Whumpvent Calendar Catch-Up - Day 6
These characters are set in the Path verse created by the wonderful @wildfaewhump!
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“Make her stop crying.”
A stroke of fear shot through Aiden, and he couldn’t tell whether the chill was his own or the other Path’s. He pulled his hands away from her arm, only to feel them pressed down again, and he winced under his blindfold. “I said, make her stop crying, Path,” his handler repeated, her voice ringing sharp. The tone spliced the air, and made Aiden flinch with the force of it.
“I, I don’t think I can-”
“I didn’t ask if you thought you could. I told you to, so do it.”
Aiden swallowed his doubts, feeling them cling and burn, and tried to muster up enough calm to push into the other Path. He scrunched up his eyes under the blindfold, as though that would help his focus, and he felt the girl’s emotions begin to untangle from a scribbled mass of doubt and terror and loss. She still shuddered, the tremor pressing its way through her chest and ebbing into her arms, but it was slowing, it was weakening, and she was calmer. He relaxed, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and started to release his grip. And then, and then he felt something else coming from the Path. Anger. In the absence of grief and fear, indignation and hatred was bleeding into her mind.
He twitched away, but the pressure of his handler’s gloved hands kept him from escaping the growing presence of anger. “Please, she’s- she’s,” he stammered, which made her anger louder- and his world lost balance as a sharp pain blasted white across his vision. He couldn’t tell whether that was his handler’s gloved correction, or the other Path’s rage-fueled strike, but either way he fell back.
Then, hands, uncovered and dangerous, gripped his wrist, keeping him from hitting the ground. A flood of painangerhatred crowded everything out, shoving his calmcompliancequietobedience off to the side. Then, another hand grabbed his other wrist, gloved and safe, and it steadied him- and his hand collided with his handler's collarbone. She ripped him away from the other Path, and he spiraled back, and his shoulder hit something solid- making orange spiral across his vision. He felt himself fall, and then he heard his handler’s voice again.
“Stop changing me,” the other Path’s voice rang, defiant and dangerous.
“Get OFF of me, fucking Path,” she sneered, the venom in her voice multiplying tenfold, and then a pink, sickening thud and crack and then, then nothing. Nothing but the air conditioner humming dimly in the background, the quiet shuffle of his handler moving, and then, the sound of a body being dragged up to the chair she was in before.
And then, the footsteps started to grow closer.
“And you,” his handler’s voice spiked in disgust. “What the fuck was that? You were supposed to calm her down, and you hit me! Who trained you, you useless excuse for a Path?”
“I’m, I’m sorry, I, she, she pushed back, and, and, she, she was so sad, and then she was angry, and, and I couldn’t, I-”
“Jesus christ. Shut up and stand, obviously you’re not going to be doing any work right today. We’re going home.”
He slowly got to his feet, silent as his handler gripped his shoulder and maneuvered him forward. He felt the change in air pressure and temperature as the door opened, and he walked blindly forwards. The door shut, and his handler walked him away, past doors and people and Paths, and finally, to the green humidity and pressureless warmth of the outside. A car beeped, a handle clicked open, and she shoved him into the vehicle with a tired "buckle up".
He did as he was told, feeling around for the rough, plastic-y material of the seatbelt, and then scraping his hand around the seat for the buckle. Finally, he connected the two, and hunched over in the back seat as the car rumbled to life. Useless, pathetic failure- couldn't even calm down a single Path. That was his only job, the only thing he ever had to do, and somehow he still managed to screw it up.
His handler's phone rang. He jumped at the sudden intrusion of the familiar jingle, and the phone was answered.
"Hello? You've reached Inmotus Agencies, my name is Delta, how can I help you?" A pause. "Another rogue Path? Alright, someone will be there within the hour. Thank you for keeping the town safe. Goodbye!"
Something about her words make his blood freeze, but he can't tell what it is. Of course, getting a rogue Path away from people is good. It means they're being made useful, being made safe, not hurting anyone. Paths always hurt people on their own, that's what happened today, she was a rogue and that's why she hurt his handler. That's why he was there, to make her safe. And he couldn't even do that.
By the time the car turned off again, Aiden's hands were locking up from how hard he'd been gripping his sleeve. He heard the door in the front open and his disgruntled handler step out. Quietly, he released it and rubbed his palm between his finger and thumb. He stayed, not even daring to unbuckle the seatbelt until his handler practically threw the door open.
"Stay still," she grumbled, and a leather band settled around his neck. Something metal pressed against his throat as she clicked something into place near the nape of his neck, and then led him out by his collar. He fumbled with the seatbelt as she guided him out of the car, and he almost fell over when he tried to stand up. Nonetheless, she maneuvered him up onto the porch, into the house, and into the restroom- where she shoved a ragged set of clothes towards him. "It's supposed to rain tonight and I'm not dealing with those stains on your uniform. You can take off the blindfold in there, just get it back on before you come out."
He nodded frantically, holding the clothes close to his chest as she closed the door. He took a deep, trembling breath, and lifted the black void off his eyes, slowly. The light wasn't on, but there was a small night light, and even that was too bright for a moment. He ignored the lightswitch, opting for the gentler golden light from the shell-shaped bulb, and placed the fabric gently on the counter. He lingered with his hand on it, as if it would disintegrate when he stopped touching it, and then he'd be in trouble for its absence. But it stayed, crumpled and damp, as he looked at himself in the mirror. It had been days, and he looked disheveled and pathetic. His eyes were red and soaked with tears caught by the blindfold, and there was a flowering bruise forming on his cheek from the morning. He stared into his own brown eyes, and his matted brown hair, and freckled tan skin, and felt smaller for it. He grimaced and moved to the side of the restroom, no longer wanting to look at his reflection.
He exchanged his clean-ish scrubs for the tattered black t-shirt and ripped blue jeans, and with one final glance at himself, slipped the damp blindfold back on. It felt wrong at first, and he adjusted it until it was right back where it was before. He reached with aimless fingers for the doorknob, and staggered out, holding onto the wall for support. "M-ma'am? I'm… I'm ready," he said, hoping his handler was close enough to hear. And sure enough, footsteps clicked in his direction, and fingers entwined in the loose short sleeve. He stumbled along as she dragged him wordlessly to the second outside, where the door slid instead of swung and the ground was uneven. Two, four, six seconds out, she released his shirt, and he dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. His collar shifted, and chains clinked, and footsteps faded away, and he was alone.