GIFTOBER 2025 | @giftober
day nine — injured/wounded
WHUMPTOBER 2025
day nine — touch
PEGGY CARTER and EDWIN JARVIS in
AGENT CARTER (2015-2016)
1.02 BRIDGE AND TUNNEL
Villain sat slumped against the wall of the training room. Through their half-lidded eyes they watched Superhero call Hero next for the sparring session but it was hard to focus with their whole body aching. That day’s sparring match was brutal and left their body covered in deep lacerations from Superhero’s dagger. Rivulets of red ran down their skin, parallel to the white lines etched on it forever, painting a sick picture of desolation. It made them sick to their stomach; they had always been a little squeamish about blood. They let out a sigh and closed their eyes for a brief moment, trying to will the dark spots in their sight to disappear, but when they opened their eyes, they persistently danced in their vision. They tried to focus on their surroundings and caught sight of Superhero cleaning blood from their dagger. Their blood. Another part of them to be taken and discarded.
Sudden wave of dizziness flooded their senses, the training room going in and out of focus as unconsciousness crept up on them. The last thing they knew before they were whisked away into oblivion was Hero, sent to the floor by Superhero’s fist.
—
The feeling of Henchman’s arms wrapping around Villain’s body startled them out of their memories.
“Hey, what’s up? You zoned out there for a bit.”
Villain still stood staring at the now empty rooftop. They opened their mouth to respond, but found themself at a loss for words. They didn’t know how to explain the scene they’d just saw, to articulate what even happened. It was ironic, really. They witnessed such scenes a hundred times. Felt it on their skin even more. Yet it was so disturbing, going back to that black hole of memories that was a testament to years of torture and bloodshed, and seeing it resurfaced in front of their very eyes.
Villain’s heart clenched, their breathing quickened as the familiar sting of panic brewed in their mind. They felt Henchman turning them around, putting their hands on their shoulders.
“Hey,” they said, concern painting their voice. They looked up, trying to catch Villain’s eyes, “what’s wrong?”
“I—,” they struggled to answer, feeling their throat closing. They finally managed to rasp, “I need a smoke.”
They hurried past Henchman and headed straight for the balcony, fumbling through their pockets for their cigarette packet and a lighter. Stepping through the door, they immediately lighted a cigarette and let the nicotine into their bloodstream, hoping its effects will keep the impending panic attack at bay. They leaned against the railing and closed their eyes, taking deep breaths in between the drags. Despite their best efforts, they couldn’t rid their mind of the image of Hero’s broken body laying at Superhero’s feet, just as it had so many times before. It was agonising to see them imprisoned to the cycle of abuse, having escaped it. Hero was still breathing the same stale air, while Villain was running with the wind.
They heard the balcony’s door open behind them and recognised the familiar heavy step of Henchman.
“Vil, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” they replied in a clipped tone.
“You’re doing it again,” Henchman pointed out as they went to stand beside their friend, “you’re closing off.”
Villain didn’t respond.
For a while, silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Henchman clearly waited for Villain to fill it, but they only took another drag of their cigarette and stared into the night sky, their mind unable to focus on there and then.
After a few minutes Henchman relented and sighed, “You know you can tell me anything, right? You don’t have to hurt by yourself.” They slowly put their hand on Villian’s shoulder, trying not to startle them. Their friend flinched only slightly.
“You are not alone.”
Villian bowed their head and let the tears burning in their eyes fall as they slumped on one of two chairs in the corner of the balcony. They put out their cigarette in the ashtray laying on the small table in between them. Henchman sat down on the other chair, waiting for their friend to speak.
“I saw Superhero on that rooftop,” Villain muttered and inclined their head in the direction of the roof.
Henchman clearly did not expect such answer. Their face fell, eyes widening, “Oh fuck.”
The choice of words perfectly summed up the situation.
“Yeah, oh fuck,” Villain sighed and ran a hand down their face, “but that is not even the worst part. The worst part is that they weren’t alone.”
Henchman’s brows furrowed. They tilted their head, urging them to continue.
Villian’s throat constricted as they thought back to Hero’s resigned expression as they were hauled to their feet and whisked away by Superhero. How utterly defeated they looked.
They lighted another cigarette.
“Hero was with them and… Hench it was bad. They looked like a wreck of a person. Superhero beat them up then dragged them to their car, and I know Superhero’s rage when I see it, they’re not going to stop at the beating alone. And Hero could barely fucking stand.”
“Sadistic fuck,” Henchman hissed angrily, their face tighted in concern. They managed to catch Villain’s gaze, and squeezed their hand in reassurance, “I get why it set you off. God, I wished we could help them.”
“I feel so utterly fucking helpless. Nothing I do gets through to them and I’m left to watch them get destroyed until I find an obituary for them. Maybe if I haven’t left, they woul—“
“Stop,” Henchman interrupted them, their tone firm but not angry, “don’t even go there. Leaving was the best thing you could do for yourself. Nothing good would come from you getting abused alongside them. You’ve tried your best to help them, but you can’t save someone if they don’t want to be saved.”
Villain gave the slightest of nods, not entirely convinced of Henchman’s words. If they were still with Hero, they could take half their burden, be a shoulder for them to lean on, to cry on. They could patch up every injury, like they had used to, whispering words of comfort. But they weren’t there, and Hero was left to suffer completely and utterly alone.
Henchman leaned forward, embracing Villain in a much needed hug, “I promise you, we will find a way to get them out of that wretched mess. I know we will.”
And Villain hoped they were right. Hero was close to finally buckling under weight, and Villain wasn’t ready to loose them again.
—
Hero was pushed into the same room in which hours ago twenty red lines where etched into their skin. Their head was spinning as they tried desperately to find their footing and ultimately lost the battle with gravity, crumpling to the ground. They made no attempt to get up, all of their energy was long gone. They wished to stay like this forever, lying on the dingy floor of the basement unit, cold tiles soothing their sore muscles. They could feel their undershirt sticking to their aggravated wounds, and could not even think about how painful it would be to remove. They could hear Superhero move around the room, shuffling through the supplies, which, even if by all appearances thoroughly clean, were stained with their blood forever. They couldn’t bring themself to care about the impending session or about the method of their punishment. They just quietly waited and hoped to pass out soon.
“Get up,” Superhero’s sharp tone cut through them like a knife. The order might have just been the most daunting of all they had ever received. They slowly moved their limbs, trying to get them under themself. Apparently, their speed was not up to Superhero’s liking and they felt a hand on the back of their neck, pulling them up.
“Fucking useless,” they heard Superhero mutter as they were put in front of a basin of water. Hero’s heart clenched in panic, already feeling the phantom pain of suffocating. Their breath quickened, fight-or-flight kicking in and making their dazed mind clearer. They hadn’t drowned for months.
The worst method and their greatest fear.
They had thoroughly screwed up.
“You know how it goes, five rounds, two minutes,” Superhero stated, their tone cold with an undertone of rage that made Hero shiver. Their hand still wrapped around the back of their protégé’s neck. They crouched behind Hero and hissed in their ear, “and if you pass out, we’ll need to repeat this tomorrow.”
Then, they pushed Hero’s head into the water.
Unprepared, Hero let the water rush to their lungs right away. Their mind went into full-blown panic. Immediately, they started trashing, fighting desperately for oxygen, but their head stayed firmly under. Their limbs flailed uselessly around them as their mind screamed.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
As more and more water entered their system, their vision began darkening at the edges, their body going limp. Hero crawled to the painless oblivion, their body desperate for any sort of relief.
But it was stolen right from under their nose.
They were hauled out, consciousness returning in an instant as they coughed and sputtered, throwing up water. They trembled, gasping for breath in between coughs. The room started to spin again, going in and out of focus. Their eyes landed on the water, tinged with pink from the blood and they recoiled. They thought they would rather die than go through this again.
Their head went under again.
They fell unconscious after the third round.
Part 3
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