Minho’s eyes were heavy, dark circles that were next to horrifying to see. His hands were shaky, a constant worry as deep memories flashed in his head. His head was aching, the inability to close his eyes making his head split open.
Still, he was wide awake, watching over Newt like he’d vanish if he dared glance away. After all, he almost died when he was allowed to go in the Maze without a partner. It had been a simple mistake, harmless at first. He had been so busy that double checking the schedule didn't seem to need to be a priority.
Even if it wasn't on him, even if he did everything right, he would stay. This wasn't just anyone. This was Newt, his best friend from the beginning. The blonde had become his rock, his motivation to run. The outside world, freedom, privacy, would mean nothing if his anchor wasn't there to enjoy it.
The Brit hadn't opened his eyes in two days. Minho hadn't left the Med-hut in two days. He had barely touched the soup Alby had left by his side or water Jeff put on the nightstand. He wouldn't move from the spot even if it killed him. Not unless he got his best friend back.
He did. Eventually.
And then Newt lost him. After Minho had sacrificed his well-being for him, he had gotten captured by WCKD. While Newt was laying awake for the third day in a row, his best friend was being tortured. The strongest person he knew was being broken more and more every second.
Of course, the infected Crank bite wasn't helping him rest any easier. He had already seen the way it had ended for Winston, and so far, it looked like he was following down the same path. Just as he let go of that wish, just as he started living, he was getting what he wanted.
As long as he rescued Minho though, he couldn't give a damn about his life all over again.
"You got the details?" Rosinante asked, lighting up a cigarette.
"We got an Italian don." You hand him the file when you stop at a red light.
Rosinante scanned through the information. "Big mob boss, always surrounded by family."
"This isn't going to be easy," you comment, driving when the lights turn green.
"That's why they hired us, darling," Rosinante reminded you with a sly smile, tapping the cigarette against the ashtray.
It's true. You and Rosinante were the best-hired hitmen for the company you worked for. Perhaps it was because you could shoot your target in a heartbeat or that no matter what the hit is, you'd still end their existence in cold blood. However, for this particular job, you two were hired because of your stealth and ability to handle the situation when your target is in a crowded area.
"It says here to be wary of his brother Bege. Guy's got an observant eye."
"He can't see what's not there." You smirk, holding up your hand. Slowly the upper half of your limb vanished before the naked eye.
"Hmph." Rosinante returned the smirk. "Might wanna keep both hands on the wheel."
If you didn't need to keep them on the road, your eyes would've rolled out of your head.
Driving through a few more lights, you parked your car two blocks away from your destination. You got out of the car, stepping onto the sidewalk in time to help Rosinante out of the vehicle, you found out the hard way what happens when you leave the blond man to do normal tasks. If he wasn't your partner in crime, you wouldn't have guessed he's a top-of-the-line hitman.
"M'lady." Rosinante brought your hand to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss on the back as he light closed the door behind him.
You smile, your cold heart fluttering a warmth at his romantic gesture. When he freed your hand, you reached up to his tie, fixing it and adjusting his collar. His face hovered close to yours, eyes staring into the other.
"What am I going to do with you?" You hum, sliding your fingers down his tie.
"How 'bout I treat you to something special after this," Rosinante whispered, hot breath on your brushing your ear.
"I'd like that."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rosinante placed his hand on top of your head. "Calm."
You smile up at him, his power now activated on you, though you snap your fingers to double-check. No sounds come from you. Rosinante moves his hand down, cupping your cheek. You kiss him and activate your powers, becoming crystal clear. You pull away, about to leave when you hear Rosinante.
"Be careful out there."
Those words warms you. Looking back, you see your partner enter the building. That makes you refocus on the task at hand and you begin scaling the building.
The plan was for Rosinante to walk among the rest of the mob, dressed as one of them, identify which one is your target and pull him out just enough so you'd have a clear shot. Once the target is down, you hop down, activate your power on him then get out. Easy in, easy out.
The hitman entered the grand hall where the party, scouting out the floor as he lit up a cigarette. Rosinante is silently grateful for the shades covering his eyes, so long as he makes little head movements, no one can notice his eyes darting around the room. Out of the corner of his vision, he spots the window opening and closing on the upper half floor. He knows it's you.
The blond makes his way over to the drinks, keeping his eyes peeled when he spots the target laughing merrily with his brother Bege. Rosinante picked up a tray of wine glasses and strolled over to the duo, offering drinks to others casually to blend in. He turned his back to the pair when he was right next to them, bumped into someone on purpose and fell back with wine glasses spilling their contents behind him and onto the target and his brother.
"What the hell?!" The target exclaimed as the red wine soaked his clothes. Others backed away from the mess on the floor. He glared at Rosinante. "Hey buddy, you should watch your step."
"Forgive me, godfather." Rosinante bowed his head. "I'll clean it up I swear."
"Impossible, you can't remove wine stains from this." He gestures to his collar shirt.
"Want me to deal with him, brother?" Bege offered.
"Ehhh, just knock 'im real good, that'll oughtta teach him a lesson."
Bege nodded. Rosinante's eyes widened, this wasn't how- Bege knocked the blond out with the back of his gun. He smirked, hearing the loud bang of a gun.
Shit. Rosinante's power wore off. Your target hit the floor but now everyone knows it's because he got shot.
"GODFATHER!"
"The shot came from over there!"
"Get them! We'll make 'em pay!"
You dashed away from your spot. Since Rosinante always used his power on you, you never knew how loud your footsteps were.
"This way! I hear 'em."
Crap. It wasn't supposed to go this way. You need to get Rosinante.
"Bastard is around the corner."
"Rosi..." you breathe through your teeth. Heavy pants express your stress. You're being backed into a corner against the window. You need to slow your breaths and be quiet.
"We gotcha now!"
The mobster turned the corner and began firing. Gunshots pierced your flesh. The window behind you breaks, glass shards flying. Their bullets push you out and you fall to the ground.
Your clear clear fruit deactivating and its spirit leaving your husk.
CW/TW: dehydration, imprisonment, exhaustion, lady whump (referenced), interrogation
The door opened, and I opened my eyes, not having the energy to move anything else. I braced for a kick, a slap, worse.
Instead, a bowl filled with water was put next to me. My dry mouth and throat, sore from crying and screaming, demanded I drink now. I didn’t move. Take nothing without permission.
“Drink.” Evon, come back for another round of torture. “You can’t talk if you’re too dehydrated, and i want you to talk. Drink it.”
Maybe he drugged it, with something to make me babble my secrets. Pray not. I moved the little bit I need to lap from the bowl. It tastes ambrosial.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Tell me where Ryssa is.”
“Told you all I can.”
“Safe. Not here.” Sarcasm twisted the words. “I know she’s not here. I don’t believe she’s safe.”
If she wasn’t safe at Rian’s inn, protected by the combined auspices of Lord High Chancellor Declan and Eiran Artha First Circle Kiri Anath, then nowhere in this world was safe. Which… might be so.
I sat up, as best I could. I wanted more water, but Evon wasn’t offering. I swallowed my saliva instead, and looked up, trying to find his eyes in the shadows.
“What—-what will you do with Ryssa, if you find her?” I couldn’t tell him. But I needed to know, anyway.
“I’ll bring her home. My House supports me; they’ll find a place for her.”
“I brought her home,” I said, quietly.
“In a godsdamn collar! Their cursed collar!” His hand went to his neck, checking.
I had no choice.
“High Chancellor Declan found a place for her in his household.”
His temper flared at that, and Evon struck at me, knocking me against the stone wall.
“Scrubbing floors, passed around at parties, used to breed the next Declan heir! Some place.”
“Can you do better, Evon Conall?”
He knocked my head against the wall, once, twice; I saw stars. “I will do better than you, Thomas Quinn.”
Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You - Whumptober Day 22
They'd taken his alcohol. Again.
He groaned as he rolled to his feet, staggering slightly. He'd forgotten about his prosthetic, hadn't bothered taking it off the night before.
The sofa was slightly damp under him and he frowned, finally coming to the realisation he’d tipped the bottle of water over him. Fucking Sheila.
He knew really, he shouldn’t be mad. But wet and feeling like death warmed up, he was pretty pissed. He was grateful for the offer to stay with the Daniels, he was. Or at least, he would be if they hadn’t taken his alcohol away. Maybe he’d had too much, he might even admit that, but he didn’t have a problem with it.
It wasn’t his fault that the room was spinning, sending him clattering into the dining room table and then to the floor. He cursed loudly, not caring if he woke them up. Without a response, he groaned, hauling himself to his feet and back onto the sofa. He might as well just sleep it off.
When he next woke, he was soaked again. Water? He’d not had another bottle. Sweat, he realised, his stomach churning and threatening to throw up. He struggled to a vaguely upright position, the nausea only growing worse. There wasn’t any chance he’d make it onto his feet, or to the toilet.
“Sheila!” He whined, shaking hands wrapped around his stomach. “Please, Sheila!”
“Hey, it’s okay, I’m coming.” She called from the kitchen, rushing through. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m gonna be sick.” He knew he sounded pathetic, could hear the shake in his voice. “I don’t want to be sick.”
“You’re alright.” She murmured, calm and soft. “There’s a bowl here. You’re okay.”
He sniffed, leaning into her. “I’m sorry.”
“I know, I know.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “It’s not your fault.”
His reply was cut off as he vomited, head buried in the bowl and whimpering. His shoulders shook as he cried, wanting his mum. Sheila was as close to a mother as he’d ever had and he’d nearly messed it all up again.
After he finished throwing up, Sheila got him settled back down, a thin blanket over him. She cleaned the dish quickly, worried about leaving him too long. She returned with a few towels, laying them on the floor around the sofa. It wasn’t like Finn hadn’t thrown up on the carpet, but she didn’t fancy cleaning it again.
The next few hours were rough, spent rubbing Harrion’s leg and trying to keep him calm and distracted. He slipped in and out of sleep, despite being exhausted, and Sheila’s heart broke to see him suffering.
When he started screaming out, begging at thin air to stop, just stop, she was stuck. She couldn’t touch him, he’d scream like it burned, and he didn’t seem to listen to her at all. It took a good half hour to get him calm again, Harrison settling down into the sofa once more, but still talking to nothing.
Harrison drifted again, though Sheila wasn’t sure he was actually asleep, finally silent and apparently calmed down. She shook her head. It wasn’t fair on him, not at all. But they’d get through it, they always did.
He woke vomiting, barely rolling off the sofa and missing the bowl completely. There was a sort of apology lost on his lips as he vomited again, his stomach empty but refusing to stop churning. He whined, tears springing to his eyes.
“Sheila?”
“I’m right here, Hars. It’s okay.”
“‘m dying.”
“You’re not, you’re just having a shit time. You’re gonna be fine.”
“Don’t let my dad hurt me.” He muttered, pressing closer to her. “Please. I’ve been good, I’ve been trying.”
Sheila tried not to show it. “I won’t, Harrison. I promise you, just like I did then, you’re safe now. You’re with me, and I’m not going to let anything hurt you.”
He shuffled around a bit, sniffling and muttering under his breath. Somehow, he found himself curled in Sheila’s lap, a towel under his head and her hand in his hair. She pressed a kiss to his temple as she stroked through his sweat-soaked hair.
