An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Post-Maelle ending, wing au. Verso gets expulsed from the canvas with Maelle, but not without consequences.
For @ailesswhumptober no.11 “I can’t stop!”, @whumptober no. 6 “No grave can hold my body down.”, @angstober day 10 Doesn't Feel Like Home.
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Verso was dining with Maelle when something pulled at his core. Their non-conversation stopped, a look of concern settling on Maelle’s face as anticipation made Verso’s heart race. There was a nauseating feeling in the air, as if the world was losing balance. Someone was interfering with the delicate threads holding the canvas together.
Had Renoir lost patience and fetched some help? The chroma disturbing Verso’s soul felt foreign. The world flickered and Maelle cried out from the other side of the table. Verso felt some of the restraints placed on his body lift, teared away as rose petals furiously attacked Lumiere’s Paintress skin.
A part of him yearned to run to Alicia’s side, to make sure she was alright, but his legs didn’t move. She was being pulled out of the canvas. This was good. He stood still in fascination as chroma twisted and bent to a foreign will, tearing away from Maelle’s control and breaking her vessel apart.
The same petals didn’t wait long before covering his own arms as well. It felt a bit like when he had crossed the portal to the core of the canvas, as if someone was pulling at the paint that made his very being to erase it. He couldn't help the wild hope flickering in his heart. Was he finally dying?
The world dissolved in a flurry of rose petals, taking that last thought in its hurricane.
𓇢𓆸 ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ 𓍯𓂃🖌
The tragedy was, he woke up.
Verso blinked, needing a moment to adjust to his surroundings. He felt sick. It wasn’t uncommon for him to feel nauseous after a death, but it rarely got that bad thanks to his healing factor kicking in. There was a twist in his stomach that was worse than the time he had eaten Esquie’s mushrooms.
Voices rang loudly above him, worsening his already growing headache. The flashes of vision he managed to gather in between blinks showed him a vast emptiness filled with giants. Moving was hard, his limbs filled with a strange buzz, but a fast check up and slow stretch confirmed they were all accounted for. Including Maman’s gift adorning his back, more whole than they had been in years, primaries dancing in front of his eyes like long blades extending from the coverts.
Last he remembered, the world had been fading away, rose petals unstitching him and Maelle. It should have thrown Maelle out of the canvas. It should have killed him. Yet chroma still pulsed slugishly through his veins, its shine fainter than usual but still present beyond the heavy fog enclosing his consciousness.
“You were only supposed to get the girl!”
The shout pierced through Verso’s eardrums, accompanied by a whoosh of wind that blew hairs into his face. Adrenaline filled his senses with renewed clariness. He forced his vision to settle.
“I– I don't know– It wasn't supposed to pull anyone else, just any Dessendre it found—”
The new voice sounded exhausted. Verso struggled to find its source in the vast darkness, until he realised it came from one of the huge shapes settled a few hundred meters away. They wavered, as if sick.
“It pulled every Dessendre just fine.” The first voice came from a large silhouette longing even further away than the sick giant, shaking their head. “They must have painted their son in. Fools.” Annoyance made its tone dry, a scowl twisting the part of his giant face that wasn't plunged in the shadows.
Verso flinched. It didn’t bode well that whatever those beings plans were, he hadn't been part of it.
The being's annoyance turned to concern as the wavering giant fell on their knees. “Hey. George, are you alright?”
The strange being likely wasn’t, because their only answer was to bend and vomit tons of dark liquid. The smell rising from the ensuing pool made Verso’s back-feathers hackle. The giant was vomiting ink.
The first giant walked closer, his steps heavy enough to make the ground under Verso’s palm vibrate. He patted his partner with a sigh. “That's why we don't pull creations into reality".
Reality?
It couldn’t be. As far as he was aware, giants were something of legends akin to Grandis. They couldn’t exist outside canvas. Aline wouldn’t have falsified his memories on that.
The giant turned towards Verso, a dangerous look in his eyes. “A portrait of their dead son, is it? We can use this.”
Verso snarled and slid backward under the giant's sudden focus, hoping to melt into the shadows. Whatever was happening, he had enough of being a tool. His attempt utterly failed as a massive hand plucked him from the ground before he could scramble far enough. “Hello.”
“No—” Verso attempted to say, only to realise his throat hadn’t made a single noise since his awakening. He tried more words, or even a scream, but it was as if cotton had replaced his vocal cords.
His voice wouldn’t come out.
The giant held him up with interest. This was nothing like being held by Esquie. Whenever he held them up, his friend was gentle, all too aware of the fragile squishiness of his human comrades. This giant grip was harsh and tight, uncaring of the wrong angle one of Verso’s wings was trapped into or the bruises his fingers would leave on his waist.
“Calm down,” the giant chidded. “It's not you we're after.”
A rough groan echoed behind him and he twisted his neck to look at the source. There was a third giant laying in the shadows. A girl, with red hair…. Whose groan sounded just like Alicia's.
Were any of them truly giants?
Verso glanced at his hands clutching the giant’s fingers. They looked normal. He felt normal.
Yet his voice wouldn’t come out, and his limbs felt numb. It wasn’t like when Maelle had painted over him, but the sensation wasn’t far. The voice had mentioned reality… such a summoning was taboo, and cost more chroma than a single Painter generally possessed. He glanced at the other giant, who had fully collapsed next to his vomited pool of ink.
Could it be—?
Verso's memories of the Writer faction were not his, not truly, but they haunted his mind all the same. He couldn't recall any of the face surrounding him now, most of Verso's time in Paris burried under the dozen of years of his life, but who else would vomit ink the way Painters threw up paint?
Another groan echoed behind him. The Writers had wanted the remaining Dessendre out. They had wanted Alicia.
Verso tensed. Despite everything, he couldn't let them hurt her. It was in the threads that made his very being. Even if they weren't linked by blood, any iteration of Alicia would always be his little sister.
His struggling was in vain: the stranger’s grip was too firm to escape. Verso reached to his chroma to summon his sword instead. It slugishly swirled, leaving a tingling trace in its wake, but refused to leave his body. His head felt light, as if he had just run from one edge of the continent to the other.
Verso mutely cursed. Something was wrong with his pictos.
The grip around his sides tightened. “I don't know what you're trying to do, but it won't work here.”
Verso tried again anyway. Chroma swirled anew but didn’t manifest, the effort letting him more tired and dizzy than the previous time. Despair filled his belly. He had to stop the Writers before they could hurt Maelle. Leaning towards the pale skin holding him, he bared his teeth and bit, as hard as his jaw allowed.
The hand opened. “Putain.”
Verso fluttered more than he flew towards Maelle’s giant shape, his bent wing slow to react and aching at each flap. Each breathe worrily bothered his ribs; Verso was sure large bruises were blooming where he had been held. By the time he reached her nose, he felt too tired to accommodate a proper landing. He let himself fall, curling up in the crook of her neck where curtains made of hairs could hide him. He only leaned against the scarred skin because of the dizziness making the world spin, and not because it allowed him to feel the calm pulse of blood travelling from her carotid to her heart.
Mixed feelings raged in his chest. If this truly was reality, then there could be no mistakes. In this world painters were no god, and his previous counterpart was the dead proof of how fragile their bodies were. Just as the red gouges climbing on Maelle’s face were.
Alicia…
A shouted order reminded him how far from safety they stood. “Benoît! Come make yourself useful.”
Something moved in the vast emptiness. A door, Verso guessed. The endless stretching darkness was looking less and less like an infinite horizon, and more like the stretched walls of an immense warehouse.
An additional voice perked up. “Yes?”
The first man gestured towards Verso's hideout. “Fetch something to put that thing into, and tell Marcel that George is down. We'll need help to drag him and the girl up in the car. We're leaving.”
Verso paled. How many were they? He turned to Maelle, pushing her chin to wake her up, to no avail. She slept on, blissfully unaware, the only sign she had been violently thrown away from the canvas a moment ago the mixed tears of paint and ink on her face. Had they drugged her body before bringing her back?
He wished he had something like smelling salts on him to force her awake and run, but his pockets were empty and his pictos still unresponsive. Verso slipped deeper under the red hairs as the writer walked closer, feathers catching on the silk-like threads. He wouldn't be able to help anyone if he got caught.
He could only hide so far in the burrow of Maelle’s neck however. He barely managed to dodge the large hand that descended to snatch him up by taking to the air, wings flapping furiously despite his overwhelming exhaustion. He couldn't do anything for the second hand which slammed him into the ground. “You're not going anywhere.”
Fingers locked themselves around his dizzy form like iron bars, pressing his wings and his arms against his waist. No biting would allow him to escape this time. The man had adjusted his grip to wrap one finger around his neck, ensuring he couldn't bend or twist.
Verso hissed, both in pain and anger, but there wasn't much more he could do trapped as he was. He was lifted away from Maelle and towards the door, each step increasing the anxious race of his heart. A third person met his kidnapper halfway, a glass jar in hand. “Will this work?”
“Yes, it's perfect.”
Verso struggled as much as he could while being lowered into the container, to no avail. His wings bruised themselves against the hard walls, too smooth to climb, too narrow to accommodate his full wingspan. The lid fell over him with a final slam.
A large green eye was observing him through the barriers of his prison. Verso wrapped himself in his feathers as much as he could, feeling naked under the intense scrutiny despite the clothes that covered him. Fight and flight still battled in his chest, as if his ramming heart couldn't resign itself to being trapped.
He was moved, the distorted world beyond the glass moving too fast for him to adjust. Each shake sent him sprawled against a wall, until having enough of losing his balance and getting battered at every step, he sat down. The world turned dark, the warehouse immensity replaced by the rough texture of tissue.
Worry clutched at his throat. What was happening? Was this truly outside the canvas? What did the Writers want with Maelle, with Alicia?
If this was truly the real Paris, why was Verso here? Bringing painted beings in the world was one of the first taboos Painters learnt to never overstep. Even Aline, at the height of her despair, hadn’t risked it. It cost too much, for nothing. After the monsters that had been unleashed upon the world in the past, any created being was erased upon discovery.
Whether this was another painting or the true Paris, something was wrong with his body. It was small and weak, out of phase with the rest of the world. Whatever had been done to him as they crossed over had messed with Aline and Maelle's painting, mixing in new foreign threads to the core that built him. Verso knocked his hand on the glass, just because he could, letting pain wash over his nerves as his knuckle bruised. It still felt a bit off, though clearer than when he had just woken up.
The pain faded, his healing factor still working despite everything. He wondered, idly, how much air this jar contained. Could he even suffocate? His breath came in and out, lungs expanding and retracting by habit, as artificial as it had always been for an immortal.
Frustration built up in his chest. He resisted the urge to bang his head against the glass until reaching the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness. Verso couldn’t leave Maelle unconscious and alone. He couldn't miss an opportunity to escape.
Still, as his cage shook to the rhythm of an unknown destination, waves of despair made his wings slouch. In the end, he was still a powerless tool in the hands of merciless gods.
Hi There!! Can I request Whumptober No.11 for Yandere Kaku?
-Bubble Anon
Of course! Kaku is one of my favourites to write for, I do hope you enjoy the story ^-^
Whumptober Day 11
Yandere Kaku x Reader
"No, you disappeared years ago." You could hardly believe the reality before you as your hand pointed at the man who stole your heart and vanished without any trace. "What are you doing here?"
"That's a silly question, [Y/n]," Kaku chuckled as he casually approached you, wearing the charming smile that made you fall for him. "I came to see you, [Y/n]."
"I moved on," you said, taking a step back. "I'm seeing someone else."
"Is that so?" His smile remained plastered to his face but ceased moving closer to you. "And you started seeing him because I disappeared? Is that it?"
"Y-yeah..."
"I guess he'll have to start seeing someone else then," Kaku stated like it was the simplest conclusion in the world.
"What- no- I'm-" You were stumbling over your words when Kaku lowered his face to meet yours.
"Because I'm going to be taking you to live with me." His smile grew to the corner of his eyes, and while you used to always gaze lovingly into his eyes, this is the first time you noticed how dark they truly are. No shine, no light, only a soulless void staring back at you. "Isn't that wonderful, [Y/n]? You'll be able to see me every day again! Aren't you happy, [Y/n]?"
"No..." You shook your head, fear and horror slithering up your skin. "You- you can't do that."
"Oh but I can," Kaku laughed, picking you up and swinging you in the air just like he did whenever you visited him on his lunch breaks at Galley-La, even mirroring the same joyful smile he wore. "I got permission from the Celestial Dragons that you could be housed with me in our new residence."
"Did...did you say... did you say the Celestial Dragons..." Your shock made the news difficult to process, you didn't even realize Kaku set you on the ground.
"Yes, my bosses approved of you living with me in the holy land while I work for them, they even said we could be married the moment we arrive," Kaku told you, petting your hair and hugging your body to his. "We can't disappoint the Celestials, now can we?"
You were frozen in his grasp, a bunny being caressed by a fox. Once the Celestials approve of something, not doing it is disrespectful and could even be seen as an act of treason, but would they really be so generous to Kaku? They usually don't care what the common folk do, they only think of themselves, but Kaku is working for them... and if they really did give permission...
You were no different than an animal trapped at the mercy of her hunter.
Characters: Tommy, Dream, Wilbur, Niki, Sam (mentioned)
Word count: 572
TW: ASSAULT (IMPLIED), MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, HEALING FROM TRAUMA AND ABUSE
Tommy was stuck in this cell. He just needed Sam to come back. That's all he needed.
He sat on the opposite side of the cell from Dream, near the door in case he decided to risk it with the lava instead. Where was Sam? Wasn't he supposed to come back?
"No one will find you, you know." Dream chuckles to himself, and Tommy sends him a glare, trying to hide how badly being stuck in here was causing him to shake.
"Sam will be back." Was all Tommy said in response, curling in on himself while staring at the door on the other side of the lava. "He promised me."
Dream scoffs, and Tommy doesn't turn to look at him. He doesn't want to see the stupid smiley face on his mask or the scars all over his hands. He pretends he's alone, being stuck in this cell alone would be a dream compared to being stuck in here with... Well, Dream.
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Sam was not back. Tommy still sat in his corner, staring at the door, ignoring Dream when he was offered a potato for dinner.
"Tommy, you need to eat, ya know." Dream had told him, and Tommy only looked up at him.
"Fuck you, Dream. You're the whole fucking reason I'm stuck in here. Puffy said I should talk to you one last time, to let go, but I wouldn't have even had to SEE Puffy if it weren't for you!" His voice was low, and it was very obvious that Tommy was seething.
"Now, now, you can't be mad at me for telling you the truth, Tommy." Dream chuckled, and Tommy was on his feet in a minute.
"Except it isn't the truth, Dream! You're a fucking liar and you just like breaking people so you can feel powerful." Tommy had both hands on Dream's chest, shoving him across the cell.
"But here's the thing, Dream. You're weak. You keep people around who are weaker then you, break down people so that they're weaker then you, so that they stay beside you." Tommy stood in front of Dream, still glaring at him, when Dream tilted his head at him.
And laughed.
"I can show you weak, Tommy."
----
'Tommyinnit was slain by Dream'
----
Tommy sat straight up, coughing and wheezing, only realizing that he was outside again when he got his breathing under control.
"Hello, Toms." Tommy turned his head to stare at Wilbur, and sat there staring at him for quite a long time.
"We're matching now, you know." Wilbur smirks slightly at Tommy, who's gaze shoots up to his hair, pulling chunks straight to look at them. When he notices the large white streak in his hair, he glares at it.
"I don't want to match with you." His voice is quiet, and Wilbur can hear how far away he sounds. He sighs, offering his hand to Tommy.
"C'mon, then. I think Niki has some hair dye left. You could go red." Tommy eyes Wilbur for a second before letting him help him up, smiling slightly.
----
"Red was a good choice." Tommy says quietly, staring at the bathroom mirror in Niki's house, both Niki and Wilbur standing in the door, smiling at him.
His hair wasn't all red, just streaks and the tips, covering all of the white streaks from his revival. And it was the opposite of Dream's colour.
Prompts: "911 what's your emergency?", Makeshift splint, sloppy bandages, self-done first aid
Summary: Jason has been brought back from the dead, but unfortunately can't remember his life before his resurrection, or even the fact that he died. When he gets into trouble and vigilantes come to save him, can he trust them? How do they know his name?
“911 what’s your emergency?”
“Hello? It’s-It’s my brother, he’s hurt. He’s really badly hurt.” Jason curses under his breath as he tries his best to tie a scrap of fabric around the gash on Tim’s arm.
“Okay, can you tell me your name?”
“Jason.” He holds the phone up to his ear with his shoulder as he takes off his shirt to try to staunch the bleeding coming from Tim’s abdomen.
“Okay Jason, and what’s your brother’s name?”
“Tim, we’re, shit, I don’t know where we are. Can you track this call or something? Please!”
“Can you take a deep breath for me Jason?” Jason growls, but does it anyway, feeling slightly better after he does so. “Okay, I’m tracking your location, can you stand on the line with me? Maybe you can tell me about what happened.”
Jason grimaces as he looks back down at his brother who is lying unconscious on the floor. “It was another one of Joker’s attacks, or Riddler’s or one of the other fucking maniacs in this city. We were just trying to get home, and some goons jumped out at us and started attacking us for no reason.” Jason bites his lip as he tries to hold it together. “We tried to fight back but we’re not fighters. One of them had a crowbar and I- I froze.”
Jason’s brows furrow as memories flood into his brain. He sees himself standing at an amusement park, wearing a costume. Where did I get that? A man stepped out at him, holding a crowbar, and hit him before he could even do anything. An image of himself waking up in a warehouse, tied up by a man who looks like a clown flashes into his mind next. The other version of Jason calls out for Batman, and he realizes this is the Joker he’s seeing in this memory. What did the Joker want with me?
The voice of the 911 operator draws him back to the present, “Jason, honey are you still there?”
“Yes ma’am.” Jason shakes his head to try to recenter himself in reality. “They um had a crowbar and I froze. Next thing I know, I’m running as fast as I can, carrying Tim. I looked back to see if they were still following us, but then I slipped on something and we ended up falling down a hill. I can’t see the way back up, all I can see is metal.”
“Are you hurt at all or just your brother?”
In spite of how dark it is where he and Tim are, Jason does his best to examine his body for any injuries. His eyes land on his ankle, which he instantly notices is purple and swollen. When did that happen? “I think I sprained my ankle or something…”
“Can you describe what your ankle looks like?”
“It’s a little dark here, but it’s purple and really swollen.” He touches his ankle experimentally and seethes, “And it hurts to touch.”
“Okay, do you have any spare fabric you could use to wrap it? Maybe a t-shirt?” Jason’s eyes wander towards where his shirt is resting on Tim’s chest, soaked in his blood.
“No ma’am, I uh, I’m using my shirt to try to stop the bleeding coming from my brother.” Jason forces himself to look away from Tim, but only makes it a moment before turning to look at him again, worried that if he takes his eyes off him he’ll disappear.
“Can you tear off some of the fabric from your pants?” Jason nods, and begins to tear at the fabric of his jeans up to his knee. “Did you do it?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, now I want you to tightly wrap that around your ankle, preferably so it covers at least part of your ankle and part of your foot.” Jason dutifully follows orders, wincing at the pain touching his ankle causes.
“Done.” Jason lets out the breath he had been holding in.
“Perfect, we’ve almost found you okay, let’s just keep talking for a bit-”
The line goes dead, Jason yanks his phone away from his ear and sees his phone battery is dead. He tosses his phone away with him with a groan of frustration. He glances over at Tim who is thankfully still breathing, even if it is shaky breaths.
“Fuck!” He buries his face in his hands as he begins to cry. “Fuck, Tim I’m so sorry!” Jason hears a slight plink of water hitting water and his head darts up, “Water? Are we in the sewers?” Jason glances upward to see the cement roof slightly curved, in a way one would expect sewer tunnels to be. “Shit.” He scoops Tim off the ground and onto his lap, ignoring the whimpering noises coming from Tim as he does so. “Sorry Timmy, but you’ll get a nasty infection if we’re sitting in sewage until rescue comes.” He holds Tim to his chest, doing his best not to jump at every creak and groan from the metal pipes around them.
Another memory flashes in Jason’s head, this time he’s the one chasing someone. He sees himself racing towards a large figure wearing all black. The man wears a mask over his face, similar to a cowl, with large pointy spikes coming out of the top.
“B! Wait up!” He hears himself call, Do I know him? The man in black stops and turns, but where his face should be is only blank. Jason shakes his head, then looks again, only for the man’s face to still be devoid of any personal features.
“What is it Jason?” The man in black asks. Who are you?
“I just wanted to say, the last one to the cave is a rotten egg!” Jason watches the other version of him stick out his tongue and then race ahead of the man in black. The man groans, but then smiles and races after Jason.
The memory shifts to him waking up in the hospital. Nurses and doctors circle him anxiously, checking his vitals and his pupils and everything they can to make sure he’s okay. After the medical staff is satisfied, they let a boy come into the room, Tim.
“Do you remember who I am, Jason?” Tim asks, pulling one of the chairs over so he can sit next to Jason’s bed.
Jason furrows his brows as he tries to remember, “You’re my brother?” Tim smiles widely.
“Yes!” He nods, “What else do you remember?”
Jason’s face drops, “Our parents-they’re, they’re dead aren’t they?” Jason looks at Tim, hoping for an answer, “They left us alone didn’t they?”
“We’re not alone we have-” Tim pauses, as if someone told him to stop, “We have each other. You and me, partners in crime.”
“What happened to me? Why can’t I remember anything?”
“We were racing down the street on our bikes, you hit a turn way too quickly and flew off your bike and hit your head.” Tim says, as if reciting off a paper. “But the doctors said that aside from some memory loss you’ll be okay.”
“I’ll be okay?”
Tim grabs his hand and squeezes it tightly, “Plus you’ve got me, what more could you need?”
A groan from Tim draws Jason back to the present, followed by Tim slightly shifting in Jason’s grasp. “Shhh, I’ve got you Tim.” Jason whispers in his ear as he brushes Tim’s hair. “You’re gonna be okay. The dispatcher said they almost had our location, which means they should be able to find us pretty easily. And then we’re gonna get you to the hospital.”
Footsteps splash in the puddles of water as people race towards Jason and Tim. Jason squints and makes out four distinct shapes. He tightens his grip on Tim, hoping these people are rescuers, but preparing for them if they're not. A light flashes down the tunnel, allowing Jason to make out silhouettes. He sees pointed ears and immediately tries to stand up, tries to get away. He falls back to the ground, his hurt ankle unable to support his weight, let alone Tim’s. Jason’s heart begins to race as the people get closer, he does his best to scoot back but he can only go so fast.
“Jason?! Tim?! Is that you?” The man in black calls at him, causing Jason to panic. His eyes dart around the tunnel, he wishes he had anything near him he could use for protection. The people stop a few feet away from where Jason and Tim are laying. Jason does his best to put on a brave face as he takes in his attackers.
Leading the group is the man from his memory, or dream, or whatever the hell it was. Right behind him is a man in a blue costume, holding two blue sticks, with a giant logo on his chest that seems like it’s meant to be bird adjacent. Standing behind those two are two girls, one wearing all black, with a cowl matching the man in black’s, except it covers her whole face. The other wears a purple cloak and a mask over the lower half of her face. The purple girl shifts slightly, revealing a yellow version of the logo adorning the man in black and the girl in black’s uniforms.
“I don’t know who the hell you are but the cops are on their way here right now!” Jason shouts at them, bluffing with all he’s got. “They’re gonna be here any minute, so I’d suggest you start running before they show up.”
“Jason,” The man in black starts, reaching out cautiously. “I know you don’t remember me, but we’re the good guys. We just want to help you and Tim.”
Jason pulls Tim closer to his chest, “How do you know our names?”
“We were sent by GCPD to come find you guys.” He explains slowly, “We’re not here to hurt you.”
“Then what’s with the masks?”
The man in blue laughs, “Well he’s got us there B.”
“Only bad guys hide behind masks.” Jason glares daggers.
The man in black steps closer, reaching slowly towards what looks to be a utility belt, “Jason, we can get you guys medical care but you have to come with us okay.”
“No!” Jason spits out, “Don’t come any closer.”
Faster than Jason can blink, the man reaches into the utility belt and pulls out a vial. He throws the vial to the ground, releasing some kind of smoke. By the time Jason looks back up, all four of the strangers are wearing masks.
“What, what wazzat.” Jason’s words begin to mix together as his eyelids begin to feel heavier and heavier. The man steps closer again, but before Jason can say anything to protest, he finds himself falling fast asleep.
When Jason wakes up, he finds himself in a hospital bed again. A quick glance around and he can tell it’s not the same hospital as before. No nurses, or doctors, just a ginger in a wheelchair at his bedside.
“Who are you?! Where is my brother?!” Jason demands the second he lays eyes on her.
“Woah!” She throws her hands up in shock and to show that she’s harmless, “Tim’s okay, he’s just a couple rooms over. He hasn’t woken up yet, but he should be waking up within a couple hours.” She sticks her hand out, “Now, where are my manners, I’m Barbara, but everyone just calls me Babs.” Jason glares at her hand, as if he can psychically get her hand to go away. She nods, pulling her hand back so she can grab her phone. “I know you don’t remember me, and that’s okay, Leslie said it’s normal, especially after all the trauma you’ve been through-” She cuts herself off from saying anything more, instead holding up her phone to show Jason a picture of the two of them together.
“Were we friends?”
Barbara smiles and nods, “Yes! We were before the accident. I wanted to come check on you, but we all thought it’d be best to give you time to readjust first.”
“I’m sorry I don’t remember.”
“Eh, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Barbara forces a laugh, “Not the first time it’s happened and it probably won’t be the last.” Upon noticing Jason’s confused face she quickly elaborates, “Last time it wasn’t you who lost your memory, it was your brother, Dick.”
“I have a second brother?”
“You actually have 4, counting Tim of course. And several close friends who have all been very worried about you.” She glances at the door, where several faces are crammed into the tiny glass window. “If you’d like you can meet them now, or I can tell them to go away and come back later-”
“Let them in, please. It’d be nice to connect the dots a little bit more about what I don’t remember.”
Barbara laughs, “Okay, but if they get to be too much, just cough twice and I’ll kick them out okay?” She winks then rolls over to the door and opens it, “All right, try not to crowd him.”
Even though Jason can’t remember anyone who enters the room, he can’t help but feel calm and safe as they crowd around his bed. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
Prompt: Just Keep Swimming (adrift, drowning, dehydration)
Fandom: Naruto
Characters: Tenzo and Sakura
Words: 628
Rating: T
Notes: Ambiguous ending, you've been warned
Sunlight pierced through the thin canopy of leaves overhead, blinding Tenzo where he lay. He curled onto his other side, swatting blindly at the rays. Part of him knew that he needed to move, to crawl deeper into the shade before his skin blistered from the heat, but the effort seemed too great. Tenzo tried to count how many days had passed since the world ended, but he couldn’t make his mind calculate the numbers.
The gentle lapping of waves against the shore had sounded peaceful when they’d started this forsaken mission. His entire team had laughed, comparing a mission in the Land of Waves as a vacation rather than work. Now, Tenzo would give anything to hear the soft twitter of birds arguing amongst whispering tree limbs. He ran his tongue over sandpaper dry lips, trying to impart moisture, but his body had none left to give.
The island that Tenzo had ended up on was small enough for him to walk completely around in two hours without using chakra. If there was any sign of fresh water, he hadn’t been able to find it. Pushing into a sitting position, he used one hand to scan the horizon and empty sea around him. White caps danced in brilliant water, but there was nothing else within sight. If he’d had the energy, he would have laughed. The ability to walk on water didn’t do him much good if he didn’t know which way to go.
Tenzo tried to swallow, but his throat felt swollen. He wondered if the rest of his team had made it back to shore. They might be looking for him, but the chance grew thinner with every passing hour. Rubbing at his temples to try and lessen the headache, Tenzo looked around. He should get up and go look for water again, but he was exhausted. He curled into a fetal position on the poorly shaded sand and closed his eyes.
“Tenzo?” The soft sound of Sakura’s voice drew Tenzo from his fitful rest. He tried to smile, especially when she turned a strand of dark hair behind one ear. Dying her hair black had been her way of disguising herself for the mission. Tenzo still wasn’t sure it had worked. He would have known her in any lifetime.
“You came,” Tenzo managed, voice cracked and papery. He tried to wet his lips again, but he couldn’t manage it.
Sakura knelt on the sand, and raised one hand to smooth over Tenzo’s brow. He leaned into the touch as her lips brushed his forehead. “I will always come for you.”
Tenzo managed a weak hum of agreement; that felt easier than talking. The pain in his head returned, pounding with the thrumming of his heart beat. He needed something, but he couldn’t remember what it was. His vision blurred, then steadied. Sakura wiped something cool across his face. “Just rest,” Sakura murmured. “Everything is going to be fine.”
Closing his eyes, Tenzo nestled back into the intent that his body had made in the sand. The pain grew less as he drew a shallow breath. He opened his eyes, searching for Sakura, but the sun was too bright. Tenzo needed to tell her. . . something. He didn’t know what it was, but it was important. She needed to know.
Tenzo groaned Sakura’s name, fighting the pull of sleep. Her voice sounded like the wind when she shushed him, the words too soft to pick up. Sakura lifted Tenzo’s head to her lap and brushed through his hair. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re okay.”
Hours later, when the sun sank toward the horizon, it painted the beach in shades of pink and purple. A solitary figure lay unmoving beneath the trees, head pillowed on the sand.
