THESE ARE ABSOLUTELY AMAZING. OH MY GOD.
Thank you so much!! I'll definitely start writing soon, these prompts are so amazing skjfjgkakqksk
Would you be comfortable writing a Danger Days fic where Party Poison gets sick/hurt because of an ED?
Absolutely!! This is one of my favorite tropes of all time, thank you so much for this ask!
Tags: TW For Eating Disorder, Passing Out, Intervention, Fluff
Summary: Party Poison had never meant for it to get this bad. But watching his weight drop, his stomach sink in and his ribcage become visible through his flesh became addicting. It became an obsession that he was desperate to continue... no matter the cost.
Word Count: 1254
Fic under the cut!
Food was and always had been a scarcity in the Zones.
In the beginning, right after he had managed to escape from the City, Party Poison had always been desperate to get more of it. He'd grown so use to the consistent meals provided at BLI that eating so little out in the desert caused his body to to riot.
Yet, he was always careful to give the little food they got to Kobra, never taking more than a bite for himself. Originally, it had been to make sure his brother was healthy and full, but when the redhead's weight started to drop…
That's when the starving stopped hurting and started to become addicting instead.
When it was still difficult to get food, it was easier for Party to avoid eating. He'd pass everything off as generosity, careful not to bring attention to that lack of food he ate. But as their team continued to grow, both in size and in influence, their ability to get food became far easier. And his attempts to hide his true reason for staving himself became far harder.
Jet Star and Fun Ghoul never questioned it at first, and he made sure to eat a bit when he was in front of them so they wouldn't notice his rapidly dropping weight and dark circling his eyes, prominent on pale skin.
But then something shifted, and they started watching him more closely. He wasn't sure if they had discovered his secret, but it suddenly felt like they were always encouraging him to eat. He began resorting to throwing everything back up whatever he could in secret, desperate to keep his stomach empty. He felt clean when he hadn't eaten, like a fresh sheet of paper, unmarred.
It was a during a firefight when it finally caught up to him.
"You alright in there?" Ghoul called, knocking sharply on the bathroom door. Party stood from where he had been kneeling on the floor, recovering from another episode of vomiting, quickly washing his hands and opening the door.
"Yeah, no worries," he replied shortly, and Ghoul raised an eyebrow.
"Sounded like you were throwin' up in there, or something."
"Jus' retchin', I feel a little sick."
"Will you be alright for the supply run?"
Party waved his worry away with his hand. "Yeah, like I said. No worries." He brushed past the other man, fingers expertly snagging the keys to the tram-am that hung from a hook on the wall. “Everybody ready?”
His question was met with a chorus of 'yeahs' as the group left the diner and piled into the car. Ghoul slid into the passenger seat, brows still slightly creased with worry. “You sure you don't want me to drive?”
“I said ‘s fine,” Party replied, a slight edge creeping into his tone, which he regretted as Ghoul’s eyes darted down into his lap.
The desert flew by as the car sped across the sands, bright flashes of color and excitement that Party couldn’t seem to focus on. Everything had seemed to thin out, there but not, and he poured all his energy into continuing to drive straight.
And that was when the vehicle jolted violently sideways.
He hadn’t noticed the car of Dracs until it was too late. The Corporation’s car had rammed into theirs, throwing them sideways.
“Ghoul, take the wheel,” Party commanded, and the black-haired Killjoy reached over with practiced ease as Party reached for his raygun. He flipped open the hatch in the room, standing on his seat and firing at the tires of the Draculoid’s car, the windows, anything even slightly fragile that he could reach.
The car hit a bump, and Party felt a spark of panic as his vision wavered. His shots were getting farther and farther away from his targets as his hands shook. The adrenaline from the initial collision was beginning to fade, and Party didn’t know what was going to happen when it fully disappeared.
His sight began to go gray at the edges, and his body felt numb. With one last, desperate shot, Party somehow managed to blow a hole in one of the enemy’s tires, sending them grinding to a halt as the Killjoys sped ahead.
For a moment, Party stood there, taking deep breaths and trying to get his head to stop spinning. It wasn’t working. He dropped back into the car, taking the wheel even though he could barely hold it. The other men’s celebrations turned to worry as one by one they noticed Party’s state.
“Party, are you okay?”
“Were you hurt?”
“Are you sick?”
I’m fine.
Really, I’m fine.
Better than fine, even.
If this is what it takes to be skinny, to be beautiful, then it’s worth it.
“I’m…” Party whispered, trying to reassure them, but the words wouldn’t come out. His foot slid off the gas pedal as he leaned forwards, forehead pressed to the steering wheel. He was fine, he was fine, he just needed a minute.
He felt a hand grasp at his shoulder. “Party. Are you okay?” It was Ghoul, but his voice was barely audible over the growing sound of buzzing flooding the leader's own ears.
This is all worth it.
Even if they don’t understand.
—---
When Party Poison blinked awake, he was staring at the familiar ceiling of their diner. He was lying on the couch, feeling slightly better than before but the deep weariness still persisted.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, groaning and pressing his palm to his forehead as the room flipped around him. Once everything settled, he realized that the other Killjoys were sitting around him, cross-legged on the ground, their faces gravely serious.
“What is this?” the redhead demanded, voice accusatory.
“Party,” Jet began carefully, slowly. “When was the last time you ate?”
At once, the Killjoy felt his entire body tense at the question. What was this? What the fuck was happening?
“Today, earlier,” Party replied truthfully.
“Yeah, until you made yourself throw it up.” Ghoul’s words cut through Party like a sharpened blade.
“I told you that’s not what happened!” The leader’s breath was speeding up as he began to panic, and the room was spinning again as his brain was deprived of oxygen.
“Pois, it’s okay,” Kobra’s tone was soft, gently. Too calm compared to the terror piercing through Party’s heart at the moment. “We’re just worried about you, y’know? We don’t want you to get hurt.”
Then let me keep starving!
“I’m not going to get hurt!”
“It’s alright, we already know,” Jet continued. “We know you’ve been starving yourself.”
No.
No.
No!
Everything he’d done to protect himself, to avoid being caught avoiding meals even if it hurt, even if it made him feel disgusting. It was all pointless. It hadn’t worked. They knew.
He was crying before he could stop himself, heavy tears that flooded down his cheeks and dripped into his lap.
He felt arms wrap around him, an attempted reassurance, but he pushed back. “Don’t fucking touch me!” They didn’t deserve to do this, to go and set up this intervention and then act like they hadn’t just laid his biggest secret out for all the world to see. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.
Yet, the warm embrace didn’t cease. Instead, he was just held tighter, closer, until he gave up and stopped pushing away.
“It’s going to be okay, Pois,” Ghoul whispered into his ear. “We’re going to help you. You’re going to be okay.
Second chapter of Or Until My Heart Explodes? Amazing, magnificent, I love it so far and I'm excited to see where it goes!! 💖
Paid in Death Aaaaaa!!! Poor Kobra oh my goodness!! So fascinated by Onyx Winter and why they hold grudges so strongly, to the point they're willing to nearly kill someone over something so small. Also Party finding Kobra at the end was just so sweat!! I loved it, I love your writing!! I hope you're doing well!! -🏁
Oh my god, thank you so much!! I'm so glad you're enjoying it 🥹🖤
I'm so glad you liked it!! I'm honestly considering developing Onyx Winter more, even just so they have a backstory that explains why they wanted to kill Kobra so badly. And I LOVE scenes where the Whumpee gets found by their team, I'm so happy that you liked it!!
You're so kind, thank you so much! 🖤🖤 I'm doing well, how are you?
Prompt: Kobra Kid's motorcycle breaks down/crashes when he's out on a supply run and he's forced to leave it. He gets lost in the desert while trying to make his way back to the dinner. Kobra's got to spend the night lost and completely exposed in the desert trying to keep himself safe from the elements, ill willed zone runners, and BLI. The others find Kobra's abandoned bike and assume the worst and are desperate to find him whether or not that'll be in one piece is anyone's guess. -🏁
Tags: Acid Rain, Leg Injuries, Despair, Burns, Did I Spontaneously Make Up An OC For This? Why Yes Yes I Did
Summary: Onyx Winter promised they'd never forget Kobra Kids' thievery. He supposed it was his fault for so heavily underestimating the Zonerunner, but Kobra wasn't ready to die. He was desperate to survive, even when it seems all odds were pointing towards his demise
Word Count: 1,453
Fic under the cut!
Kobra Kid was fucked.
The sun was sinking beneath the sands, and his motorbike had been spluttering and emitting smoke for the past half hour. On top of that, he was completely, utterly, lost. No landmark was recognizable. No signs to point his way. Just opens sands interrupted by the occasional cactus.
His heart was beating hard, and he was putting his whole body weight on the gas pedal. If the bike just held on, just a little longer, maybe he would find something familiar. Find someone familiar.
Kobra’s strict focus on traveling forwards was his grave error. He didn’t notice the rock on the ground until his bike hit it at full speed, pitching him through the air as the vehicle gave a final wheeze and cough of smoke into the air before finally dying.
The blond man landed in a heap a few feet from the wreckage, head swimming and right leg aflame. Carefully, he tried to stand, wincing when his ruined appendage gave a sharp jolt of protest. His vision whited out briefly, and in an instant, he was back on the ground again, cheek pressed to the cooling sand. He groaned loudly before forcing himself to stand again, ignoring the pain and trying to redirect his weight almost entirely onto his left leg.
Kobra’s whole body burned, but he knew he had to keep going. If he went on and continued moving, there was a chance he'd survive. If he remained where he was, he’d almost certainly die along with his motorbike.
With a practiced ease he yanked his ray gun from its holster on his hip, a great feeling of relief settling into his chest once it was positioned in his hand. He took a few steps to test out his balance, and found that so long as he limped heavily, he could still move. If he got lucky, he’d find a stick or some other object he could use for support.
Biting down firmly on the inside of his cheek to keep him from crying out, Kobra continued forward. His progress was slow, especially compared to the speed he’d had on the bike, but it was something.
He refused to turn around, refused to give a second glance to the smoking ruin he’d left behind. Otherwise, he’d likely be unable to stop the hopelessness from rising in his chest when he saw how little he’d travelled. He didn’t think he could handle that despair.
The sun was well out of sight before Kobra allowed himself a glance over his shoulder. When he realized he could no longer see the smoke, the vehicle, the charred metal, he nearly cried from relief. Maybe he would be okay. Maybe he would live.
Or maybe you’ll die out here, cold and alone.
It had just been meant to be a routine supply run. A quick drive to Tommy Chow Mein’s for some food and materials.
That had been until he’d run into Onyx Winter.
He’d nearly forgotten about them, nearly forgotten about how he’d stolen from them when he was new to the Zones and just barely made it back to Party alive. Nearly forgotten about how he’d lied to his brother about where the food had come from, with the promise of Onyx’s revenge still ringing in his ears.
Years had passed, but apparently, they weren’t quick to forget.
Kobra had barely left Chow Mein’s before the blast bounced off the front of his bike. He’d turned sharply, knowing if he continued on his path home, he’d lead Onyx straight to his friends, his family.
Onyx Winter had promised to make him pay. They’d fulfilled that promise, driving Kobra away from anything and anyone he knew.
Are you fucking satisfyied?
One can. It had been one can. He would have never stolen it if it meant he’d be paying with his life.
He didn’t know why they stopped chasing him. He could only assume it was because they’d know what he did. He was lost in the Zones with a damaged bike.
That’s not something you survive.
The violent light that cut through the air jolted Kobra roughly from his thoughts, and he wanted to cry. He’d had it bad enough with him being lost and injured but now an acid rain storm? Had the Phoenix Witch cursed him herself?
In a panicked desperation, he searched his surroundings for anything he could use for shelter. He nearly sobbed in relief when far, far in the distance his eyes found what looked to be an abandoned shack.
He just had to make it there.
I just have to make it there.
His breath was heavy in his ears as he pushed himself forwards, leg screaming in agony as he repeatedly leaned on it for support. Adrenaline was flooding through his veins and eventually the pain grew dull, nothing more than a quiet buzz in his ears as lighting continued to split the sky overhead.
And then, the sky opened up.
The rain wasn’t cruel at first. The initial drops were gentle, cooling his hot skin as he limped on. Then, in an instant, they turned evil.
They pelted his skin violently, each one leaving a scathing burn where it struck his flesh. Despair was a cold pit in his stomach, and he could feel the adrenaline from earlier quickly fading. With a muffled grunt he dropped to his hands and knees.
No.
No!
He couldn’t stop now. The shack was close, so, so close. He dug his fingers into the sand and with the last of his strength, Kobra Kid began to crawl.
—---
“Party, it’s going to be okay.” Jet’s voice was calm, despite his obvious nervousness about the situation.
“We haven’t seen him since yesterday,” the redhead replied, appreciative of Jet’s attempt at comfort but far too anxious for it to work. “Fuck it, I’m going out to look for him.” He stood suddenly, grabbing the keys from the table and striding hastily towards the door.
“Not by yourself, you aren’t. It’s kind of useless if you go missing, too,” Ghoul interjected, standing as well. He was right, Party knew that, but Destroya, they had to get moving and they had to get moving now.
The three of them left quickly, piling into the trans-am and heading over to Tommy Chow Mein’s. Jet headed inside to ask if the man had noticed anything while the other two remained in the car. They fingered the shopowner would be more likely to talk if the Killjoys didn’t barge into the shop and demand answers.
Jet Star’s conversation was short, and he reappeared just a few minutes after he entered the building. “Says he didn’t see anything,” he told the other men as he climbed back into the car. “Heard some blasts fired over there,” he extended his arm and gestured to a place a bit past the shop, “but didn’t see nothin’.”
Party nodded shortly, wanting to reply but unable to force words out. He drove in the direction Jet had pointed for what felt like forever, until…
“Is that smoke?” Ghoul asked, squinting, finger pressed to the windshield.
No.
But he was right. And as the group neared the burning pile, it became obvious what had caused the fumes in the first place.
Kobra’s motorbike lay in the sands, half-buried and devoid of any other trace of the Killjoy.
Party didn’t register throwing open the car door, didn’t register dashing across the desert. He only understood what had happened when his knees collided with the ground in front of the wreckage, and his fingers numbly began sifting through the sand. There had to be some hint, some clue about his brother's whereabouts. Anything.
That was when he saw them.
Footprints.
Trailing away from the burning bike, uneven, but there.
In an instant, sand was flying as Party Poison scrambled to his feet and began following them as fast as he could. Each print was deep, deliberate, easy to spot, and the redhead desperately wanted to sob with relief.
His eyes remained so keenly fixated on the ground that he nearly collided with the shack that lay in his path. The footprints had ceased, so he threw open the door to the building, praying that the Phoenix Witch had protected his brother. Protected the only family he had left.
When he saw the heap lying in the corner, trembling and singed, he nearly threw himself across the room. He scooped up the figure in his arms, tears pouring down his cheeks as the person curled into him.
“Par…ty…?” the man whispered, and Party Poison couldn’t keep the relief out of his voice when he replied.
