cw: 'it' as a pronoun, nonhuman whumpee, multiple whumpers, beating/manhandling.
A high-pitched keening winds its way through the house.
Wyatt pauses, pencil hovering over his place in the row of numbers. The last of the day’s sun spills in the window at a low angle, casting long shadows through yellow-orange light. The boys are winding down from the day which means they’re winding up for the night.
There’s a thunderous crash followed by another cry, twisting its way upstairs.
Short, snappy strides traverse the house and Frankie’s lad takes the stairs two at a time in his haste. Tommy arrives at Wyatt’s door out of breath, fingers catching the doorframe as though it’s the only thing stopping him from barreling into the room and straight through the wall on the other side.
Wyatt raises his eyebrows.
“Better come down, sir.”
Something glass shatters and one of the boys swears. Tommy flinches. “Quick,” he revises before turning on his heel and flying down the stairs.
The chest of drawers is overturned in the foyer, all manner of hats and gloves and anything else that needed losing strewn about. The worn carpet that runs to the hallway lies bullied into a heap by the kitchen door.
Tommy is nowhere in sight. Wyatt pauses to listen outside the dining room.
“Don’t even think about it,” someone, sounds like Alfred, warns.
Something hits the wall by the door.
“Little bastard.”
“Take that side!”
There’s a scuffle. A chair overturns, knocking against the hardwood.
Wyatt pushes the door open.
As soon as he crosses the threshold, it captures his gaze.
Wide eyes lock onto his with a force that almost breaks his stride. He’s never seen anything like them. Shining and bright and so expressive. Wyatt can all but see the heat of anger rolling off it in waves. Feel the prickle of shame teeming under its skin at being toyed with. All shadowed by a cold, pulsing fear so crystallised it’s almost a second soul behind the gaze.
The fae stands in the middle of the table, clutching one of the pewter candlesticks in its trembling fist. The boys have it surrounded on all sides.
None but the creature pay Wyatt any mind.
Alfred takes advantage of its distraction and grabs it by the arm, pulling it, stumbling off the table. As soon as it’s on the ground, Jimmy drags it away by a fistful of hair and shoves it backwards at a chair. It crashes to the floor with a cry and scrambles to regain its footing but Frankie is faster. He grabs the fae by the barbaric iron collar encircling its neck and hauls it up. It claws at his arms and wrists, leaving raised welts but not quite able to draw blood. Cursing, Frankie throws it into the corner of the room.
The creature crashes into the wall, too slow to catch itself. Chest heaving, it rolls against the wall to face its captors again. It tries to raise the candlestick but Alfred snatches it mid-swing. The fae snarls at being disarmed.
“What’s this?” Wyatt finds his voice.
“Keats’ pet,” Frankie spits. “Found it hiding in the garage.”
So, the rumors were true. “Why is it in our dining room?”
“We were trying to get it to the basement,” Jack says.
Hounds herding geese would have more subtlety. And success for that matter.
Frankie and Alfred close in on the creature. It’s more than a head shorter than any of the boys, clad in a torn pair of trousers and an oversized shirt that’s more grime than fabric. Knowing Keats, it’s not a certainty that its wings remain intact underneath.
“Why did Keats send you?” Frankly asks, not for the first time if his tone is any indication.
The fae boy won’t look at him and gets a sharp slap for its disregard. It clutches its cheek with both hands, glaring at a spot on the floor. Wyatt wonders why it doesn’t try to get away when it fought tooth and nail up to this point.
Alfred strikes three matches at once, earning its focus as well as a flinch. “Answer the fucking question.”
Frankie grabs one of its rail-thin arms. It puts up no resistance but, with visible effort, tears its gaze away from the flame to meet Wyatt’s eyes.
Fear tightens around it like a vice, bound with a bitter righteousness. A swallow caught in barbed wire. And something else. Desperation? Fluttering wings, falling feathers. Hope?
“Stop. Enough,” he hears himself say.
“What?” Alfred turns, shaking out the matches when the flame reaches his fingers. Returning the favour from earlier, the fae takes advantage of his distraction to sink its teeth into Frankie’s hand.
“Sonofabitch—” Frankie releases its arm and winds up to strike but the creature slips between them, weaving around Jimmy and Jack in an impressive display of speed to scurry under the table.
“Don’t let it out,” someone yells.
The boys trip over themselves trying to trap it under the table, kicking up a cacophony of sounds. From their stomping boots and all manner of shouting and cursing, to the scrape of chairs being pulled away or used as barriers, if not overturned completely. Hounds herding geese indeed.
“Wyatt, the door!”
Too late.
The fae brushes past his legs, still crouched low enough for the table. But it doesn’t bolt for the door and freedom with its headstart.
Against all reason, it uses the dresser as a step and throws itself onto Wyatt’s back.
Whumpee shaking in their chains, bracing themself as well as they could muster as the whip fell again and again. Their back was in shreds, engulfed in pain that only seemed to grow and grow.
When whumper came to release their chains whumpee sobbed. Finally, finally, it was over.
But it wasn’t.
Whumper wasn’t taking them down, oh no, they hadn’t earned that yet.
No, whumper was simply adjusting them. Turning them. Preparing the skin on their chest and stomach for the last.
And somehow, that made the next strike even worse.
CWs: beating, drunk whumper, pet whump, noncon touch, creepy whumper
The basement is chilly as usual, but for once, Lynx isn’t cold. They’re curled up in their pet bed, bundled in their new red blanket. Their food and water bowls are full, and they haven’t seen Kennedy in hours. He went out to have Christmas dinner with some friends, which means Lynx won’t see him until tomorrow morning. The promise of solitude is an even better gift than the blanket—although they’re not complaining about either.
Lynx has never celebrated Christmas before. At their last owner’s house, they stayed chained to the hot radiator in the living room, watching Christmas movies on TV while the humans did their little rituals. Everyone in those movies, even the meanest, shittiest people, seemed to be nicer on Christmas. Lynx never really believed that a specific day of the year could make someone nicer; that was just made up for TV. But they’re not sure how else to explain Kennedy’s attitude today. He fed them three meals, didn’t dig his fingers into the sores on their arms, didn’t even snap at them. He treated them more like a regular pet than a punching bag.
Of course, they’re not getting their hopes up. He’ll be back to normal tomorrow. Maybe he’ll even take away their blanket and bed again and leave them freezing in the corner of the basement. But tonight, they don’t have any new wounds, and they drift off to sleep warm and content.
-
The basement door slams open, and Lynx jolts awake. Their heart pounds to the sound of footsteps beating down the stairs. They’re upright before they can even think about it, pushing off the blanket as they scramble out of bed. The lights flicker on, searing their eyes. “Get over here, mutt,” Kennedy snaps.
They stagger to their feet, still squinting. Suddenly Kennedy’s fingers hook through their collar, yanking them off their feet. “I’m not in the fucking mood,” he hisses. His breath reeks of alcohol. Lynx cringes away. “Get on your knees.”
He drops them, and they let their knees hit the floor, tensing their stomach instinctively. Sure enough, his foot drives into their gut and sends them sprawling backwards. The next kick catches them in the ribs, and they curl up to protect themself as the blows rain down. “Son of a bitch,” Kennedy seethes. “That fucking asshole—” The next kick hits Lynx in the stomach, forcing the air from their lungs.
The kicks let up sooner than expected. Lynx takes the opportunity to catch their breath. They remain curled on the ground, arms wrapped around their torso, bracing themself for more.
Kennedy’s catching his breath, too, panting hard. “Ah, shit.” He kneels down, his hand sliding into Lynx’s hair. They flinch, expecting to be yanked upright. Instead, his fingers scratch against their scalp. He sighs, and they hesitantly peek up at him. “Those guys piss me off sometimes,” he mutters. “You didn’t do anything. You’re a good pet, Spike.”
They raise their eyebrows, but stay quiet. He’s drunk, they think to themself. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Their skin crawls as he pets them, but as long as he’s giving them a break, they don’t want to set him off again. Lynx stays put, resting their head on the carpet.
“You’ve been so good today,” Kennedy mumbles, continuing to pet their hair. “I shouldn’t have kicked you, since it’s Christmas and all. I was just a little mad after hanging out with the guys, that’s all …” They stiffen as he drags their head into his lap. They try to squirm away, but his grip tightens, pulling at their hair. He doesn’t seem mad about it, though, so they reluctantly stay still. “I promised myself I wouldn’t hit you today,” he continues. “I was giving you a break, as long as you didn’t act like a little bastard, and you’re being so good …”
He cups their face, his thumb stroking their jaw, and a shudder runs down their spine. They’re just about to pull away when a shaft of light catches their eye. Hesitantly, they follow it up the wall, all the way to the top of the stairs. The door is open. Kennedy, in his drunken stupor, left the basement door open.
Lynx’s heart flutters. They take a deep breath and brace themself against nausea before nuzzling into Kennedy’s leg. “Aww,” he coos, laughing. “Are you tired? Is that why you’re being so cute?”
“Yeah,” they grumble, “you woke me up.” They have to be careful. Too much attitude, and he’ll get pissed off. Not enough, and he’ll sense that something’s up. They have to keep him distracted.
“Oh, you poor thing.” He sounds mocking, but only a little. His fingers stroke skin-crawlingly through their hair, catching on knots. “Want me to rock you back to sleep?”
“Fuck off.” Lynx slowly pushes themself upright, pressing their cheek into his shirt. It makes them feel sick, drowning in the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body. They’d rather freeze to death than fall asleep on him. They swallow down bile as they rest their head on his chest, faking a yawn. Now, they’re in a better position, leaning sideways to rest against Kennedy’s chest.
He chuckles, hands sliding up to support their back. They halfway suppress a shudder, but Kennedy’s used to that—enjoys it, even. “I’ll never understand why you don’t just let yourself be a lapdog,” he murmurs, breath ghosting against their hair, palms sliding down their waist. “You’ve got the looks for it, when you’re not acting like a little asshole …” His pinky brushes the bare skin beneath their shirt.
Lynx’s stomach riots, and their patience evaporates all at once. They shove Kennedy as hard as they can. He tumbles backwards, and they just barely glimpse the slow, shocked expression on his face before they slam the heel of their hand into his nose. He grunts in pain, and they scramble over him, slipping away from his blindly-grabbing hands as they sprint for the stairs.
They take the steps two at a time, using the handrail to haul themself up. They hear Kennedy growl behind them, maybe at the foot of the stairs already, but they don’t look back. Their feet pass the threshold, and then they grab the door and slam it, fumbling with the deadbolt. Not a second later, Kennedy’s weight slams into it. “Spike!” he shouts. His fist pounds incessantly against the wood, jolting Lynx’s body with each strike. “You fucking bastard, open up!”
The doorknob rattles. Lynx backs away and watches it cautiously. It doesn’t budge. Their heart pounds as they fumble with the chain at the top of the door. The motions are unfamiliar, clumsy; they’ve never locked a door before. They’ve fought and spat at people all their life, but they’ve never done something this brazenly stupid before. They watch the door with amazement, and for all its trembling and shuddering with the force of Kennedy’s struggles, it holds true. He’s locked in.
“Spike!” The pounding continues as Lynx brings themself to attention. They’re out. They need to … they need to … fuck, what should they even do? “Spike, I swear to fucking god, if you don’t let me out right this second, I’m putting you down!” Lynx unbuckles their collar and tosses it on the ground with a satisfying thud. They’re so glad Kennedy never bothered with the padlocked one he always threatened them with. “I’m serious! First thing tomorrow, you’re going to the vet and I’m making them euth—euthan—” Kennedy’s threats become background noise. They consider their thin sweatpants and tank top, and then glance down the hall. “I’m going to kill you!”
Kennedy’s voice recedes as they make their way to the foyer and glance out the window. There’s snow on the ground; of course, it’s Christmas, it’s probably freezing as fuck out there—not that they’ve been outside recently. They have to do some scavenging. Quickly.
The screaming from the basement keeps Lynx on task as they root through Kennedy’s closet. His clothes are too big for them; they have to roll up the sleeves and pant legs, and cinch the belt tight. What the hell do humans wear out in the cold? Hat, gloves? Lynx isn’t used to it. They grab everything they can put on. They find Kennedy’s wallet in his coat pocket and strip it for cash; they’re not making that mistake again. Kennedy’s stench is thick on the scarf as Lynx wraps it around their neck, pulling it up to their face.
“Spike!” The door almost sounds like it’s splintering now. “Let me out, you stupid, evil little son of a—”
A frigid wind blows into the house as Lynx opens the front door. Just for a moment, they stand at the threshold. The cold, dry air stings their nose as they drag it into their lungs. They step out onto the porch. The fresh snow on the railings sparkles under harsh floodlights and gentler, decorative string lights. Lynx has never noticed the snow before. It’s pretty.
They shut the door behind them, and Kennedy’s protests go silent.
-
Box Bastards tag list: @spectral-whumpy-writer @transgender-scout
Dan is awake long before the cell door swings open. The only way he could sleep with even a little comfort was sitting up, back pressed into the wall, and now he's stiff all over. He can't imagine how Wes feels. His arms must be dead from the partial suspension, shoulders aching, legs well-past being asleep. If he begs Swift, will she at least loosen the chains enough for him to lie down? He's willing to try.
But it isn't Swift who steps inside. It's a pair of Riot Kings. Both are wearing masks. Pointlessly; he knows who they are, but maybe it's in an effort to make themselves feel better about this. They must feel at least some kind of shame, right?
"Peres. Sawyer," he says. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" One of them, Sawyer, freezes in place as he's named, but Peres is undeterred.
"Swift wanted another demonstration with him," he says, jabbing a thumb in Wes's direction. "But I figured we'd offer you a deal."
A deal? Dan doubts it's anything good, but if they feel guilty enough to try and hide behind masks, maybe they still have the decency to not want to hurt Wes. "What sort of deal?" he says.
Peres lays a hand on his shoulder. "I'm gonna unchain you, and I'm gonna beat the shit outta you."
Dan makes an effort to hold still, not letting his apprehension cross his face. "Doesn't sound like the kind of deal I usually make."
He's expecting the backhanded blow Peres deals him, but it still stings. Behind him, there's the clank of metal-on-metal as Wes throws himself against his chains.
"Fucking traitor! Leave him alone!"
Peres rolls his eyes and gestures to Sawyer, who's quick to gag Wes. Dan regretfully agrees with the decision. It's probably for the best if Wes is unable to piss these guys off.
"You didn't let me finish," Peres says. "I'm gonna beat the shit out of you. If you can take it, if you don't try to run or fight back, we'll leave him alone this time. Got it?"
Dan closes his eyes with a grimace. This will be fun. "Got it," he says flatly.
He sits perfectly still as Peres unlocks the cuffs, hands in his lap, flattened to keep him from clutching at the fabric of his pants. Even now, he needs to look stronger than he is. That's how it's always been, and he refuses to let his own mask slip now.
Dan knows he'd stand a chance against the pair, even aching and exhausted, even outnumbered. He can wait until the chains are gone, strike when neither are expecting it, and win. He could free himself and Wes.
But why unchain him at all when they could get the same result without the risk? If they want to hurt him, why not tie his hands behind his back so there's nothing he can do? Maybe they want him to try and escape, maybe they're expecting it. Maybe that's how they plan on justifying hurting Wes more, and insisting he's to blame for it.
Dan isn't about to risk it. As long as he's in this cell, surrounded by his former allies, he's powerless to stop them from hurting him, from hurting Wes. All he can do is take what he's offered and---
A fist collides with his stomach and he doubles over with a grunt. He doesn't even have time to catch his breath before it's followed by two more. Cheek, chin. Powerful enough to daze him.
"Stand up."
Dan does, getting his hands under him then carefully pushing to his feet. He doesn't stay up for long before Peres hits him in the stomach again.
Can he even block it? Move his body in such a way that he takes the least amount of damage? Or will they count it as fighting back?
"Hold him up." This is directed at Sawyer, who quickly moves behind Dan, grabbing his arms and keeping him steady.
It's all he can do to keep breathing as Peres whales on his torso, punch after punch, sharp and rapid, until Peres is panting and Dan is retching.
The other man grabs him by the shoulders and jams his knee into Dan's sternum, then lets him go. Dan doesn't even try to break his fall, just tries to keep his chin tucked as the men above him kick at his back and ribs and legs.
Beyond the blood rushing in his ears, beyond the pain the crashes down on him like a wave, threatening to completely overwhelm him, he can hear Wes's frantic shouts, muffled by the gag.
Peres---or maybe Sawyer, he can't tell anymore---gives one final kick to his stomach, and Dan cries out.
"Stand up."
He tries, but it hurts to breathe, and he can't figure out how to get his legs beneath him.
"Stand. Up."
Wes screams through the gag again, and Dan knows he has no choice. It's tedious work. A palm first, an elbow over it. A knee on the ground, and then he's slowly pushing himself up, swaying on his feet.
Peres punches him square in the jaw, and he's on his back, staring at the ceiling in a daze. One of the men above him grabs him by the hair and drags him back to the wall, locking the manacles back in place. It takes a tremendous effort to sit up, to ease the strain on his shoulders, and once he does, he can't keep his head up.
"I'm surprised you actually held out," Peres mutters, then nods to Sawyer. "Grab the cattle prod."
Dan shudders. Aren't they done? But through half-closed eyes, he sees Sawyer closing in not on him, but on Wes.
He sits up, wincing. "Y-you said--"
"I didn't think you'd make it," Peres says. "And I'm not about to go against orders from Swift."
cw: referenced beatings/abuse/torture, death wish, brief reference/allusion to self harm
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•§•§•
Even warm and dry, even in a bed for the first time in months, even utterly exhausted, Cerus could not fall asleep. In the time since his fall, not a single person had falsified kindness before hurting him, before taking from him, but nevertheless, Cerus didn't trust the soldier's intentions. He'd never given anyone a reason to love him. Never a reason to extend a hand. And even when asked directly, the soldier wouldn't give him an answer.
What did they want? Every possible reason for their administrations eluded him; beating him didn't require a bed. Taking vengeance in other ways didn't demand his wounds be bandaged. Anything they wanted from him could've simply been seized, be it the boots off his feet or the flesh off his back, and not a soul would bat an eye. Such were the rewards of the damned, and Cerus had come to expect as much.
There was always the possibility that the soldier wanted more than simple revenge. Perhaps they thought they could access his magic, the lifeblood that had been torn away from him at the trial where he should've been allowed to die. If that were so, the soldier was a bigger fool than he'd thought. In his early days as a slave to the kingdom, when he was at his most desperate, he'd tried to cut away the tattoos the priests had tainted his skin with. He'd despaired to learn it was a fool's errand; they kept coming back.
Even without the black marks of the holy mages, any spell requiring refined movements would be impossible with his ruined hands. He'd been allowed a healer after the trial, so that he could be put to work right away, but the woman who'd done it didn't bother to align bones, or even hold the larger gashes closed, and Cerus was left with ugly scars and uglier hands. Hands that could hardly grasp the tools he was made to use; fingers that still spiked with pain when he tried to curl them.
The soldier hadn't returned yet. Cerus was uncertain how long it had been since they'd closed the door, and as he lay shivering on the mattress, trying to suppress the painful coughs that wracked his body, he wondered if they'd come back at all. Despite their supposed determination to care for him, they didn't seem to enjoy it; hardly looking his way, hardly speaking. Perhaps they were only acting on orders. That would explain some of the situation, but still left the larger question of why unanswered.
He wished they would hurt him and be done with it; the fear of what was to come was worse than any pain they could inflict. At least then he'd know what to expect. A whip, a stick, a fist. Something that left him shaking and bleeding, something easier to understand than a gentle hand.
In spite of those hopes, Cerus still flinched when the door at last swung open. The soldier was back, a steaming bowl in hand.
"My uncle's gone to bed," they said as they crossed the room. "I'd thank you to not start shouting at me again."
Their uncle. Was that who had ordered him brought here? What did he want with him? A ransom, perhaps. Nurse him back to health and sell him to a lord who desired revenge. Cerus was very used to revenge.
At the mines, if a night was particularly dull, workers would pay him a visit. Reminisce about sisters and mothers, lovers and sons, lost to the war. Punish him for it, with whatever they had on hand, and let his screams soothe their grief. He couldn't pretend any of it was undeserved.
"Let me help you sit up," the soldier said. "You'll have an easier time eating if you aren't lying on your stomach."
Cerus didn't respond, but allowed himself to be lifted, wincing as the movement pulled at his damaged back. The feeling there wasn't what it had once been, but pain still found a way to sink its fingers into him.
The soldier propped him against the wall, taking care to avoid the wounded skin, and Cerus once again wondered why they'd bother. Even on orders, their master couldn't fault them for a moment of carelessness. They picked up the bowl then, holding a spoonful of broth to his lips.
"Shell stew," they said. "I'm sure you've had it since coming here."
He hadn't. A thin porridge in the morning, bread and a strip of dried fish at night. Enough to keep him on his feet, for the most part.
Cerus took the broth, too hungry and exhausted to feel humiliated at the notion of being fed like a babe. Whatever the soldier's plans were for him, refusing food wouldn't help. He hoped the stew was poisoned.
In slow silence, the soldier helped him to empty the bowl; thin, salty broth full of bits of potato and seaweed and a chewy meat that reminded him of the smell of the ocean. He felt warmer after, though shivers still ran through his body.
The soldier rolled him back onto his stomach, then left with the dish, returning moments later with another blanket. They laid it on the floor, parallel with Cerus, and blew out the pair of oil lamps that lit the room; leaving nothing but the faint glow of clouded moonlight from the window.
Were they sleeping on the floor? Had they been commanded to watch over him tonight, so he wouldn't try and run?
"Wh—?" he started to say, but the shift of air in his throat sparked another coughing fit, driving spikes of pain through his lungs and still-healing ribs.
"I hope you're not about to ask me 'why' again," came the soldier's voice from somewhere in the darkness. "Sleep."
Cerus was silent for a moment, steadying his breathing before trying again. "Are you meant to be guarding me?" His voice came out ragged and small. He hadn't had much reason to speak in the last months. Begging rarely granted him a reprieve, though sometimes his stupid tongue couldn't help itself, and conversation wasn't one of the labors the kingdom demanded of him.
"If you'd really like to leave, by all means, do it." The soldier's tone told him they were tired of this topic. Cerus was tempted to push it, to goad them into lashing out, into striking him, or throwing him back into the rain. Something that would shed a light on their intentions for him.
But he didn't, instead allowing his eyes to drift closed, though he knew sleep would elude him. Pointless as it was, Cerus hoped the soldier or their master could be convinced to kill him.
Thank you so much for reading everyone, @cupcakes-and-pain has the first part here and we will both be making masterlists which we will link here after! Let us know if you want to be on a taglist!
CW: alcohol mention, drinking mention, innocent person hurt?, fighting, restraints, beating, a bit of actual whump in this one!
Legend was in a nasty and obnoxious mood. He had spent the whole day in a head wrenching hangover and had been causing little catastrophes all over the city to keep the heroes busy. They were sporadic and without a plan, and so far he had seen four of the heroes helping, trying to keep up and figure out what he was doing. Seeing them busy and running around helped with his headache.
After causing trouble in the park, he flew over to a small supermarket. Anger boiling under his skin as he wanted to scream at someone. He wasn’t like this often but when he was, people knew to get out of his way. He went inside, trying to figure out what he was going to destroy before deciding to demolish nearly half of the store itself. He didn’t want citizens getting in the way, doing a good job scaring them off. Soon shelves were falling from the mini explosions going off left and right. He was unaware of the young adult with headphones in not knowing what was happening.
Ox growled as they arrived at the store at last. Icicle trailed behind them, and out of the corner of their eye, they saw her preparing to use her powers. They didn’t want to bring her, but she insisted. Ox was fairly good at keeping Legend in check by themself, but no one’s perfect. They might need the help. And the kid had to learn sometime.
The citizens seemed to be already out, and there were next to no injuries. No surprises there. Legend didn’t like hurting citizens. It wasn’t worth going inside since they could corner him once he left the building.
Ox and Icicle were still assessing the area, however, that’s when they heard a blood-curdling scream, followed by a crash and silence. Icicle glanced at Ox, but they didn’t even think before running inside as fast as possible.
Legend was staring across the side of the store at a citizen who had been crushed under a metal shelf. He had instantly stopped the destruction and was going to check on the citizen, but when Ox came in he stopped. Suddenly becoming indifferent as to not show weakness. He took a step back to assess the situation as reporters and a cameraman tried getting into the store to find out what was going on.
Ox took in the scene, assuring it was safe to make a move, then rushed to the person’s side. They could lift the metal off easily, but they had to do it gently and slowly to make sure the citizen’s injuries wouldn’t be worsened. Once it was completely off, they threw the shelf to the side and scooped them up. The person went limp in Andi’s arms and their eyes slipped shut.
“No, no, stay with me. Stay awake.”
They rushed to the nearest exit, already calling for help and blocking out everyone else as Legend stared at them wordlessly, worrying silently. Unaware that backup was even there.
Icicle stared down Legend alone. She couldn’t even bear to look at the person, or else she’d fall into her own terrible memories. Things she tried to keep far away from her job and her life, only talking about it with fellow heroes while off-duty. “You monster.” She spat while moving forward, “You don’t even care about the lives you ruin, do you? You’re all the same.” She fired an icy blast without warning, attempting to pin Legend to the wall.
He ducked, anger bubbling back up. He rolled his eyes, grabbing a broken piece of metal. “Oh please. Like heroes are any better.“ He threw the metal at her head. “You do it all for the glory.” He stepped forward.
They fought, but it was clear from the beginning that he was so much more advanced than her. Ducking, weaving, and dodging through her attacks, Legend was the superior fighter. Yet, something kept him from hurting her despite the fact he wanted to. When he got her in a successful pin he stared down at her in fury before shoving her to the side and spreading his wings as he flew off.
He was slower getting home, sighing tiredly as he shut the door. He took off his mask and dropped it on the table. Taking a deep breaths before checking the news about the civilian. All he could find was information he already knew. In the hospital. Critical condition. Attacked by Legend. His hand shook as he threw his phone at the wall. Cursing lowly as he tried to calm down. Drinking again was a bad idea but it was the only thing his mind produced to get off the injured citizen.
Little did he know, Icicle was not content with how things were left. There was a score to be settled. A wrong to be righted. A villain to be stopped. She crept after him, keeping a safe distance. She slunk along the alleyways, trying to slip in unnoticed by the light, but she was able to follow him to where he resided.
Perfect.
Watching through the windows, she saw him stalking towards his fridge. She slipped inside. It should be easy enough to catch him from behind, when he would be bent down, rummaging through drinks. With an icy blast, just like she had tried earlier, she pinned his legs to the floor. He wasn’t fast enough for her, and she knocked him out easily with some metal from the store. She smiled to herself. No longer would he be allowed to spread evil. And no longer would the others underestimate her, once she’d be able to show them what she’d done.
When Legend woke up, he was dazed. His head was aching, not from the familiar whiskey but something different. It reminded him of a feeling he had when he first became a villain many years before. Blunt object most likely. He didn’t want to wake up but eventually pried his eyes open, frowning heavily while inspecting his surroundings
Icicle glared at him from where she was leaning up against the wall. Straightening, she walked towards him slowly. “So, here’s what’s going to happen, Legend.” She spit out his name like a curse. “You are going to be nice for once in your life, and tell me what I want to know. After that, it’s off to prison. Behave, and I won’t be forced to hurt you.” She knew some heroes would feel conflicted over torturing someone, even if they were a villain, but she was only doing what had to be done. Legend had done worse, and he would’ve continued if she hadn’t been there to do what was right.
He raised an eyebrow. “And just how old are you? 17?” He yawned, feeling his hands in cuffs behind his back. Gently rotating his wrists as best he could. Trying to feel for any slack.
She seethed. Arrogant, vile thing. She wasn’t even thinking as she slapped him, though she smiled as she did. “I wasn’t lying, Legend.” Then she punched him in the gut, as hard as she could. “And I’m 22, thanks for asking.” She said sarcastically as he grunted while turning his head away, the same cruel smile spread across her face. It was nice to see a villain in pain for once. It was even better to be the one to cause it.
“You're welcome.” He spat at her shoe.
“Behave.” She took a breath. “Tell me, what are your plans? I’m not dumb, I know you had something up your sleeve. All those random attacks today, what did they mean?”
“Wouldn’t the pretty hero like to know.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. He looked far too comfortable for what was supposed to be a threatening interrogation. “Go ahead and hit me again, doll. You’re not getting anything from me.”
That was it. Icicle was not going to put up with this. She saw red, and before he knew it, her fists collided with his stupid face. Over and over, until she could finally calm down. His jaw was quite bruised, and she didn’t know if she could continue to interrogate him now. “Can you answer my questions? Or should I wait?” Might as well ask his input. He could lie, but soon enough this interrogation would be done, so it didn’t really matter if he refused to do it for now.
He chose not to respond at all. Wanting to cuss her out but think better of it. Not because he was afraid of any consequence, but because she was younger and she was Ox’s friend. He wouldn’t stoop to that level he knew other villains would do. He let out a quiet breath. He closed his eyes again while feeling blood drip down his face to his neck.
She interpreted his silence as either an inability to talk or a simple desire to stay silent. Either way, she was fine with it. It gave her more time to develop an actual strategy for an interrogation. “Have it your way. Oh, and by the way. I have no intentions of feeding you or anything until I get through all of the questions. So have fun down here. I’ll be back.”
Legend chuckled lightly as she left. She had zero experience. He thought it would be fun. Little did he know that she was a monster waiting to be released.
Summary: Stephen goes missing in the middle of a case so you join the search party even though you ended things with him a few weeks ago. However, as you search, some revelations make you rethink your decision to break up with him.
Word Count: 4502
TW: Angst, Happy Ending, Blood, Mentions of beatings, Unconsciousness, Missing person, References to cheating/infidelity
Note: Takes place during 2x08 of The Killing
Your phone rang for the third time in the last sixty seconds and for the third time you let it go to voicemail. It was really pathetic that he had resorted to having her call you to try to talk you into taking him back.
However, the fourth time it rang, you lost your patience. Picking up the phone, you huffed in frustration, “Linden, you need to stop calling me. I’m done and there’s nothing you can say to get me to take Stephen back.”
“Holder’s missing.”
“W-what? What do you mean, missing?” You gripped the phone tighter, pressing it closer to your ear.
“We were working a case at the Wapi Eagle Casino. I needed to sneak in to gather some evidence, so he caused a distraction. When I came back, he was gone.”
“Do you know what happened?” There was only silence on the other end of the line. “Linden! Where is he!”
“I don’t know. But….” She trailed off.
“Damn it, Linden! You called me! Now talk! I can handle it.”
You heard a deep sigh, and when Liden spoke again, her voice was strained and hoarse. “I got a call a few hours ago from Holder’s phone. When I picked up, all I could hear was him crying out as they beat him.” A chest-rattling sob tore through you, but Linden continued. “I called in the whole department as soon as they hung up, and we should be ready in a few minutes to start a search.”
“How…how can they think they can get away with this?” you managed to choke out.
“These people think they can do whatever they want because legally, they don’t fall under the jurisdiction of the Seattle Police Department. The casino is on the Indian Reservation so they have their own laws. They’re hiding something from us, and they are trying to use Holder as a way to send a message for us to back off.”
You had to take a few deep breaths before you could ask, “They won’t… they can’t kill him…can they?”
When she doesn’t respond, it is all the answer you need. Another irrepressible sob ripped from your lips as you sunk to the floor. Even though you had been the one to end things with Stephen a few weeks ago, you still loved him and the thought of this happening to him was too much for you to bear.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go. The rest of the search team just arrived, and we need to start looking for him.”
“I’m coming to help.”
“No.” Linden said firmly. “I know you want to be here, but you can’t. We’re already breaking a lot of rules with our team being here, I can’t allow a civilian to come too.”
“I’m coming.” You responded just as firmly. “Besides, I’m a nurse. If we find him… if they hurt him really badly…I can help. You have to have some sort of medical team there, just say I’m with them.” You paused and there was silence on the other end. “Please, Sarah….I have to do something. Please.”
“Fine. I’ll text you the location. You’ll have to take the ferry.” She paused. “And I don’t know what we are going to find. So…prepare yourself for the worst.”
It took you an hour and a half to get out to the island where the casino was located, and every minute of the trip was pure agony. You couldn’t stop imagining all the things those people might have done to Stephen. You thought back to the first time you had met him, when he and Linden had come by the hospital to interview a suspect. He was so different from any other guy you had ever met, and when he asked for your number before he left, you couldn’t say no. And the next year with him was the happiest of your life. He had turned out to be everything you always wanted but never knew. Yet, you had thrown it all away.
Liden met you at the docks when the ferry finally pulled up to shore. Neither of you said a word as you climbed into her car and she drove out to the search location. The two of you had always gotten along really well whenever Stephen had brought you together. But now, there was a tension that hung in the air, and you weren’t sure if it was from the current situation or from your breakup with her partner.
When you finally arrived at the base camp that had been set up, the two of you quickly joined the search efforts. For the next five hours, you walked side by side, combing through every inch of the forest along with a handful of other police officers.
Occasionally, you and Linden would exchange some brief small talk or point out something you had noticed. But for the most part, you searched in silence.
Until that is, Linden suddenly blurted out, “Can I ask you something?”
You sighed heavily, jamming your hands into your pockets. It was inevitable she was going to bring it up and you were honestly just surprised it had taken this long. “You want to know why I ended things with Stephen.”
“Well… yes. It’s clear you still care about him, and I know he still cares about you. So, what happened?”
“There was too much baggage. It got in the way, and I couldn’t move past it.”
She nodded in understanding. “I know he’s had a difficult past, but he really is trying to do better, to be better.”
You stopped walking as you stared down at the ground. Softly, you muttered, “It wasn’t his baggage…. It was mine.”
Linden looked at you in surprise. “Oh… I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”
“It’s stupid. And I realized it was stupid even as I was breaking up with him and every moment since, but I just couldn’t move past it.”
“Do you want to talk about it? I know we don’t know each other that well, but sometimes it helps to talk things out with someone on the outside.”
You sighed as you began walking again, “Most kids grow up thinking their parents are perfect. That they walk on water and can do no wrong. Well, I didn’t. For as long as I can remember, I knew that something was wrong with my parent’s relationship, even if I didn’t understand it. It wasn’t until I was eight that I realized why my dad stayed out late a few nights a week and why when he came home, he always smelled like a different perfume. Why I recognized the hair on his jacket or the lipstick on his neck. And I hated him for it. For putting my mom through it, week after week. Acting like he wasn’t screwing half the women in town.
“Yet as much as I hated him for doing it, I hated my mom just as much for putting up with it. She pretended she didn’t know, that she didn’t hear the whispers or see the stares, but she did. She just let herself be a laughingstock because it was easier than confronting the problem. And I swore to myself that I would never grow up to be like her.”
“But, as they say, we all become our parents.” You turned to Linden. “Did Stephen ever tell you I was engaged once?”
She shook her head. “No, he never mentioned it.”
“It lasted three days. We had dated for over a year when he popped the question. It was the happiest I had ever been up to that point in my life. That is until three days later he came home and asked for the ring back. He told me he had gotten his secretary pregnant, and he was going to marry her instead. Apparently, she was the work he was always staying late to finish. And I realized, I had become my mother. It was a real eye-opener and I promised myself I wouldn’t let it happen again.
“So, that night when Stephen came home….” You stared off into the darkness, recalling every moment of that last night. “It was too much. I couldn’t handle it.” You glanced over at Liden but then quickly looked away. “How much did he tell you about what happened that night?”
“Not much. Just that it had been your anniversary and he missed it because of the case. When he got home, you had had enough, and you ended it.”
“Basically, yes. But that’s not the whole story.” You sighed. “He came home at 3:40 in the morning. I was mad he missed our anniversary and didn’t even call to let me know. But he apologized, told me that the two of you had gotten stuck on a stakeout with no phone service and that he was so sorry. He said he had planned a huge surprise at dinner but that now was as good of a time as any. And he proposed.”
Linden blinked in surprise. “Oh, uh, no. He didn’t mention that. So, I’m guessing you said no?”
You shook your head. “I said yes. Of course, I said yes! I love that man with every fiber of my being. I still do! But when he slipped the ring on my finger and pulled me in for a kiss…. I could smell you on him.” You ducked your head, unable to look Linden in the eye.
“Me? No, no, no! I would never! Not with Holder! Especially when I knew he was in a relationship. It must have just been from sitting in the car together all night on the stakeout. I swear, I’ve never even thought about him like that!” Linden protested adamantly.
“I know. Damn it, I know!” You ran your hand wearily over your face. “Deep down in my heart of hearts, I know he wouldn’t ever cheat on me, with you or anyone. But I can’t convince my brain of that. Every previous night he didn’t call or didn’t come home until 3 or 4 in the morning, I couldn’t help but remember my dad or my ex sneaking home. And when he missed our anniversary dinner……
“I thought the proposal made up for it, but as soon as I smelled you, all I could think of was when my ex proposed, and I found out the truth days later. I couldn’t put myself through that again. So, I ended things. I broke my own heart before he could break it first. And then I locked all my feelings away. Told myself it was through, and we were done forever. But when you called tonight and told me he was missing, it all came rushing back. I love him. I love him so fucking much. And I want him back. But if something has happened and I never get to tell him…I never get to… apologize… to te-tell him… th-that I….” You couldn’t finish as you dissolved into a hysterical mess of tears and sobs.
Linden wrapped her arms softly around your shaking frame. “Hey, it’s going to be alright. Holder’s stronger than people give him credit for. And he still loves you so much! You’re all he ever talks about. When we find him, he’s going to be thrilled to hear what you have to say. Alright?”
“But it’s been too long. Even if he was still alive…even if they didn’t…It was so cold last night. If he was out here-”
Suddenly, the howling of dogs filled the air. Your head snapped towards the sound, heart pounding in your chest. You and Linden exchanged a look as you both heard an officer call out, “We’ve got something!”
Before Liden could say a word, you tore yourself from her embrace and charged off toward the commotion. Stumbling through the trees and foliage, you ignored the branches that whipped at your face and the uneven terrain that threatened to trip you up. You had one singular focus, and nothing would distract you from your goal.
Just as you saw a clearing up ahead and the sound of the dogs became louder, you heard multiple officers reacting to whatever they had found:
“Jesus.”
“We have him!”
“Officer down, we have a code 3! I repeat, officer down!”
And as you crested the hill, you got your first look at their discovery. There, sprawled out at the base of a massive tree, lay Detective Stephen Holder, face almost unrecognizable behind the blood and dirt.
For a moment, your knees grew weak, and you felt like you were going to collapse to the ground. However, somehow you managed to keep running down the hill towards his broken form even as Linden yelled at you to stop. But you didn’t care about anything, you just needed to reach him. Now.
You pushed past police officers and search dogs until you got to his side. Falling to your knees beside him, you took in the full extent of the damage. The only thing that was keeping you from losing it completely was the slight, almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. Laying one hand carefully on the side of his throat, you could feel the weak throb of his pulse beneath his skin. He was definitely alive.
However, his pants and gray hoodie were splattered with mud and various shades of blood, indicating he had been in this state for some time. Based on the blood and condensation that had soaked his clothes, you assumed he had been left here for hours. His right shoe was missing, and his leg was positioned at an awkward angle, though not enough for you to suspect it was broken. His hoodie was bunched up, revealing a section of his stomach that was bruised in dark reds and purples and you were afraid of what you would find if you raised it up any further.
But his face was the worst. Blood covered most of the right side, starting at his hairline and dripping down. At one point, his nose had been actively bleeding and large clots had gotten tangled in his mustache and beard. His lip was split wide, and his teeth were dyed red from the blood dripping from his mouth. You noticed a particularly deep cut on his cheekbone, and you knew it would probably leave a scar.
As you leaned in closer, you noticed a slight shiver traveling through his body from the cold. You quickly ripped off your jacket and laid it over him. Though it was too small to completely cover his much larger frame, you hoped it would provide him some sort of relief.
You gently ran one hand through his damp hair, brushing away blood, dirt, and dew, while you clutched at his hand with your other. Bending down close to his ear, you whispered. “Baby, please. I need you to open your eyes for me. Please. Come on, can you squeeze my hand? Nod? Something? Stephen, I need to know you’re still in there. Please.” There was no response.
Your voice cracked as you tried your best to hold yourself together. “Baby, I love you. Do you hear me? I love you so much, and I never stopped. I should have never left, but I was scared. I’m so sorry. You never gave me any reason to doubt you. I should have trusted you, and I didn’t. So, please baby, just wake up and we can talk about everything. Please….. Stephen…. I need you.” You cupped your hands gently around his face and leaned over until your forehead rested on his. Tears began leaking from your eyes and raining down on his bloody face, creating clean streaks through the mess. But he still didn’t stir.
Linden approached cautiously, and you looked up at her through tear-filled eyes. “He has a pulse, but it’s really weak. We need to get him help now.”
She nodded, eyes never leaving her partner’s mangled form. “The ambulance will be here in a few minutes. Is there anything you can do for him until then?”
“Give me your jacket.” Linden quickly stripped it off and passed it to you. You laid it down on top of Stephen where your jacket had been too small to cover. Running your hands as gently as possible over his body, you said, “I don’t see any wounds from a weapon, like a knife or gun. Mainly just blunt force trauma, likely caused by a fist, foot, or possibly a rod of some kind. He’s definitely suffering from exposure, but as long as he gets help soon, I think he’ll be okay.”
You ran your thumb over a particularly nasty-looking bruise and, after saying a silent apology, you pressed down hard on it. Nothing happened. Stephen didn’t as much as flinch or shift. Your voice shook as you turned back to Linden, “But there’s no responsiveness at all. There’s a chance he might have a brain bleed or some sort of internal bleeding that’s causing an issue I can’t see but there’s nothing I can do here. He needs real medical attention.”
As if on cue, the ambulance suddenly pulled up. Two men quickly climbed out of the back and grabbed a gurney. Linden grabbed your elbow and carefully pulled you to the side as they began to examine Stephen. After a few moments, they lifted him on the gurney and began to wheel him over to their vehicle. But Stephen still didn’t move or make a sound.
As soon as they got him settled, they started to close the back door, but you quickly thrust your hand in. “I’m going with you.” The two of them exchanged glances so you explained. “I’m a nurse at St. Mary’s and his…. girlfriend. Please, I need to make sure he’s okay.”
One of the men sighed. “Fine. We were heading to St. Mary’s anyway. But stay out of the way.”
You nodded as you climbed in and settled on the bench next to Stephen. You heard Linden shout that she would meet you at the hospital just as the doors closed.
The ride to the hospital seemed to take forever. As the emergency crew danced around the gurney, hooking Stephen up to IV’s, monitors, and oxygen while also carefully examining his wounds, your hand remained firmly wrapped around his. Yet, even with all of the movement and commotion around him, he still didn’t move a muscle.
Ignoring everyone else around you, you continued to whisper pleas for him to wake up, to give you some kind of sign he could hear you. But nothing happened. When the ambulance finally arrived at the hospital and they wheeled Stephen off to the OR, you had remained sitting motionless in the back of the vehicle until Linden found you about twenty minutes later.
When she climbed in next to you and drew you into a hug, you had finally fallen apart. Your lip had begun to tremble as your tears began to flow down your face as you sobbed, “He won’t wake up. Linden, why won’t he wake up?” over and over again. She offered no response, instead simply rubbing your back and pulling you in tighter.
They had finally forced you out of the back of the ambulance and Linden managed to talk you into changing your clothes. You hadn’t even noticed until then that you were covered with Stephen’s blood. Luckily, you always kept a spare set of scrubs in your locker in the back. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, you returned to Linden’s side to wait for any news.
It took about an hour, but finally, a doctor who you knew pretty well approached the two of you. He cleared his throat and said, “First of all, he’s going to be fine.”
For the first time since Linden called you, you felt like you could breathe again. Linden squeezed your hand as he continued. “He has several contusions, broken ribs, he’s suffering from exposure, and he needs time to rest. But he is awake and alert.”
Relief surged through you. “He’s awake?”
He nodded. “Yes, but like I said, what he needs most right now is rest. So, I would advise against visitors at the moment.”
“Please… I know he needs rest, but please can I go see him? Just for a minute. I need to see…I need to know…” you bit your lip as you struggled to keep your composure. “Paul, please. For me.”
He hesitated for a moment before he sighed, “Fine. But just for a minute. He should still be awake but if he’s not, DO NOT wake him up.”
You nodded feverishly. “I promise! Thank you so much!” You turned to Linden. “Are you okay waiting here?”
“Of course! Go, go!” She shoved you gently towards his room.
You smiled softly at her. “Thank you, for everything, Linden.” And with that, you took off down the hall.
When you reached Stephen’s room, you peered anxiously through the window. He had been patched up, but you could still see bruises blossoming across his chest and blood seeping through some of his bandages. Yet, when you stepped hesitantly into the room a smile spread across his face when he saw you. However, it couldn’t hide the pain you noticed in his eyes. Whether that was from his injuries or your presence, you couldn’t be sure.
“Hey, mama. Whatcha doin’ here?” He mumbled softly, but his smile slid from his face as he saw what you were wearing. “Oh, I didn’t know they brought me ta where you work. Sorry if this is weird for you.” He shifted slightly so he wasn’t directly facing you anymore and you saw the shiver of pain course through his body at the movement.
You moved to the other side of the bed, planting yourself once again in his direct eye line. “No, I asked them to bring you here. I figured I could pull some strings for you, get some extra accommodations and such. But, uh, I was actually there as part of the search team.”
His brow scrunched in confusion. “Why? And how’d ya know ‘bout it?”
“Linden called me. She figured I would want to know. And I’m so glad she did. I was there when they found you and I rode in the ambulance on the way here.” Your bottom lip began to tremble as you remembered Stephen’s limp body laying under that tree. How you thought you had lost him for good.
His expression softened as he murmured, “Aw, hey. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not! You almost died! And I never– I didn’t get the chance– Oh, Stephen….”
“It’s okay, mama. I love you too.”
You blinked in surprise. “What? Really? Still?”
He nodded. “I heard what you said out there. Thought it was a dream, but now I guess not.”
“You heard me?” He nodded again. “I guess that makes this a little easier. But Stephen, I’m so sorry. I let the horrible things other people did to me in the past make me doubt you even though you have never been anything but honest and open with me. I should have never questioned what you were doing, and I should have believed you when you told me the truth. I know I don’t deserve it, but do you think you could ever forgive me?”
“Nothin’ to forgive. Yous and me, we’re good. We had a fight, a lil’ misunderstanding, nothin’ more. I love you and you love me and that’s all that matters.”
It felt like an enormous weight was suddenly lifted off your shoulders as your heart soared in your chest. “I do love you. I love you so much it hurts. And I never want to be with anyone else!” Cautious of his injuries, you placed a deep, tender kiss on his left cheek (one of the few places that seemed unharmed).
He smiled brightly once more. “Same. And in fact, gimme my jacket.”
“Stephen, whatever it is, it can wait. You need to rest.”
He shook his head. “Nah. This has waited long enough. Now gimme my jacket.”
Pursing your lips slightly, you grabbed his jacket from where it had been draped over the chair in the corner. It was still sticky with his blood, but you tried to ignore that fact as you handed it to him. He dug around in the pocket for a moment before producing a familiar ring box which he opened and held out to you.
Your eyes grew wide as you let out a small gasp. “You kept it with you?”
“Always. Knew one day you’d come around and I wanted to be ready when ya did.” He took the ring out of the box with one hand and grabbed your hand with the other. “I can’t really get down on one knee at the moment, but whacha say? Will you marry me?”
Your smile shone bright enough to light up the room. “Of course, I’ll marry you, Stephen Holder.”
His smile matched yours as he slid the ring onto your finger. And as you bent over to kiss his cheek again, he grabbed your face and pulled your lips against his. You could taste a small hint of blood from his split lip, but you ignored it as you savored the moment.
And when you finally pulled back, Stephen carefully eased himself to the right side of the bed and patted the open space next to him on the left. “Come here.”
You shook your head. “I don’t want to hurt you. We’ll have plenty of time to lay in bed together once you’re better. For now, you need to get some sleep.”
“What ‘bout you?”
“I’ll take a nap in the chair. I’ve done it before, it’s fine.”
“Nah, I ain’t letting my fiancée sleep in a chair when there’s pleny of room right here. Besides, your body is my best medicine.”
You rolled your eyes, but your heart skipped a beat at the word “fiancée”. “Stephen-”
“Don’t make me get up an’ drag you over here ‘cause you know I’ll try.”
You smiled and shook your head. “Fine, but if I hurt you in the slightest, I’m leaving.”
“Deal.” He held his arm out so once you had gingerly lowered yourself next to him, he wrapped it around you, pulling you in close. You felt him wince slightly, but you decided not to comment.
As your eyes drifted closed, you turned your head slightly and pressed a light kiss to the exposed skin of his chest. You felt him chuckle beneath you, then his lips brushed against the top of your head, returning your affection.
And that’s how Liz and Davie found the two of you a few minutes later, your head gently resting on his shoulder with his arm slung carefully around you, a bright smile on each of your sleeping faces.
