Whumpee under the knife, slightly grimacing at what they know is about to happen. There’s no way out, no alternatives. They’ve been told it’s investigatory, diagnostic, maintenance, anything but what it will actually do. To suppress their nerves, they absentmindedly taunt Whumper.
“Looking forward to my well-needed nap! Sure the anaesthetic won’t interfere with any of my usual cocktail?”
“..You think you deserve that?”
“Deserve a nap? Abso-fuckin-lutely! I don’t know how aware you are about the conditions of my-“
“No.” A sharp slap rung out. “Insolence. You think you deserve anaesthesia? After the way you’ve been behaving? The amount of experiments ruined!”
Their stomach plummets through the cold metal operating table.
They stammer out objections, but Whumper simply slides on nitrile gloves, settles into a smile, and incises.
Anguished screams ring from the walls the whole night long.
Not the time to be quoting Macbeth. Not when there were two bodies on the floor, sanguine bubbling liquid was pooling into the brand new carpet, and Birch was pretty sure they were breathing fast enough to make everyone in a two-mile radius lightheaded. And Birch was pretty sure Meng was on their way back to the “safe”house.
Serving up some OC whump today! This is mostly lead up to it though. Also, my first multi-part thing! (Birch is I think ~17 in this and uses he/they, Cy is ~18 and uses she/he/they)
They were still standing, in the face of so much. Their team saw them as an inspiration. That was what mattered. They kept telling themself that was what mattered.
Not the gnawing, grating pit of loneliness that had opened within them long ago, yawning and insatiable. Not the separation they felt, miles away when right there. Not the fear their life was a sick joke, all laughing except them.
The only thing that brought them to life anymore was the fight.
-/-/-/-
Cy had been concerned about Birch for a while.
Truth be told, there was never a good reason not to be concerned about the guy. He was a walking disaster. But some of the team (and particularly their trainers) - the only ones Birch seemed to be listening to - kept pushing them, encouraging his more destructive behaviours, more paranoid thought patterns. They weren’t doing it maliciously. Cy understood why, as appalled as he was at it. Whenever Birch got in these anxious focused spirals, the sharpness (and so, effectiveness) of the whole team went up.
Until they crashed.
They never let anyone near in those days after. Debriefed, congratulated, “I’ll just check over next mission’s plans.”ed, and then… nothing. They always just disappeared in the following week, ostensibly dealing with extra work. One time, Cy caught them in the group kitchen making some instant ramen in their favoured, very chipped, Spider-Man mug. He had skittered away like a spooked deer.
Why had they been put on this placement?
If Meng were here, she would comfort them. She could help. But no, this was an exercise in independence, in team management, in if they really could stand each other over multiple months and not go all slasher-movie.
Why was there something different before this mission?
It’d be fine.
-/-/-/-
Mission today: deal with a mob of stray gargoyles down at the train station. Be discreet, cull quickly, no report needed.
That meant no investigation. Hmph.
He usually lived for investigation (that and talking peoples’ ears off). He was like a full-of-shit Sherlock. But today, they were pretty sure they preferred a straightforward fight, even if this was usually grunt work, the sort of thing you started out with when you first joined. Sadly, even for someone with his fighting skills, it was unlikely he’d get that roughed up. They didn’t know why their rotation team had even been assigned this.
Stepping out into the communal area, they fixed their trademark cheeky smile on their face and cleared their throat.
Isolde:
I have one question for you.
How does it feel?
How does it feel to be completely at my mercy, powerless, cut off from your precious magic? How does it feel under my beautiful control? How does it feel to know, to know, in your bones and in your blood, in your eternal viscera, that I can sever the Fates’ strand in a breath?
[Birch groans on the operating table] Shh.
I am not just an innovator, an explorer of the boundaries between science and fiction, but also, luckily for you, your saviour. With my-
Birch: [coughs up some blood - sanguine and runny and clotted and everything that shouldn’t come up with a cough, spilling down their front]
Isolde: Ahem. With my-
Birch: [still suppressing a gag] Is- Is that a Dictaphone? *cough-squelch* I always thought those were super cool. *breath*
Wait. Are you- are you recording your ‘big villain monologue’?!
Isolde: …
Isolde: Perhaps. I wouldn’t say I am the villain of this piece, however. I am simply trying to understand the enigma of you.
Now, let’s try that again.
~~~~~~
@febuwhump
I actually really like this one (and didn’t even have an idea what I was going to write this morning!)
