#alt. 9

[nb-n0v4]

more of this guy!

[cloudyskywars]

Caught

Written for @febuwhump Day 25. I did alternate prompt 9: Held at gunpoint. (In this case, blasterpoint lol.) I don’t think the violence in this is too bad, aside from holding someone at gunpoint. Without further ado, enjoy!

“Anakin, slow down! Stay where I can see you!” Obi-Wan said exasperatedly. But fondness bled through his tone, and Anakin turned around and gave him a grin that just screamed trouble. 

“Maybe you should just walk faster, Master!” he called, voice echoing through the street. Then he ran around the corner, his Padawan braid bouncing on his back. 

“Padawan!” he yelled again. But Anakin didn’t respond. Obi-Wan suddenly felt a flash of pure fear down their bond, and he ran as fast as he could, robes billowing behind him. He rounded the corner and skidded to a stop.

A Trandoshan was holding Anakin with a blaster to his temple and an arm around his neck. Anakin’s eyes were full of fear, and he stared at Obi-Wan desperately. 

“Freeze, Jedi, or the kid dies,” the Trandoshan hissed. Obi-Wan held up his hands placatingly. 

“No one needs to die. Let the boy go, and I’m sure we can work something out,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. Anakin’s eyes were blown wide, and he locked eyes with Obi-Wan. His fear bled across their bond. Obi-Wan sent as much peace and calm back as he could muster. It’ll be alright, he said.

“Your lightsaber, now,” the Trandoshan said. Ever-so-slowly, Obi-Wan unhooked his lightsaber from his belt and set it down on the ground. The moonlight glinted on the hilt. The Trandoshan’s henchmen emerged from the shadows, and one of them darted forward, easily scooping up the lightsaber before retreating. 

“I have done as you asked. Now release the boy.” The Trandoshan grinned, baring all of his teeth. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” he said. He began to back away, and Obi-Wan lunged forward before he could think better of it. Immediately, he felt multiple blasters train on him.

“Wait! Take me instead,” he said. He saw Anakin shake his head minutely, but ignored him and continued. “I’m a Jedi knight. If it’s ransom money you’re looking for, I’ll be worth more than he will.” The Trandoshan didn’t look convinced. “If you’re looking to sell a slave, I’m older. I’ll be worth more on the slave markets, too. I can do harder labor than the boy can. Let him go, and I’ll leave with you willingly.” The Trandoshan considered him for a moment, then nodded.

“Fine, but no funny Jedi business, you hear me?” He motioned to the human on his right. “Bind ‘im.” The human rushed forward, and yanked Obi-Wan’s arms behind his back. He tied his hands together much too tightly and shoved him to his knees. Once he was secure, the Trandoshan threw Anakin to the ground.

Anakin picked himself up and lunged at Obi-Wan, securing his arms around his neck in a tight hug. “Don’t do this, Master,” he said, voice thick with tears. Obi-Wan tucked his chin into Anakin’s neck, attempting to return the hug even though his hands were tied.

“It’ll be alright, Padawan,” he said. “Contact the Council; they’ll know what to do.”

“But-” Anakin didn’t get a chance to finish, because the human yanked Obi-Wan up and away.

“It’ll be alright, Anakin. I promise.” 

“Go on, little boy,” the Trandoshan hissed. Then he raised his blaster and hit Obi-Wan in the temple with the butt of the blaster. Obi-Wan slumped in the human’s arms, unconscious. “Go!” the Trandoshan repeated.

Anakin turned and ran.

[dato-potato]

Lost - Alt. 9

I totally forgot about Whumptober so uh here’s my first one, probably definitely not doing one for each day but we’ll see. If there’s one anyone really wants to see let me know. Or just let me know if there’s a fic you want written in general and I will probably write something. I enjoy distracting myself from school and life.

Trigger Warning: panic attack

——————————

It was a stupid mistake. But a mistake nonetheless, and one that may have just ended a life. 

It was one guy. One guy left, and Duke had made a rookie mistake. Stupid, he chided himself, so stupid. He had knocked the guy down to deal with his friend who came at Duke with a knife, he thought the guy would be down longer and he turned his back. How could he be that monumentally dumb. 

He turned his back, wrestling the knife out of the thug’s hand, just a second too long.

“Signal!” Duke sent a well aimed punch to the thug’s face and turned back around only to see Jason jumping in front of him, blocking his view. 

The shot was sudden and deafening, filling the alley and echoing into the night. At first, it didn’t even register what had happened. Not until Jason dropped to the ground in a heap. Duke threw his eskrima stick at the man still aiming his pistol, hitting his forehead with a solid thunk. 

Duke’s pulse was racing as he simply stared down at his feet where Jason lay, not moving. 

“Jason?” His voice was barely even a whisper, so much so that even if Jason were conscious, he wouldn’t have heard it.

Carefully, Duke stepped around Jason, as if one wrong step and he’d vanish completely. 

“Jason?” He tried again, this time louder. Still, he didn’t get any response. His heart felt like it had dropped to the ground next to Jason as he scanned Jason for any injuries. Only one. A bullet hole. Just above the right eye of the helmet. 

Duke’s hands were shaking, he couldn’t really feel them at all, only sharp tingling sensations across his hands and up his arms. He slid two fingers on to Jason’s neck, checking for a pulse. Nothing. Would he have felt it if he had feeling in his hands? He didn’t know, he couldn’t think, his thoughts raced around in a frenzy. 

Duke removed Jason’s helmet with shaking hands. “Jason?” He repeated again, his voice cracking. 

Jason’s face remained still. Duke examined his face, a bruise was blooming just above his right eye and spreading it, where his helmet had stopped the bullet. Duke brought his ear to Jason’s mouth and breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a sob when he felt a light brush of warm air against his ear.

——————————

Duke called Bruce, attempting to explain what happened, his words rushing past his lips. Bruce came to get them both. Duke kept apologizing as Bruce looked over his second oldest. Duke could only imagine what was going through Bruce’s head seeing his son lifeless, again. 

Carefully, Bruce lifted Jason’s body up and got the three of them into the Batmobile and drove back to the cave. 

The whole way, Duke continued to mumble about how Jason jumped in front of him, how it was Duke’s fault, he hadn’t dealt with the guy and now Jason was dying because of him. Bruce was silent, he wasn’t how to console his son, focusing only on getting them back to the cave as fast as was safely possible. 

——————————

Duke paced around the cave. They had run all the tests they could on Jason but they all came back relatively fine, other than some head trauma and bruising, but nothing that wouldn’t heal. Duke’s whole body was exhausted, he felt that if he stopped moving even for a second, he’d drop to the ground. 

He had to at least make sure Jason was ok. It was his fault that Jason was laying on the exam table in the cave in the first place. He could probably get better care in a hospital but they all knew they couldn’t take Jason there. Alfred knew what he was doing, Duke knew that. He just needed to keep reminding himself that Alfred did indeed know what he was doing. 

Bruce and Alfred left to talk upstairs where Duke wouldn’t hear. Bruce had told Duke that he shouldn’t blame himself, that it wasn’t his fault but Duke just couldn’t believe him when Jason was still not moving. If Jason never woke up, what would everyone else say? Would the rest of the family feel the same way? Would Bruce still say that it’s ok, that he shouldn't blame himself?

Duke’s breathing was erratic as he stared at Jason’s body, eyes unfocused, his thoughts a whirlwind of unease and uncertainty. 

Movement caught Duke’s eye and immediately drew him out of his thoughts. His heart stopped along with his mind as Jason sat up, groaning as he did. Duke rushed over to him, relief flooding his being as he raced towards Jason.

“Jason!” He shouted unintentionally, “You’re ok, I’m so glad you’re ok, I was so worried, I thought you were never going to wake up and it’d be all my fault and everyone would blame me and--” Duke stopped rambling and searched Jason’s face. When Jason only stared at him, Duke took a horrified step back, “Jason?”

Jason looked around himself, “Yes?” His gaze landed back on Duke, analyzing him with a critical eye, “but who the hell are you?”

[lildark1]

Whumptober - Memory Loss

The city spread out before her, pulsing with life and noise and it built and ebbed in her mind like the distant oceans. In the far distance she could make out the green of a park where she would take her dog. On the other side of town was the college where she had gotten her degree in forestry.

Too bad she couldn’t remember any of it.

All this information was stuck in her mind like mod-podged pieces of paper slapped onto the gapping spots in her memory, just as fake feeling, just as fragile. The last few weeks had been filled with family and friends giving more information than she could actually handle, hoping something would spark a memory, but everything lay cold and dark.

“Kira?”

Her face screwed up in a grimace as she heard the soft voice come from behind her. The owner of it didn’t move closer and the distance felt ever growing. Kira glanced over her shoulder, taking in the tall form leaning just in the doorway leading to the bedroom. She was slashed through with shadow, but those honey brown eyes were visible and not for the first time Kira’s heart spasmed with pain. Not the kind of pain of seeing a loved one hurting, but seeing any person in pain.

“Yeah?”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Kira gave no answer, turning back, turning away. Out of all the voices that had been clamoring in poor attempts to help, the woman behind her, so close, so far away, had been a solid presence. She never pushed for anything, had gotten the others to back off when the clamor pulsed red hot and searing white in her mind. By the pictures around the apartment and the thick silver ring around both of their fingers, this woman had been important to her once.

Too bad she couldn’t remember a fucking thing.

“You should go back to bed, Elena,” Kira said, her voice coming off short, but she was worried about the strain on the other woman. She may not remember her as a wife, but Elena had been there as a support since she woke up in hospital six months ago, no memory of anything. 10 or so years of her life snuffed out like a flame. She hated seeing those flashes in Elena’s eyes when she thought Kira wasn’t looking, a look of mourning, sometimes of hope, but always with the underlying warmth of a loved one, no matter if they were alive or dead. 

She wanted to leave, to stop being a burden on this woman, but everyone; doctors, family, friends, Elena herself, said that Kira would stay there. Five years of her life were spent in that apartment, surely it would jog something. Unfortunately after two months nothing had knocked loose. She worried they never would. 

She felt like a stranger in a strange land, listening to people speak and talk, but nothing was making sense. Her arms wrapped tighter around her body, this fear of drowning that had been churning at the back of her mind threatening to overtake her.

Warm hands brushed against her arms and she froze.

“Kira.” The word was filled with the worry and concern and underlying love that had permeated everything Elena had done and it broke her.

“That’s the only thing I know about myself,” Kira spat, not turning, keeping her body still. “I only know that really because everyone keeps calling me that. I know that and this still fucking hurts,” She rubs hard at the pink, gnarled tissue that crosses her forehead, temple and down her jawline. Apparently she had been found at the bottom of a ravine, bloodied and broken. She had been kept in a coma for two months. The only things that felt real sometimes were the ache and weakness of her healed left arm and pain that would still light between her temples.

“What do you want me to do?”

It was a question, not demanding, but asking how to be helpful.

“I don’t know. That’s the issue isn’t it? I know some things, that my parents are my parents, that I’m allergic to peanuts...but this last decade is gone. That Kira is gone and it seems like everyone is trying to beat her back into existence, I just don’t know if that’s possible.” Tears burned at the back of her eyes and she covered her face with her hand, taking deep breaths to will them back. They wouldn’t do anything, but make her head hurt worse. “And every time I don’t make the connection someone wants and i see that flash of hurt...anger...i feel like I failed and I’m getting sick of that too.”

[keeper-of-all-the-random-things]

5. IN SICKNESS

Whumptober | No. 2 Delirium | Alt. 9 Drugging

In which Sam acquires some answers and many questions.

Previous | Next

*****

“Hey Sam! Wake up!  You’re going to be late.”  Victoria gives the obligatory knock before letting herself into Sam’s room.  She gives the room a quick scan.  “I keep forgetting what a nerd you are.”

Sam uncurls himself from his comforter to glare at his sister.  “I’m awake.  You can go now.”

“I’m going, I’m going.  No need to be a sourpuss.  We’re leaving in twenty.”

“Don’t remind me.”  Sam flips the comforter back over his head.  

“You can’t bail,” Victoria says.  “They chose you to ‘herald in the new class’, give a gloriously wordy speech about the honor of attending and –” 

“I got it!  Get out!”

*****

Sam is led down a dark hallway lit with strobing neon lights.

Nicky turns to him seriously and shouts over the music.  “Don’t blow it, okay!  I chose you to be my wingman for a reason.  Help me talk to Carmin!”

“Why do you need a wingman?”

“Have you met me?”  Nicky pauses for Sam to nod his agreement.

They push through a faceless crowd.  Sam spots Victoria dancing with their father.

“Hey Sam!” she calls.

Nicky does burpees in the middle of the floor.  “Hey!  Sam!”

Strangers pass and compete for his attention.

The room spins.

“Sam!”

*****

Sam woke in someone else’s bed, wearing someone else’s clothes.  He laid still, waiting for his memory to wake up too.

He looked around for a clue.

Clean navy sheets, a plain floor lamp, a dresser and nightstand, light grey walls.  It looked more like a show room than a living space.

“Like what you see?”

Sam sat up fast, then regretted the movement as his head spun.  “Jesus Christ.”

“Close, but no.”  Thomas leaned against the doorframe.  The air of menace he carried in the copse lost its edge when surrounded by furniture store neatness. 

“Where are we, Ikea?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, really?”

“No.  Why would we be there?  I swear, the APEs have lost their touch.”  Thomas turned to leave.

“Wait!  Who are the apes?”

“Get up.  I’m not having this conversation from the door.”  Thomas left before Sam could say anything else.

Sam got up slowly and was surprised to find Thomas waiting a few paces down the hall.

“Didn’t want you wasting time wandering around,” Thomas said.

They passed through several rooms, each painted in earth tones and made up in impeccable neatness.

“People live here?”  Sam asked.

“Just one.”

“The Steal,” Sam guessed.  “No wonder he’s the Bringer of Evils.  This place is dismal.”

Thomas stopped in the kitchen, a monstrosity of marble and steel, and motioned for Sam to sit at the island.  Thomas stood across from him, leaning against the sink, arms folded across his chest.

“How long was I …”  Sam started, picking at invisible lint on his borrowed shirt.

“A day and a half.  Is something wrong with your clothes?”

“Yes.  I mean … these aren’t mine.”  

“No.”

Sam stared expectantly at Thomas.

“These are better for sleeping,” was the only answer Thomas gave.

That was maddeningly unhelpful, but Sam had more pressing questions and didn’t want to press his luck asking about his clothes.

“Tell me about the ACE,” he said.

“ACEs.  There have been thirteen over the last five years.  ‘Assumed Chosen Entities’.”  Thomas scoffed.

“Thirteen?”

“Yes.  You’re not special.  Just one of the many the APEs send to do their dirty work.”

“Why?  How do they choose?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas said, though Sam sensed he knew more than he would say.

“Why me?”  Sam mused.

“The eternal question.”

“And you!  What do you have to do with all this?”

“Nothing good,” Thomas said mildly.

Sam waited for Thomas to elaborate, but they seemed to be at the end of that conversation.  Sam was left with more questions than he started with.  He sighed and tried for levity.  “Do you keep food in here or are the appliances just for show?

Thomas answered by warming a pot of chicken broth on the stove.  

Sam tried to organize the little information he’d been given.  There were too many holes.  He didn’t trust the Agency, and he wasn’t sure of Thomas yet.

“I was asleep for a long time,”  he said cautiously.

“Yes.”  Thomas held Sam’s eye as he handed over a mug of broth.

Sam sipped the liquid without blinking.  He was already too far into this mess to be properly worried.  He shivered as the broth warmed him.  Despite having slept all the previous day, he felt a deep weariness creeping into his body.  His vision wavered as he tried to pull Thomas into focus.

That answered one question.

“What'd you put in this?” he asked, tongue heavy.

Thomas stared at the floor.

“Thomas!”  Sam gasped as warm liquid spilled off the table into his lap.  he cut his fingers grasping uselessly at the sharp remains of the mug.

“You’ll do better next time,” Thomas said.

The world tilted as Sam hit the floor.

[moonlight-blue-rose]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Summary: Whumptober2020: Alt. 9 (Memory loss)

She didn't remember what. But every time she looked around, something was missing.