CW: young (implied teenage) whumpees, living weapon/child soldier adjacent, implied institutional abuse, injury, forced to disregard own wellbeing
Daydream scene I've had for a while, but this excellent prompt by @cepheusgalaxy got me thinking about it again & voilà :)
I stumbled, and barely caught myself. Every thump of my feet against the russet track sent painful shockwaves through my sprained left ankle. It was generous to count this as running, now, me loping in slow-motion, trying to perfectly centre my weight and absorb as much force in my knee as I could and it still wasn't even approaching enough. Normally I'd be ginger about even walking, but two awful days in this facility had already acquainted me with shock batons I wasn't excited to meet again. And as if that wasn't enough...
The other kid in the white tracksuit hared up behind me - lapped me, again - and briefly dropped her pace to match mine. "Come on, rookie!" She seized my elbow and started towing me along at a brutal pace. "Step it up!"
Half-hopping, half-stumbling, I managed to stay upright, but barely. "I ca- I-" My knee was desperate to buckle. "My foot-"
"Yeah, keep up, and maybe they won't break it tonight!" she yelled into the wind.
Her fingers were digging little divots into my arm that would probably-definitely bruise. Something snapped on impact, and a new sharp pain seared through my ankle. The next time that foot hit the tarmac, my leg gave out, and I crashed to the ground despite myself.
I held my crappy cold-hot-aching foot, pulse throbbing in the swelling and in my ears. The sting of road rash pricked distantly at my other knee. I was done. I'd limp the rest of the way if I had to, but I wasn't gonna ruin my ankle for God knows how long for one exercise. Why would they even want a recruit who couldn't run?
My ever-gracious comrade still hadn't left me alone. Her shadow was falling over me now, cool and dark. She nudged my good leg with one smudged white sneaker. "Up."
"Who died and made you a drill sergeant?" I snarled. "Piss off!"
Instead of pissing off, she grabbed me by the shoulders and started to haul me upright. "I said, up."
"Hey, hey, I can't! I can't!" I stayed limp, leg tucked in close, not even trying to support my weight. "I can't - my ankle, it's just getting worse. Go, run yours. Piss off. If they ask about me, tell them they can shove their orders up their arse."
She winced at that - the least drill-sergeant-y emotion I'd seen her show all day - and let me slowly crumple back to the ground. Then, she dropped to her knees, eye to eye with me. "Look. Fresh meat. I'm only saying this once. You get to learn it the easy way, so listen up." She gripped my shoulder. "Failure. Is always. Worse." Suddenly, she was in my face, and her voice was a razor edge - "Do you hear me?"
I gave a jerky, stuttering nod, heart in my throat. She held my gaze with something wild and almost pleading. Her lips twitched, baring teeth.
"Failure is always worse. Disobeying is always worse. It can always be worse." For a second or two, her eyes lost their sharp, desperate focus. Then she sucked in a breath, shook me, and released my shoulder with one last confusing pat. "So you get up, and you get out there, and run til your foot falls off if you have to."
"'S not gonna fall off," I mutter, and then, for no sensible reason, "You told me three times." That was definitely more than once. I fought back the hysterical laughter bubbling up, and pushed myself to my feet. "This is so stupid. It doesn't make sense. They're just gonna fuck us up."
She walked alongside me. "In the real world, you sprain your ankle, you think the bullets stop flying?"
God, I wish. I could vividly picture the whole mess two days ago that had finally landed me here. "The tranq darts sure fuckin' didn't."
Another arm pat. Maybe she thought that was supportive.
"They're being hard on you." She looked me up and down, and I thought I glimpsed some actual unguarded sympathy; then she started speeding up, and the gravel returned to her voice. "They don't care, though. Run."
Everyone knew it was going to happen, they just didn't know when. Marvin and Chase had given the others in the house a little warning, saying that they were planning on having a little fun at some point during the day, they just weren't sure when. Whenever the mood struck just right, they supposed. But this way, no one would be caught too off guard.
All of them happened to be home today and they were currently watching a show, all cuddled up to each other in the living room. Marvin was watching the screen but their mind ended up elsewhere, thinking about the few things they had discussed with Chase earlier. It started off fairly innocent but one thing led to another and now they were very much in the mood to stir the metaphorical pot.
Hm... what to do?
An idea seemed to hit them and Marvin smiled a tad bit to themselves as they put their little plan into action. They turned where they sat, practically turning their back to Chase who was sitting on their left and cuddling up to the person on their right, who just so happened to be Henrik. Their arms wrapped around his, holding it gently before they leaned over to pepper a few light kisses on the doctor's jaw.
Now, it wasn't unusual for Marvin to be affectionate, but the fact that they completely turned away from Chase was what made it a tad bit strange. They even pulled back a little to look at Henrik's face, biting their lip slightly.
In the heart of the woods, a story of sheer will unfolds. A single leg takes on miles of untamed paths, proving that 'can't' is just a mindset. This is for everyone who thinks they're held back. What's your excuse?
Dante tells you, 'You better keep up!' as you sigh in exasperation. He's pushing you to be your best, but his grueling schedule has left you exhausted. 😓
