Sometimes, it’s still hard to believe they’re actually safe, actually warm and fed and comfortable. Curled up under a blanket in front of the tv, Whumpee sighs and closes their eyes, paying attention to the soft feel of a clean cotton shirt against their skin, the warmth and fluffiness from the blanket, the softness of the couch cushion under them. It took them a while, but they had relearned that they do deserve love and respect, they are a person, they can go up on furniture and make decisions.
Still, some days, when they are half asleep, they forget for a moment where they are, and it’s both terrifying and amazing to realize it wasn’t all just a dream.
“Hey, what are you thinking about?”
With a crooked smile, they look at Caretaker, curled on the other side of the couch, eyeing them curiously.
“Nothing. Why?”
Caretaker shrugs but doesn’t take their eyes off them. “You made this thoughtful face, I was just curious.”
“I was just thinking about how soft the blanket feels,” they guarantee. Not a lie, but also not the entire truth. They know the face Caretaker will make if they tell them they forgot for a second that the comfort and the safeness were real, and the night is way too good to be ruined by sad thoughts.
Caretaker opens their mouth, ready to reply, but before they can, the doorbell rings.
“It’s the pizza!” Whumpee exclaims, jumping up.
“I have never seen someone so excited about classic junk food,” Caretaker says, rolling their eyes. Whumpee simply smirks as they leave the living room and stride to the door, grabbing money from Caretaker’s wallet on the way. They might be eating pizza every week without fail for a year now, but they still remember rather vividly what it was like to get only old bread and water as sustenance.
Shuddering away the memory, they yank the door open with a little smile playing at their lips, hands already reaching up.
…only to be quickly pulled away when a broad figure almost falls over them.
The person catches themself on time, leaning against the doorframe to keep standing, one hand grasping it with white knuckles while the other stays tightly pressed to their abdomen. To a red stain that seems to be growing with each passing second.
“What– who…” Whumpee starts, but the words fail them. “What the fuck,” they mutter to themself, taking a hesitant step closer.
“I didn’t, didn– h-have any…where else to go,” they mumble, looking up through sweaty strands of hair.
It’s the voice that makes Whumpee halt. They know it better than their own. Had been ordered and punished and praised by it. And even if they hadn’t recognized the sound, those blinking eyes, even hazy with pain, are unmistakable.
“Whumper?”
Whumper only whimpers softly in response, leaning harder against the doorframe.
They had dreamed about that sound too, many times. The time when Whumper would be the one hurting, the one crumbling to the ground in a boneless heap, the one under the whip or the taser or the knife. And although in the dreams it felt like justice, in real life it felt like fear.
“What… I don’t– what happened?”
Flashes of their time with Whumper blink under their eyelids unbidden. Suddenly trembling, they bring a hand to their neck, just to make sure that there isn’t a collar there anymore – they can feel its weight around their throat, the tight leather always choking them. Even when they are met with only soft, lightly scarred skin, the tightness in their throat doesn’t go away.
“I need, need he-elp,” Whumper groans, reaching out to grab their hand.
Frozen in time, Whumpee lowers their head and lets Whumper hold onto them to keep standing. Pets never pull away from their Masters, after all.
It’s only when they pull Whumpee out of the door that reality comes crashing back and they yank their hand free, wide eyes and hitching breaths, but still a person. Still at home – safe, warm, rescued.
“Why should I help you?” Whumpee hisses, tears welling up in their eyes. It’s all they can do to keep from falling down in a sobbing mess. “All you ever did was hurt me. You never had mercy, no matter how much I begged or complied.”
For one moment, one fleeting instant, Whumpee waits for an apology. Or maybe a plead.
What they get instead is a growl and a threat.
“Whumpee,” Whumper calls in a voice that nearly sends them to their knees, “You’ll h-help me, b-because I said so.”
A puddle of crimson shines in the moonlight, dripping to Whumper’s feet. Their breathing is coming in short gasps, their body leaning completely against the door now. They barely have the energy to keep their head up, let alone strength enough to force themself inside the house – Whumpee knows they would have done it already if they could.
They take a moment to just stare. Take in the view of the person they loved and hated and feared, hunched and swaying on their feet at their doorstep, so lonely they came to their former captive for help. It’s a pitiful view and one that gives Whumpee a twisted kind of satisfaction. And a surge of guilt soon after – but still. That is Whumper there.
It’s hard to believe that that feeble person is the same one who had hurt them so many times. Who had made them into someone so completely new, they were still picking up the pieces a year later, still fighting their training and their memories. Still trying to understand who they were and who they’d become. All because of Whumper.
“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to,” they whisper, voice quivering but words clear. Whumper coughs and looks up, and Whumpee straightens up at the glare. “I don’t owe you anything. For all I care, Whumper, you can fucking die.”
With one last long glance at Whumper, they step back and close the door with a soft thud, and a satisfying click from the lock. They walk back to the living room with their heart hammering and their hands trembling, but their steps seem lighter somehow. They feel like freedom. True freedom.
“Hey, what took you so long?” Caretaker asks when Whumpee sits on the couch again, covering their shaky hands with the blanket. “And where’s the pizza?”
“It was someone lost, they thought someone else lived here,” Whumpee states, mildly surprised that their voice sounds completely calm and collected.
With a warm smile at Caretaker, they turn the tv back on, even though they can’t hear it under the roar in their ears.
Later, after the pizza comes – and thankfully Whumper is nowhere to be seen and the blood is easily missed by the delivery guy in the dim lighting –, while Caretaker is boiling water for some tea before bed, Whumpee calls 911 to tell them about a weird guy bleeding out in the neighborhood, half hoping it is already too late.
For @amonthofwhump’s March Madness for the whump trope: choking
Here’s my whumpee Zach having a very bad wake up call. I know the previous four Zach pieces have been post-escape but, and hear me out here, he was just in need of some whumping. So have some out of context, out of order, pain. (Read more high up the piece for vaguely referenced thoughts of noncon)
Zach woke up naked. He woke up stiff and sore, and though he knew he was on the thin mattress that was granted as his bed—he could smell the musty stink of it—he had no idea how or when he got there.
The two things combined were enough to turn his stomach, and bile crawled up his throat. There were fuzzy memories, blurred indistinct ones of beatings and being bent over a table… but was that the last thing that had happened? Or was there more? Was that even yesterday, or two days ago? It all mixed up together, and he couldn’t work out what had happened when, or which thing it was that had made him lose consciousness. Was it drugs again? An electric shock? Or just the accumulation of pain and fatigue and he’d passed out naturally?
He only knew he must have been out a while to have been brought back to his cell. Not knowing if anything more had happened while he was unawares he shivered and curled up, wishing for a blanket to cover himself with. As he moved he felt the protest in his bruised ribs and moaned as he clutched his side.
“Ah, he lives,” came a smarmy, grunt of a voice.
Great, Mack, of all people, was here.
Zach opened his eyes to better defend himself against whatever Mack had in mind and found something still blocked his sight. He groped for his face, arm numb from his own dead weight crushing it.
“Leave that,” Mack said. “Don’t you fucking dare touch it, that’s your first rule of the day.”
Zach swallowed, groaned again and pushed himself to sit up, hyper aware of every inch of skin on display. He smelled Mack’s cigarettes before he heard the man move, felt the stale smoke waft over his face and another roil of nausea that it brought with it. He lifted a hand to rub his nose and coughed onto the back of his hand to try and rid the smell and the almost-taste of it from his body.
Mack’s hand—probably, unless someone else was here too—caught his wrist and squeezed painfully. “You deaf today or some shit, I said don’t touch your fucking face.” Mack twisted his hand until the skin pinched beneath his grip, and the joint protested. Zach hissed in pain and lurched into action to try and grapple his hand free, digging nails into the back of Mack’s hand.
Mack held on for a few more long moments before he shoved Zach, freeing his wrist, and he scooted further away from where he thought Mack was crouching.
“Actually you said not to touch the blindfold,” he replied tersely. “Try thinking before you speak it might help you get your point across.”
Mack grabbed the back of his neck, fingers curling into the ends of his hair and yanked his head back. Zach hadn’t known to brace for it and the jerk sent a wave of pain that ricocheted down his neck and jarred something in his aching hip. “Far too mouthy you little shit. If it were up to me I’d sew that mouth of yours shut.”
“But then how would we have these little chats I know you love so much?”
Another puff of smoke rolled over his face and he wrinkled his nose, stomach churning. He needed food, water... he needed proper rest, not just to pass out after some torment or other and wake up bruised and sore. Resigned to not getting enough of any of those things he focused on the slight sense of satisfaction of irritating Mack instead.
He heard the hiss of the cigarette being dragged on and hoped it was nearly gone. It was fruitless hoping when fingers gripped his jaw until his lips puckered, the heat of the cigarette sizzling far too close to his skin, held in the fingers that gripped him. Then Mack’s lips were on his and he sucked in a breath of surprise only to inhale a mouthful of smoke.
He sucked it down, drawing it into his lungs in surprise, hoping and hoping for clean air to come on the back of it. Mack’s lips were a seal over his own that breathed the filthy, cloying stuff from his own mouth—expelled it forcefully right to the back of Zach’s throat.
Zach’s lungs grew tight and full and he needed to exhale but Mack’s mouth was still smacked over his own and his tongue was in Zach’s mouth too, invading and claiming and bitterly acrid. Zach grew dizzy, swayed forward as his lungs tried to force the shotgunned smoke back out, he coughed and wheezed and batted at Mack weakly. Over the sound of his own hacking coughs he heard Mack’s laughter. Why was it always funny to these pricks? Why did they have to delight in making him suffer or making him ill?
The weight of it all was enough to drive him flat back onto the mattress, gasping for breath, aware he wasn’t going to catch a break here. Not even given a moment to try and process and remember the previous day’s horrors before the current day’s began.
“Your mouth has other uses too, I guess. Wouldn’t want to miss out on those,” Mack’s shoe nudged him.
He was about to respond when Mack’s heavy weight descended on top of him, driving more air from his lungs. The hand was back and it caressed his jaw as he grew tight as a bow string, muscles locked like he could fight this, change whatever was about to happen by being ready. Mack’s calloused hand slipped lower and closed around his throat... and squeezed.
It trapped the air in his lungs, stopped the coughing in its tracks and he arched up, kicking his legs looking for the pressure to lessen. Mack held him on the knife edge of breathlessness until he went limp, allowed him a precious few wheezing breaths and then closed his hand again while he blew another round of smoke into Zach’s gasping mouth.
Zach squirmed as his chest failed to expand and his lungs didn’t fill, the black behind the blindfold going haywire with flashes of light and colour and then fading to grey. There wasn’t room for breathing or thinking, he was only animal—desperate, hungry and directionless with the fear that came hot on the heels of being pinned down and choked out.
He clawed and kicked, begged with soundless words as he tried to make the shapes and couldn’t find enough air to give them voice.
Mack pressed tighter one more time and then released. Just as Zach thought it was over a burning, blinding pain sparked to life on his shoulder. He writhed, still sputtering inhaled smoke while a scream—half surprise as well as pain—was forced out of his throat. He smelled his singed flesh as well as the ashes of a cigarette on his shoulder. With a heavy hand he blindly flicked the hot ash from his skin, feeling it smear on his fingers with intense heat. He knew the scent would linger on his hands for a while, like some sick sort of reminder of the mornings activities.
“I’d miss that scream too, oooh man, you’re like a little girl sometimes. Can’t handle a little ciggy?”
Zach grit his teeth while tears swelled hotly behind his eyes and he only hoped to keep them at bay. He felt sluggish, no idea if it was from whatever knocked him out, or the lack of breath in his body, or just the general exhaustion and constant suffering. He almost began to laugh, and caught it before it turned into a pitiful whine. Drawing more attention to himself for being strange wouldn’t help him now.
“Think fast,” Mack said and a thud of something heavy landed on his chest with a slosh and a thud. “Drink up. Boss wants you in the training rooms today.”
Grateful for the fresh bottle of water, and hating that he was, Zach fumbled to screw the cap loose. The water soothed his abused throat, settled his stomach a little. Made him feel, briefly, more human.
Mack pulled him off the mattress and to his feet and shoved a pair of loose trousers into his hands, holding him steady with a thumb pressed firmly on the spot Zach had just been burned. Zach steeled himself and ignored the sharp pain. He stepped one foot and then the other into the trouser legs, leaning on Mack for balance while he couldn’t see.
“Now you’ve got your modesty let’s fuckin’ get on with it, step to it Griffin, time to go see what else you’re good for today.”
With tired, heavy feet Zach followed where Mack steered him. Whatever dregs of human decency he was given were always taken away sooner or later. He wondered if today would be a day he remembered, or if it would fade and be lost to some indescribable pain like the day before. He shuddered, unsettled by the idea that maybe it was kinder if he forgot; if the memory was choked out of him into oblivion so he could sleep deeply and soundlessly. If all the days bled into one, would he really be living them? Or could he float through them like the moments he drifted, lacking in oxygen, somewhere between consciousness and sleep.
He hated that that seemed appealing and wrapped a tentative hand around the bruises forming on his throat and pressed down, just because he could, just to feel the pain because he chose to for once; just to remind himself he was still very much alive, awake, and human, and that was worth fighting for.
thought i would try something different and write a series of 100-word drabbles for my eight chosen prompts for @amonthofwhump and it was tough! turns out i like being wordy too much. but it was a good experiment!
contains: take me instead, defiant whumpee, choking, whipping, nightmares, escape attempt, doorstep collapse, whumper return
1. take me instead
She didn’t say the words. She didn’t need to.
She threw herself between her partner and their attacker without a thought, because it was necessary. If her partner was taken—if this man, this brute, had them completely at his mercy—she would never see them again.
She might still never see them again, but at least this way they would stay safe. If someone had to take the blow, she would offer her neck every time.
As her partner vanished into an alleyway and the attacker gripped her with cruel hands, she told herself this was the best option.
2. defiant whumpee
She refused to make it easy for him.
Her blow caught him off-guard, and she almost escaped until his fist cracked across her skull.
She made him work for every inch as he dragged her to the van, her snarled fuck yous lost in the screech of tires on gravel. As he wrestled her down and bound her wrists behind her back, the passing glow of a streetlight illuminated the bruises blooming across his face.
They dropped her in the dim warehouse and he stood before her, fists clenched. He asked his first question, and she spat at his feet.
3. choking
He paced before her, shoulders tense. He wanted names, locations, plans. She gave him curses, defiance, silence.
She couldn’t stall forever. Her face was already swelling from his beating, and he was becoming more brutal in his frustration. She prayed she wouldn’t let anything important slip when she inevitably lost.
He asked, and she ignored, and he snapped. He was on her at once, his hands wrapped around her throat, squeezing, squeezing. She couldn’t breathe. The world narrowed to his fingers crushing the life from her.
The last thing she heard was his growled threats before her world went black.
4. whipping
She knelt, her wrists tied to a pole. The back of her shirt was pulled over her shoulders, and a chill ran along her spine.
The man asked her a question. She said nothing.
A crack, and a line of fire across her back. She hissed through gritted teeth.
His question was angrier the second time. She set her jaw, and said nothing.
The whip sounded a split-second before lashing her. She bit back a scream, and continued to give him nothing, and the whipping became more erratic. Her back was agony, skin splitting under his relentless attacks.
She screamed.
5. nightmares
When he was done with her, he unbound her wrists and left her in the darkness. She lay unmoving, wondering when he would be back, wondering if she would die here, wondering if her partner would ever know what happened to her.
Her eyes couldn’t adjust to the darkness. The shadows only held deeper shadows, shifting and blurring whenever she tried to focus. Half-formed shapes of monstrous men smothering her, the unblinking void tearing at her soul. She sobbed, and the darkness swallowed the sound.
She didn’t realize she was sleeping until she awoke. Thin morning light broke the darkness.
6. escape attempt
He had left her alone, and her hands were untied. She wouldn’t wait for him to return.
The first time she tried to move, her shredded back seized with agony. She shuddered and sobbed until the waves of fire ebbed.
The second time, she stood on unsteady legs and stretched to grasp the lone windowsill. Her arms were barely halfway lifted before the strain on her back became a paralyzing pain.
I won’t die here, she told herself. She wouldn’t give the man that satisfaction.
Breathing deep, she threw herself at the window before her body could process the pain.
7. doorstep collapse
She must’ve been leaving telltale smears of blood behind her, but she didn’t care. She was escaping.
Her mind was a haze as she forced herself to walk through winding streets under the cool dawn light, the concrete and steel of the warehouses eventually giving way to rowhouses and bright boulevards. Her breath caught in her chest as she saw the familiar peeling paint of her front door.
She just managed to climb the few steps before the events of the past twelve hours hit her in a wave of exhaustion. She sank to her knees, and the door opened.
8. whumper return
Her partner lifted her in strong arms and brought her to the couch. Her head was spinning, but one thought persisted.
He knows we’re here, she said as they dabbed at wounds with a warm soaked cloth. He’ll come back for us.
Then we’ll be ready, her partner replied.
When he returned, they were ready.
She whispered to them what she’d seen in the warehouse, what vulnerabilities he’d shown—and they knew exactly how to destroy him.
Not dead, but chastened. Forced to retreat. They would have time to recover, to rest. To love each other.
Welcome to installment three of the March whump mini-series for @amonthofwhump‘s March Madness challenge. (I need to come up with a concrete title for this mini-series... ah well.) Featuring the dislocated/broken bones and defiant whumpee tropes -- some of my favorites to use in both whump and regular writing. I have a whump modus operandi, or so it would seem. This chapter is dedicated to @ashintheairlikesnow because reasons.
chapters: one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten
~*~*~*~
“Quit making that noise, Maresh. You sound like a stuck pig.” Holland’s footsteps circled Kell where he lay on the flagstone floor. He had been listening to the redhead moan and yelp for an hour or so now. He couldn’t help chuckling at the thought. “Perhaps that’s what you are.”
Kell groaned, cheek pressed to the floor. After another minute of dramatics, he looks up with blazing blue eyes. “Fuck. You. Holland.”
Holland rolled his eyes, circling back around the small room, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. If only Kell realized how easy Holland had been on him so far. Astrid’s explicit orders. Leave the kid gloves on, Holland; I want him weeping when I get to him. If he had had his way, Kell would have been out cold within minutes — an homage to how quickly Athos had rendered him limp and useless years ago.
But he had orders.
So Holland leaned back, then threw all his weight forward. The toe of his boot connected hard with Kell’s stomach. The redhead let out a horrible, sputtering gag. He rolled onto his knees, clutching his stomach as he coughed and spit onto the stones. Holland grinned as he took another turn of the room, coming to lean against one of the walls.
He was disappointed, frankly, as he watched the scene before him. He knew Kell Maresh was soft — raised among all that wealth and excess, wanting for nothing, how could he not be? — but Holland had expected a better fight out of him. The younger man’s resolve had concertinaed the second Holland’s knife had gone through his hand.
“This is embarrassing,” Holland muttered, running a hand over his jaw. Stubble scratched at his palm and Kell continued to retch. Holland rolled his eyes, pushing himself off the wall, and crouched down next to the groaning man. “I didn’t expect you to be such a weak, whiny bastard, you know that Maresh?”
Kell heaved himself up from the floor long enough to spit on Holland’s shoe. “Takes one to know one,” he rasped.
Holland’s hand shot out, fingers gripping the sweaty red strands tightly at the root. He stood, hauling Kell backwards and dragging him for a few feet before shoving him back down. The insults must have spurned something inside Kell. As soon as his back hit hit the floor, he was lurching back upright. Holland pushed him back down, dropping down over his chest. The rebellion was inspired — clawing fingers, biting teeth, kicking legs — but it was quickly snuffed out.
“That’s more like it!” Holland grinned. He grabbed at Kell’s hair again, cracking his head against the stone floor. Not wanting to miss an easy opportunity, Holland threw a fist. The give and snap of Kell’s nose under his fist made him grin. Fresh red blood dripped over Kell’s lips and chin. Holland went for another, just for the hell of it.
Kell coughed, spitting blood in a fine mist that settled like gory red freckles on his pale face. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“I was running. You could have let me go.”
Holland barked a laugh. “And risk you running your mouth all over London? Not likely, Maresh. You and you brother have been stepping into my territory. You’re bad for business. You understand.”
“The Danes’ territory, you mean.” Kell glared up at him.
Holland watched him brace for another punch. It made the yelp he made next that much sweeter. Holland gripped the other man’s arm, shoving it over his head and twisting the wrist once. He felt a pop and what might have been a crunch underneath his palm. The gashes in Kell’s palm, still pink and painful, began weeping blood again.
“Sanct!”
“Curse like you mean it, for fuck’s sake,” Holland sighed. He yanked and twisted Kell’s wrist again to drive the point home.
Kell let out a sharp, strained scream. “Fuck! You get off on this, don’t you?”
“I don’t,” Holland answered, leaning all his weight onto the injured arm. “Believe it or not, you do nothing for me.”
“Pilse,” Kell spat.
“Don’t tire yourself out, Maresh. Better save some of that fight for later, when the Twins decide to pay a visit.” Holland released his wrist, sitting back on his heels and dusting his hands on his pant legs. “This is kid-glove treatment. A warm up. Even after weaseling into our joints, stealing our customers, disobeying the agreed-to line, you get off easy.”
“Jealous?” Kell raised an eyebrow, looking confident he had struck a nerve.
“Not a chance.” Holland twisted his fingers in Kell’s shirt front, yanking him up off the floor. “Even day one, when Athos and Astrid laid into me like there was no tomorrow, I wasn’t the sniveling, whining, squealing disgrace you are right now.”
“I’m not—!”
Kell’s protest was cut off as Holland released his grip, tossing him across the room. His shoulder hit the ground first, his forehead following as his body rolled with the momentum of the throw. Holland didn’t have time for Kell to refocus. In a breath, Holland was back on him, dragging him back only to throw him into the wall of the small basement room. He stepped back to observe, lying in wait for whatever move Kell would choose.
Kell slumped down onto the floor, rolling forward onto his side. He was still for a moment, his ragged breaths echoing softly around the room.
Holland counted in his head. Ten seconds for the redhead to stir back to life. Seventeen for him to try pushing himself upright. Another twelve spent whimpering after putting too much pressure on his sliced up palm and injured wrist. A final thirty for Kell too roll up onto his knees to press himself up on the wall. Holland watched, impassively, as the younger man cradled his wrist to his chest, tears welling up and spilling down over his cheeks. A darker part of him hoped the minute bones were broken.
Holland stepped forward, relishing Kell’s flinching and wincing. He crouched down, balancing expertly on the balls of his feet. “Yes. You. Are. Look at yourself, Maresh.”
Kell stared blankly at him. “Look at yourself, Vosijk.”
“I have. Plenty of times.”
“And you’re happy with it?”
“I’ve learned to live with what I’ve become,” Holland said, low and threatening. “Someday, you will too.”
Holland reached out, grabbing Kell by the ankle and pulling him back down onto the floor. He snatched Kell’s arm from his chest, subjecting his wrist to an iron grip as he flipped the other man onto his face. He wrenched the arm up around onto Kell’s back, the joint popping loudly. Kell yelped and wriggled, trying weakly to throw Holland off him.
Shoving a knee into the small of Kell’s back, Holland dropped heavy on the other man’s hips, then leaned forward to Kell’s ear. “I have my orders, you know.”
“Dis-disobey,” Kell hissed through gritted teeth.
“My will against yours, Kell.” Holland twisted Kell’s arm. The joints and bones crackled. The fabric of his soiled shirt strained and ripped. “Strange how one small deal can ruin so much.”
“Make. A Choice. Holland.”
“You know I don’t have one.”
Kell wriggled, then screeched. He panted, open-mouthed, into the stones. “Make. One.”
“Answer me something, Kell,” Holland answered, throwing his weight forward. “Are you afraid of dying?”
“No.”
Holland chuckled at the defiance — the flaring, bitter, anger. He leaned forward, biting deeply into the shell of the redhead’s ear. Just to hear him squeak and squeal again. When he released it, he licked the wound, and hissed: “When I’m done with you, you will be.”
Written for @amonthofwhump’s March Madness bracket 1, Trope: Wing Whump.
Rated: mature
Warnings: graphic depictions of violence
Pairings: none
Word Count: 2,906
Summary: Hiccup is captured by Viggo Grimborn, one of the richest men in the world, and Viggo wants to break him and add him to his collection.
Hiccup couldn’t see in the dark. He didn’t know where he was - some kind of basement, maybe. He was without a shirt, his arms chained above him, leaving him vulnerable. The room was big enough for him to spread and stretch his wings, but he kept them close to his back, afraid of anyone or anything touching them.
He didn’t know what had happened. One instant he had been at a bar, and the next he was in a car with his head lolling against a man’s shoulder. He hadn’t remained conscious for long, and now here he was, chained up and vulnerable and in the dark.
Footsteps, heavy, like the person was wearing boots. Then blinding fluorescent lights flickered on with a series of clicks. Hiccup cringed, blinked against the sudden light.
“There,” the man said in a British accent. “Now I can see you.” He came to stand in front of Hiccup, hands clasped behind his back, a pleased smile on his face. He was quite a bit older than Hiccup, his hair, beard, and eyes dark, his jaw square. He was taller than Hiccup too, by a few inches. He was dressed in a black suit.
“Who the hell are you?” Hiccup asked, replacing his fear with anger. There were a million questions he wanted to ask, but why not get this one out of the way?
The man laughed lightly. “Viggo Grimborn. You might have heard of me?”
Yes, Hiccup had heard that name before. He didn’t check the news often, but sometimes the man’s name was in headlines. He was an affluent businessman who often avoided scandals.
“What do you want with me?” Hiccup asked.
“Well…” Viggo came forward, reached over Hiccup’s shoulder, and stroked the curve of one black wing. Hiccup shuddered, tried to pull back, but the chains wouldn’t let him go anywhere. He didn’t like it when people touched his wings without his consent. The Winged People were rare, so it happened quite frequently. The only one Hiccup really allowed to touch his wings was Astrid, his lover. “Let’s say I’m drawn to you.”
That sparked something in Hiccup. Drawn to him? Did that mean Viggo knew who he was? Had he been watching him, having someone else watch him? Why was he here? Why him?
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
Viggo circled around to Hiccup’s back, and Hiccup fluttered his wings and pulled on his chains, but to no avail. He wasn’t getting out of this, whatever this was.
“I’ve been watching you, Hiccup, my dear,” Viggo said, and Hiccup cringed at the term of endearment. There was no denying that this man was creepy as all hell. “Closely. For weeks now. You should see some of the pictures my employees got of you. Quite wonderful, I must say.”
“Why?” Disgust curled in Hiccup’s stomach, fear racing like ice through his veins. He’d been stalked for weeks and hadn’t even noticed.
“Because I want you.” Viggo touched his right wing, ran his hand along the top of it, and Hiccup gave a warning growl, though, there was nothing he could do to stop him. “You’d look beautiful in my collection.”
Collection? What did that mean? Were the people and things in it living or dead?
Viggo seemed to sense Hiccup’s nerves over this. “Not to worry, my dear. It’s a living collection.”
“So you want me as a prisoner?”
“Yes.”
Hiccup was trying his best not to panic. There had to be some way out of this right? Certainly his friends would notice that he’d gone missing and would search for him or alert the proper authorities. But how long was it until he was considered a missing person? How long did he have to stay with this Viggo Grimborn?
“Though, there are some things we have to go through before I let you go upstairs,” Viggo said, still stroking his wing. “A process, if you will.”
“W-what process?”
“Breaking you.”
Now Hiccup laughed. He wouldn’t break for this man. He wouldn’t break for anyone. He knew his own will and strength, knew that he could take pain. His left leg had had to be amputated below the knee. He knew what agony was.
“Enjoy yourself while you can, darling. It won’t be for very long.”
And then Viggo stopped touching him, and he was leaving, going back up the stairs, and turning off the light. Now, Hiccup was alone to contemplate everything that had just happened. Viggo wanted to use him as some prized toy. And what was with the “my dear” and “darling”? Was he… attracted to him? Were there other things he wanted from him? Sexual things?
Hiccup shuddered, and then he was hyperventilating, breathing much too fast. It didn’t take long for him to get dizzy or for his chest to hurt. He sagged in his chains, his prosthetic slipping on the floor. Even if the lights were on he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to see. He’d been kidnapped by one of the richest men in the world, a man who could throw money at any problem and make it go away or hush it up. Stalking and kidnapping apparently weren’t new to him. He’d be able to keep Hiccup, wouldn’t he? He had enough influence to do it.
And that scared him to no end.
---
Hiccup wasn’t given any food. Chained up like this, he would have to eat it out of someone’s hand like a dog, but right now, he was so hungry that he didn’t think he cared about how humiliating that would be.
He hadn’t really slept, either. It was difficult to do so, forced standing like this. He didn’t know how long he was left down there. It felt like a day, maybe two. His body wanted food and rest, and so he actually perked up when there were footsteps on the stairs.
Two pairs of footsteps this time, one pair Viggo’s, the other heavier than his. Was he bringing someone down here to beat him?
The lights flickered on, and Hiccup squinted at the suddenness of it. He turned his head towards the stairs to see Viggo stepping down into the basement, in a suit like last time, followed by a big man that bore a little bit of a resemblance to him. Was this his brother? He didn’t know if he had a brother or not, but that’s what he looked like.
“And how is our guest doing?” Viggo asked, coming to stand in front of Hiccup with the big man, who didn’t look impressed.
“You could have had the decency to unchain me,” Hiccup spat, not wanting to show that he was already beginning to lose his fire. He didn’t want to show that two days with no food and sleep was getting to him.
“And have let you get away?” Viggo asked. “I think not. You could just take off into the air and never be seen again. No, no. We don’t want that.” He glanced at the big man beside him. “Have you met my brother Ryker? He’s the one who did such a good job of apprehending you.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Hiccup said sarcastically. “Congratulations. I couldn’t have done a better job myself.” He fluttered his wings a little, gave them a stretch. He’d been trying to keep his wings maintained by stretching them every once in a while, but he was pretty sure they needed grooming.
“Now, when I said I would break you,” Viggo began, “I did mean your spirit, but also your body. I want to be able to let you roam free while knowing you can’t leave me.”
Those words sparked Hiccup with fright. Break his body? How?
He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “And how are you going to do that?”
“I was going to let Ryker here take a swing at you.” Viggo stepped back, then gestured to Hiccup. “Have your fun, brother.”
“Wait! No, no! I-” Hiccup didn’t really know what he was going to say, but he didn’t get to finish as Ryker stepped forward and drove a huge fist right into his gut. The punch was incredibly hard, knocking the air out of him, bursting him through with pain. He slipped and the chains had to hold him up, tugging on his arms. He felt like he nearly passed out.
While he was recovering, Ryker punched him again. And again. Hiccup lost track of where he hit him. He just knew that everything hurt and that there might be broken bones. He could hardly make a sound as it happened, just grunts and gasps for air.
Then the flurry of blows stopped, and Hiccup sagged in the chains, making them rattle. He hung his head, panting, groaning. Ryker had avoided hitting his face. That was good at least, right?
Viggo came over. He took Hiccup by the chin, forced his head up to make him look at him.
Hiccup glared.
“Hm, a simple beating won’t take the fire out of you, will it?”
“Go to hell.”
Viggo smiled at the remark, clearly amused. He let go of Hiccup’s chin.
“I think I know what will break you,” Viggo said, circling around to Hiccup’s back. That made Hiccup’s hackles rise. His wings. He was talking about his wings.
Hands touched the base of them, ran over the strong bone at the top. Hiccup fluttered them to try to relieve them of Viggo’s touch, but he gripped them hard and kept them in position.
“Don’t touch me there!” Hiccup shouted.
“These will make you a fine addition to my collection.” Viggo completely ignored him, gave his wings a tug. Hiccup moaned in distress. “But after they heal.”
“H-heal from what?” Hiccup inquired fearfully.
Viggo ran one hand over to the delicate finger bone on his right wing. Hiccup’s eyes went big. That would be easy to break.
“No, no, no!”
Viggo, of course, didn’t listen. Hiccup shrieked as the bone was snapped, his voice bouncing off the walls of the basement. Fire screamed through his nerves, and he couldn’t stop yelling. Tears formed in his eyes.
The tears fell as Viggo broke the same bone on the left with a twist of his hands. Hiccup just screamed with it. He tried to move his wing away, but oh, that hurt so bad. He tossed his head back, bellowing. He’d never felt anything like this before. People were usually careful about his wings. His friends certainly were, and so was Astrid. God, he wanted her to find him and take him from this horrible place.
Viggo didn’t let go of him once the breaking was over. He ran hands over the soft feathers at the top, then down towards his flight feathers.
“If you’re good, I won’t shear these off,” Viggo told him. Hiccup definitely didn’t want that to happen. There were blood vessels in his flight feathers, and nerves. Such a thing would hurt like hell.
“Wh-what counts as being good?”
“Doing as I say and not trying to escape.” Viggo kept stroking his wings, and Hiccup cried at the pain and the unwanted touch. He hadn’t wanted to cry in front of these two men, but he couldn’t help it. “The better you act, the sooner you get brought upstairs.”
Viggo finally let go of him. Then he did something Hiccup hadn’t expected: he reached for the manacles around Hiccup’s wrists and began to undo them.
Hiccup couldn’t hold himself up once the chains were off him, and he collapsed to the hard cement, surely scraping up his knees through his jeans. Ryker laughed rather hard, and Hiccup was afraid he was going to kick him.
“You know, I hate your stupid collection,” Ryker said to Viggo, “but I do like breaking in the pieces.” Then he did kick Hiccup, in the shoulder, making him go down with a grunt.
Viggo sighed. “Yes, you’ve expressed your contempt many a time.”
Hiccup flinched as Viggo leaned down and pet his hair. “Food and water will be brought down for you shortly. Be a good boy now.”
Those words and the touch made Hiccup want to spit on him, but he was in no position to do so. He just groaned at the pain in his body and his wings.
Then Viggo and Ryker left, Ryker giving him one last look as he ascended the stairs. The door clanged shut and was locked, and Hiccup was left alone.
Since he was alone, he cried. He wailed and sobbed. He’d been kidnapped by one of the richest men in the world, and he was trying to break him to add him to a collection of living beings, some probably like him. And now his wings were broken, and oh, how they hurt! He just wanted to be home, wanted to curl up on his bed with his cat and his lover. He wished that none of this had happened, that it was just some horrible nightmare.
It felt like an hour passed before the door unlocked and opened again. Hiccup had managed to stop crying, but hadn’t moved from his place on the floor. A tray of food was set next to him, and then whoever it was, a servant, probably, was retreating up the stairs and leaving him alone. Hiccup could have followed them up the stairs, but what was the point? He couldn’t fly away, he didn’t know where he was, and what if Viggo or Ryker found him?
Hiccup had no appetite anymore. He pushed the tray away, then curled into a ball and lay on his side, leaving his wings spread. Bending them would definitely hurt more than this currently did.
He wanted to cry again, but had no tears left. He felt like he would have been able to take starvation and beatings, but his wings were an intimate part of them. To have them defiled so… He didn’t know how to handle it. And he wished he didn’t have to handle it.
Hiccup closed his eyes against the bright lights, wishing for unconsciousness.
---
Viggo visited him a lot, sometimes with Ryker, sometimes without. He bandaged his wings for him, but then wouldn’t stop touching them. So, Hiccup fought. He grappled with him and spit at him. What did that earn him? A kick to already-sore ribs and his flight feathers sheared off. Blood sprayed across the concrete floor and he was left screaming.
It went on like that for a long time. Hiccup finally stopped refusing food. He didn’t exactly know why, other than the fact that he was incredibly hungry. Now wasn’t the time to psychoanalyze himself.
Hiccup was sitting peacefully on the floor when Viggo came in. He had a brush with him. He sat behind Hiccup, began to undo his bandages to check how his wounds were doing. Hiccup was silent.
“How are you feeling today, my dear?”
Hiccup said nothing. Why should he have to respond to such an inane question? He was hurting, body and soul. How could he not be? His bruises were beginning to fade though, and his flight feathers were new stubs beginning to grow back. The pain in his wings wasn’t so bad anymore.
But he didn’t think of escape.
Viggo began brushing his wings. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this. Hiccup had gotten very used to him touching them by now.
“You know, I think you’re the prettiest piece I own,” Viggo said. The brushing felt good, and Hiccup couldn’t help sighing. He loved getting his wings groomed. That was usually an intimate task reserved for Astrid, but he had no choice but to let Viggo do it. “You might even end up in my bed.”
Hiccup didn’t know how to react to that. It didn’t surprise him though, not with the way Viggo had been treating him, not with the terms of endearment and gentle touches.
“Wow, lucky me,” he said sarcastically, finally thinking of an answer.
Viggo huffed. “Don’t be so upset about it. I will treat you well. I promise.”
Hiccup didn’t believe him, but he said nothing. More sarcasm would probably end in punishment, and Viggo knew how to get to him now. Hurt any other part of his body - that was fine. Hurt his wings? He would break.
Viggo began humming as he brushed Hiccup’s wings, and he wasn’t at all surprised to recognize a classical tune. His humming didn’t sound bad though, and that combined with the brushing left Hiccup in an almost dazed state of bliss. He just closed his eyes and let this happen, let his body relax.
He was disappointed once the brush stopped. Viggo stood, brushed himself off. There were some small, loose feathers on his suit. With the brush in his right hand, he held his left out to Hiccup. Hiccup looked at it, then glanced at his face.
“I-is it time?” Hiccup asked.
Viggo smiled. “Yes, I do believe you’re ready to go upstairs.”
Hiccup tentatively took Viggo’s hand, let him help him to his foot and his prosthetic. He was filthy after having been down here for so long without so much as a bath, but hopefully he would get one once he left the basement. Maybe the food would be better too.
Together, he and Viggo went up the stairs, and this time when the door closed, Hiccup was not behind it.
@amonthofwhump, here is yet another vote for Dislocated/Broken Bones. I’m really trying to belt these out as fast as I can now. Kind of wish I knew exactly when the votes were going to be counted, like... The specific time, y'know for us procrastinators and/or those who got in on this a lil too late. I’m going off on the assumption that it’ll continue to accommodate our westerners and so as a person in the european zone, I still have at least a few more hours to throw some more in. Fingers crossed, I have 3 more planned.
Quoting my dear friend @SableFlynn, who got me into this march madness mess to begin with, and who was quoting someone else:
"With a heavy heart I shall be tagging this as lady whump for… engagement." I better get some, or I would have given up my honour for nothing! (I jest... Only partially.)
Things continue to get worse for our lady. Drabble below the cut for safety and length.
Cw: Restrained, whipped female whumpee who proceeds to earn a dislocation injury. Creepy male whumper pulling out all the stops and going to town with his whip (implied) referred bleeding wounds and described dislocation. Reluctant male forced to watch.
Just like she had once rhythmically and incessantly banged her knee against the roof of the trunk from the inside… A tattoo of a beat played against her. It left a tattoo of intertwining red lashes on her skin too. It was a sharp sound, a cruel sound, one that hurt her, quite literally, and made anyone watching and listening to it - Aodhan - wince.
Peter was an expert with the whip, which was initially surprising. He didn’t typically descend from his throne to personally attempt wrangling the kidnapped people into accepting their new roles. But it became obvious why the whip that sliced the air and landed against Kadri with such ease, why it looked like it could have been an extension of Peter’s limbs. It was because he no longer differentiated between the thick rump and hind-legs of his horse… and the lithe body in front of him. And Peter liked to ride his horses.
It went on till another unique cry that Kadri had never let slip tore through the rhythm. It echoed in the cell and forced an eerie silence. In an attempt to twist away from the cruel implement, while still being limited by the binds that held her in a semi-strappado, her shoulder popped out of place - visibly. Aodhan turned away as her already contorted form, now turned an unfamiliar sort of grotesque. Peter was disgruntled at the pause. So much so that he didn’t pause and let a few more lashes rain against her, despite the seeming urgency of her injury. Each evoked a heart-shattering cry. Till Aodhan was once again forced to beg in her stead for mercy, and subconsciously he wondered if she would at least now, if she could.
His feet carried them of their own accord and once he made contact with Peter’s he could sense the satisfaction and joy that reeked from him. Aodhan could sense just how much he wanted to go on and how irritated this pause left him. He wanted to exert his dominance, he wanted to feel like no one and nothing could stop him. Peter wanted this, almost like a need. Aodhan was eager to break contact, it was difficult to know how much joy this brought the cartel runner. Peter made it easier, the man with his rolled sleeves wrested away from Aodhan roughly. Aodhan let go eagerly, Peter turned to stare him down, with a wrathful challenge. For once, Aodhan didn’t flinch, or back down, he held his ground, but his pleas were garbled and desperate. “Please… Please stop. Please, just… stop.”
Peter’s eyes darted from Aodhan to the breathless, blood-streaked, awkwardly buckled Kadri and then back to Aodhan again. He threw the crimson coated whip to the floor, “Fine, fix her then. I’m not done.” With that, Peter left the two of them alone, like he had so many times before. But never had things been this bad.
“Hopefully this doesn’t take to long” Hein said, folding his hands behind his head “Because it is way to hot to be outside today”
“Stop complaining would you” Leia said, rolling her eyes at him “Things might go faster if you stop running your mouth and just do what we came here for”
Hein groaned, but did not say anything else, causing Gruen to snort and chuckle. “She’s on the war path today, Hein” Gruen said “Don’t say anything stupid or else you’ll get the sharp end of her words”
This time Hein just pulled a face at him, but did not say anything.
“Do you think we’ll see Reiken there?” Saffron asked.
Hein glanced down at the ground. After the incident where Reiken burned down a village to stop and kill demons, he hadn’t came back to their village and no one could get a hold of him or find him anywhere. It was like he just disappeared.
Although Hein had a feeling that Reiken might have a good reason not to want to interact with anyone at the moment. Not just that, those injuries of his were pretty bad, so he’d need some time to recover.
After that break down he had about have to destroy the village, it was understandable.
“I hope he’s alright” Saffron said.
Gruen glanced over his shoulder at the two girls. “You want to go check up on him?” he asked.
Leia shook her head. “No” she said “We’ll just be a bother”
“Don’t think so” Hein said “Both the times we went up there, he was in serious need of help”
“I think we need to show him that he can trust us” Leia said “And just randomly showing up at his place, isn’t going to help. What if he’s out fighting demons?”
Before anyone could say a word, something came flying through the trees, crashing into the ground next to them. The girls let out yells, quickly moving away, while the guys stepped in front of them.
The first thing they noticed was the short blood red hair that slowly got up, right before the acid smell of demon blood reached them.
Reiken.
He glanced at them, nodded and then shot forward into the trees again.
A high pitched screech sounded before silence followed.
The small group looked at each other, eyes wide.
“What the hell just happened?” Gruen asked.
***
Reiken groaned as he stumbled away from the dog demon, holding his right arm tightly against his side. It was of no use for him to even pretend that it did not hurt extremely badly.
With a turned slightly to where he crashed through the trees only moments before. He blinked a few times.
That was Gruen and the others that he just saw back there, wasn’t it? It sure looked like them, but what the heck would they be doing all the way up here? Hopefully they didn’t think to go visit his cottage again.
Yeah, no one else would so stupid to go up his cottage. It was definitively them.
With a sigh he walked back in the direction he was thrown. With his luck the four of them would wonder right into into the demon nest looking for him, like the idiots they were.
“Reiken!” a voice called out and he looked up.
Just as he thought. It was Gruen and the others.
He stopped, tilting his head slightly as he looked at them. “What are you doing here?” he asked “You know how dangerous it is”
“The question is what the hell are you doing crashing into the ground and then just taking of like that again?” Gruen asked, arms crossed.
“I’m busy” Reiken said “What are you doing here?”
Gruen just sighed. “We’re on our way to Tam’s farm. He asked for help with fixing the barn, since no one could get a hold of you, or even knew where you were” he said.
Reiken sighed, looking back down at the ground, avoiding Gruen’s eyes. “Sorry...” he said quietly “... I was busy”
“We guessed that” Hein said “Do you want to come help out?”
Reiken blinked a few times as he looked up at them. “What?” he asked confused.
“Do you want to come and help us?” Hein asked again.
“We could use your help” Saffron said with a smile.
For a moment Reiken relaxed his shoulders, but a bolt of pain reminded him that he dislocated the one. Slowly he just let go of his arm.
“Please?” Leia asked “We haven’t see you in some time, we got worried”
Again Reiken looked looked away from them. He could feel the guilt rising in his chest.
“I’m sorry...” he said again.
“Don’t apologize” Saffron said “If you’re busy, you’re busy. There’s nothing that you can do about it”
“So do you want to come?” Hein asked.
“Alright” Reiken muttered.
“YES!” Hein and Gruen said at the same time, giving each other a high five.
A slight smile pulled on Reiken’s face, but it disappeared quickly and he just stared down at the ground again.
***
“You kids be careful now” Tam said “There’s a reason I need help with the barn”
Gruen nodded. “Don’t worry about it, Uncle Tam” he said “We’ll be careful. Here’s enough hands, so we don’t have to rush anything”
Tam glanced at Reiken that stood at the back of the group, still just staring down at the ground. He barely said anything the entire walk to Tam’s farm. It was almost like the first time they met. Short sentences, nods and head sakes.
“Just be careful” Tam said again “I don’t want you guys to get hurt”
“I’ll... I’ll make sure they...don’t get hurt” Reiken said, not looking at Tam. It would be his fault, he knew it. If anyone got hurt, it would be his fault because he’d been hiding again. So he needed to take responsibility for it.
“Make sure you do, Reiken” Tam said “Take care of yourself as well”
Reiken’s head jerked up for a moment, eyes widened slightly before he look down at the ground again. The earnest look in Tam’s eyes were just to much for his guilty conscious.
The barn was a mess. There was a storm a few days ago that did a lot of damage, the barn included.
“We should just start cleaning things out” Hein said “This place is a mess”
Reiken’s eyes flickered over the rafters. “Stay away from the rafters” he said “I’ll... take care of it”
Hein and Gruen looked at him with aa frown.
“Are you sure about that?” Gruen asked, his eyes flickering to Reiken’s shoulder.
Reiken just nodded, resisting the urge to flinch at the pain, but he just pushed it to the back of his mind.
“I’ll be fine” he said and quickly left to get Tam’s tools.
The work went slowly. Gruen and Hein, took care of any of the heavy things, while Leia and Saffron started cleaning everything else. Reiken worked in silence on the broken rafters. He barely managed to lift his arm and could barely hold on to anything.
The muscle in his shoulder spasmed causing new waves of pain to go through his arm.
“Hey Rei” Gruen called from beneath “You want to take a break? Miss Mia brought some juice for us. Wanna come down?”
Reiken bit his lip and nodded.
Slowly he climbed down, eyes flickering towards one of the lose rafters that he hasn’t gotten to yet.
“How’s it going up there?” Hein asked, glancing up at roof.
Reiken sighed and shrugged with his good shoulder. “There’s a few more...” he said softly “Then it’s finished...”
“Wow... you work fast” Hein said.
“Guys” Leia said walking up to them, holding out mugs to both of them “Here you go”
Reiken hesitated before he took the mug, but it slipped right through his fingers as he lost his grip. For a moment he just stared down at the mug, blinking. That should not have been so surprising.
“Reiken!” Leia said, eyes wide “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”
“Sorry” he said, gripping his injured arm to his side “I... guess it’s worse than I thought”
“What do you mean, it’s worse than you thought?” Leia asked “Did you injure your arm or something?”
“Dislocated it” Reiken said.
“WHAT!” Hein yelled “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Reiken shrugged with his good shoulder. “It’s nothing”
“That’s not nothing!” Leia said, eyes narrowing at him “You need to take care of that”
“We need to set it again” Hein said.
“I can do it myself” Reiken said and the other two gave him a flat look.
“You are not doing that on your own” Hein said, glaring dangerously at Reiken “At least let me help you with that”
Reiken sighed and nodded slightly.
“Now keep still” Hein said as he carefully took Reiken’s arm.
“I’ll get you another mug of juice” Leia said as he walked over to where mug rolled.
Reiken’s eyes followed her and he glanced up at the rafters. She was headed right to where the rafters were the weakest and most unstable. He flinched, closing his eyes when Hein placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Alright” Hein said “One... Two... Three”
A bolt of pain tore through his shoulder before dimming. It felt much better already. He breathed out and slowly opened his eyes. “Thank you” he said, still holding his arm against side.
“You done?” Leia asked as she picked up the mug.
Reiken nodded. “Sorry for making you worry” he said.
“It’s alright” Leia said “It’s not a problem, Reiken. You’re our friend”
A loud crack sounded through the barn and the three of them froze. Slowly Reiken lifted his eyes towards the rafters. His blood ran cold and he shot forward.
“LEIA!” he yelled as the rafters started coming down around the woman.
Leia let out a scream and quickly hunched down, hands covering her head.
Reiken tried to reach for his power, but the bracelet blocked him and he could barely summon a breeze. So he just did the only other thing that he could, he shielded her with his own body, his good arm lifted above his head.
Somewhere in the distance he could hear Hein’s voice calling out to him and Leia.
Reiken groaned as he pushed against the pain and wood that pressed down on his arm. “Leia?” he through clenched teeth “Are you alright?”
Leia glanced up at him, eyes wide.
“Reiken...” She whispered.
“Are you alright?” Reiken asked again, flinching as he slowly started pushing the collapsed rafters back. They were heavier than he thought and struggled against the weight.
“I’m... I’m alright” Leia said and flinched slightly when blood dripped down on her face “You’re... injured”
Reiken groaned, clenching his teeth. “HEIN!” he called out, ignoring Leia.
“Reiken! Leia! Are you two alright?” Hein’s voice called.
“We’re fine” Reiken growled, but with a yelp he sank to his knees. His arm trembling in pain. It hurt. He didn’t think that he’d be able to keep it up.
Slowly he pushed back against the rafters. He could feel it move, but he could also feel the bones in his arm shift painfully. That’s what you get for trying to catch a rafted with one arm. Not that he expected a different outcome, but what else was he supposed to do?
“Just hold on” Hein’s voice called out “We’ll get you out of there in a few”
“Take your time...” Reiken growled, clenched his teeth and then then pushed. The collapsed rafters moved before suddenly tumbling away from him and Leia. His knees buckled beneath him and he just sank down next to Leia, cradling his broken arm against his chest.
Gruen and Saffron came rushing through the door, while Hein just blinked in shock.
“How the hell did you do that?” Hein asked slowly.
Reiken slowly lifted his head. “Adrenalin” he said, before groaning and leaning forward, ignoring the pounding in his head.
It took Leia a moment before she came over her shock, before she quickly looked at the others. “He’s hurt! Get some medical supplies...”
Reiken did not hear anything of what she told the others, there was only a loud buzzing in his ears. So he just ignored it, not that it mattered to him. They were all alive and no one but him got hurt. So that was enough for him.
***
“So I have a question” Gruen said, shaking his head as he looked at Reiken, who sat quietly against the wall, eyes closed, face tilted toward the sun, smiling slightly.
“And that is?” Hein asked.
“Who the hell can one person be this unlucky?” Gruen asked and gave his friend a pointed look “You said his shoulder’s been dislocated this entire time?”
Hein nodded.
“And then after you set it again... The rafters broke and fell on him because he tried...”
