Ok, so dp x dc/batfam because this AU has me by the throat but what if it's the fake cryptid batfamily AU who never joined the JL.
Just...imagine it. The Batfamily has been protecting Gotham quietly but fiercely by scaring the daylights out of criminals as creatures that go bump in the night. A bit of stage magic, frightening method acting, contortion, a whole language comprised of chirps, growls, and body language, and the best tech possible and you've got a recipe for striking fear into the hearts of everyone.
They've got shrines on the rooftops, vaguely on the JL radar (Cause really, who's gonna believe that Gotham, one of the worst cities has a demon problem? Constantine? Homeboy took one look at Gotham and went Nope.) and they're protected cause any self respecting Gothamite wouldn't go spilling the beans to Outsiders. The Bats keep them safe. Who would believe them anyways?
Enter half dead, half alive Danny Fenton.
Danny Fenton who has a best friend's named Tucker and Sam who find out about the Gotham Cryptids, and go absolutely ham on research because here lies something,a bunch of someone's who are Other. Maybe they're creepy but they're cool and they're Heroes and they help people.
Sure, at first it was an attempt from Sam and Tucker to help their best friend feel less alone in the face of other, more 'normal' heroes and people out there in the world. Maybe they try to further bury the Bats online cause if anyone understands keeping on the down low, it would be Amity Parker's. For awhile, Danny Fenton, sometimes Phantom is simply happy to know he's not alone.
Then he's outed and his sister who's long since been ecto-contaiminated is put at risk there's nowhere that seems safer. Gotham is a chaotic city, even without the Bats factoring in. After all Gotham has (Demons-Spirits-Creatures?) The Bats already. Who would care if a halfa and his sister hide out there? As long as they're respectful of their territory, it'll be fine right? Besides, they've got to warn the Bats anyways about the GIW and government. They're coming after ghosts, who knows if they'll be next? Spooky things have to look out for each other after all.
Cue shenanigans as Phantom who stops hiding all of his creepier traits as a ghost walks up to the Totally Human but Faking it Batman with really thoughtful gifts for all of their shrines (And one fruitcake), no heartbeat and an earnest plea for a safe haven in their Haunt because the Ancients taught him manners and the importance of respecting another entities territory.
Humans never learned their lessons, Krolia thought. The man bobbed in the water, held up by a buoyant vest. One hand held a knife. The other clung to the netting wound around the whale. It was a stupidly dangerous place to be. Entangled and weakened though the whale was, it could still kill him very easily.
Undeterred – or perhaps unaware – he continued sawing at the net. It was slow going. His knife was tiny. Only as long as his fingers. Her knife would have been much better suited to the task, had she dared get close to them. She had no desire to become as entangled as the whale.
After twenty dobashes, he succeeded in freeing one of the captured pectoral fins. The whale, predictably, dove. Or tried to, at any rate. It was still hopelessly entangled, but it was able to submerge several feet.
Also predictably, it dragged the man with it. Krolia watched him flail. His vest was no match for several tons of whale. With a snort, she moved to end this farce.
She shot forward, darting with powerful strokes of her tail. Coming at them from above was her best bet. The net was still entangled around the whale enough she could clear it with room to spare, then dart in to free the man. She gripped her luxite blade tighter. This could easily go bad if she wasn't careful.
She dove. The man had collected his wits enough to try to free himself. But the very vest meant to keep him afloat was hindering him now. He couldn't reach the net around his ankle with it keeping his head and shoulders up. She ducked past him, seized the net directly below his heel, and cut. The tension released and he rocketed to the surface.
She followed. His ankle, the one that hadn't been ensnared, was still bruised from last time. And by Brodar, she was nothing if not vindictive. He jerked as her fingers curled around it. She seized a loop on the vest and heaved.
He cleared the surface by several feet, crashing with a grunt onto his tiny boat.
“What were you thinking?” She demanded.
The boat rocked as he struggled to orient himself. After a tick, he reappeared at the gunwale, eyes wide.
“Well?”
“You're real. I thought I was dreaming... when you... when I...” he sputtered.
“I would have hoped that you'd learned your lesson.”
“You're a mermaid.”
“I'm a Galra.” She stressed, “and you are an idiot.”
(Decades later, Krolia would tell her son how she met his father.)
If you're still doing the bingo wump :) platonic Klance with Lance apologizing right before passing out (the first option in the bingo at the left) :)
Yay! First whump for bingo! Yes, I’m still doing these. 1 Keith &Lance, with Lance apologizing before passing out.
“Keith.” Lancewhispered, “I’m scared.”
Not the kind of thing he’dusually tell his rival. He had an image to maintain. But this was anunusual circumstance, so he thought he could be forgiven.
“You’re doing okay.”Keith-not-Keith didn’t look up, one-hundred-and-thiry percent focusedon the shrapnel wound on Lance’s leg. It was ugly and painful andlooking at it once was enough for Lance.
He closed his eyes. Thenausea had become a hard pressure. Everything had gone wrong and nowhe was going to die somewhere in the void of space and he’d never getto tell his Mama he loved her, or Luis, or Veronica. He wouldn’t bethere to sample Hunk’s cooking until his friend threw him out of thekitchen, or tell Pidge lame jokes until she looked up from whateverscience-y program thing was frustrating her, or listen to Allura andCoran talk about Altea and freak out when he milked Kaltenecker.
Calm down! Keith’sgrizzled, cooler alternate-reality brother is right here! He’ll getyou patched up and into a cryopod. You’re going to be okay.
Heswallowed down the nausea and focused on breathing instead.Not-Keith’s brows were furrowed in concentration, hands deftlybandaging the wound.
“Hurryup Lance!”
Wait,what?
Not-Keithglanced up as he moved. He gestured to his helmet.
“Notyou. My Lance.” Because of course he’d gotten into a situationwhere someone needed to make that distinction.
Alternate-realityKeith tied off the bandage and inspected his work. Like the Keith inLance’s reality, alternate reality Keith’s default setting wasbroody. Really, the only difference was maybe a couple of years and ascar on his face.
“Lan…- My Lance and the red lion are on their way. We need to get down tothe hangers for pickup. I can carry you if you don’t think you canwalk.”
Lancepushed himself up on his elbows. His limbs felt like jelly and hischest was tight.
I’ma paladin. I can do this.
“Okay.”He said and let Keith-not-Keith haul him to his feet.
Puttingone foot in front of the other was hard. He stumbled more often thannot. He blinked the sweat from his eyes. The halls all looked thesame on the galra ships… and he didn’t even know where he was tobegin with. This Keith seemed to know, at least, and there wasn’t anyinterference from galra droids. Just empty hallways and their echoedfootsteps. The anxiety dogged his steps, stole the breath from hislungs. He was shaking, but still Keith did not stop.
“Keith.”he whimpered. “Keith. I don’t…I’m… I think I’m dying.”
Keith’sgrip on his wrist tightened. “I’m gonna get you out of here. You’renot allowed to die, okay? Who’s gonna call me mullet and tell me toget my head out of my ass when I make bad decisions?”
“I…this me does that?”
“He’sthe right arm. Someone’s got to do it.”
“Oh.”was all he said. Some deity up there had slid the shader bar on hisbrain and turned the purple halls to gray. That… That was bad.
“Keith.”
“Yeah?”
“Sorry.”
Andthen he passed out. Somewhere in the frightening darkness he heardhis name, and a lion’s roar.
The cards slapped against the table. Lance flicked each one from the deck with a flourish, sending them skidding wildly to a halt in front of their players. Allura gathered hers up. It wasn't a terrible hand. But Hunk's eyebrows had risen ever so slightly when he saw his, and both he and Pidge had been counting cards all evening. It was a good strategy, even if all it did was forecast how likely their hand was to win.
“So, do you think the Estoi will agree to join the coalition?” Hunk asked.
“Perhaps. They seemed very interested. They've had no trouble with the Galra yet, so it's a matter of convincing them that we will protect their best interests.”
“I don't think that'll be hard.” Keith's arm swung to encompass the room.
Allura nodded in agreement. The room was lavish, moreso even than the guest suites her mother and father offered on Altea. High, sloped ceilings with elegantly carved gables, enormous windows crafted from the finest stained glass, each depicting elaborate murals. Even the table they were playing on was extravagant, finely lacquered wood inlaid with precious stones.
A tap at the door distracted their game. None of the Estoi attendants would be so crass as to barge into a room uninvited, thankfully. Lance swung his legs over the arm of the couch, dutifully placing his feet back on the floor. Manners and decorum in all things diplomatic, she had warned him. Had warned all of them. Her own training was woefully inadequate, yet she still possessed the most skill of any of them.
“You may enter.” She called.
The attendant entered gracefully, tray impeccably balanced. The Countess Daithi had trained her house staff well.
“I crave your pardon, Princess. I have brought lapte.”
Even as he spoke, he placed the cups soundlessly on the table. An impressive feat. Tableware often refused to be silent – proper table manners was one of the lessons Allura had hated most as a child.
“Oh! That looks amazing!” Hunk declared. Crafted foam lions lay upon the top of the cup, carefully detailed with fine lines of powdered colay (space chocolate, the paladins called it, though why they had to put the word 'space' in front of everything she would never know). Different blends of colay had been used to color the lions. There was no doubt for whom each cup was intended.
“Thank you.” she said. The attendant bowed and left.
“Man! These look too good to drink!” Lance declared.
“They smell great.” Pidge agreed.
“Mmm.” Keith added, cup pressed to his lips, “It's really sweet.”
“And Keith just dives right in.”
“Why not?”
“Paladins, please.”
The card game resumed. Pidge raised. Lance called. Hunk won his first hand, but lost the second. They dealt the cards again.
“Fold.” Keith said. He flopped back against the pillows with a scowl.
“And then there were four.” Hunk mused, “Call.”
Pidge discarded a few cards, face impassive as she deliberated. Allura leaned against the arm of the couch. Nope. Still couldn't make out the reflections on the green paladins' glasses.
“Raise.”
“Call.”
“Raise.”
“Fold.” Hunk tossed his cards onto the table and finished the last swig of his lapte. “And we've lost Keith.”
Allura spared a glance at her former red paladin. He was asleep, slumped against the pillows, mouth slightly agape. “Perhaps we should wrap it up after this hand.”
It was no surprise, really. It was getting late. And while Keith had grudgingly accepted the mantle of leadership, his grief over Shiro still weighed on him heavily. It was an open secret that he didn't sleep well most nights.
“Yeah. Then we can put sleeping beauty to bed.” Lance yawned, jaw cracking with the force. Allura felt the overwhelming urge to yawn as well.
“Right. Allura. Your turn.”
“Mm.. call.”
The game went longer than expected. Lance folded next, yawning and curling up next to a sleeping Hunk. Then it was a showdown between her and Pidge. She won in the end, but Allura was just too tired to care. Pidge fell asleep while Allura cleaned up the cards.
Her head felt heavy. She really ought to wake the others and send them to bed. But the couch was so comfortable, and the under suits of their armor were surprisingly comfortable. It wouldn't hurt to close her eyes for a bit, would it?
It was a mistake, of course. The wave of sleep rolled over her. Just before she dropped off, she thought she heard a voice.
The man on the table is not the boy who left, and Iverson can't decide what's worse – Believing him dead in space with no answers or having him turn up now, like this.
How many nights had their smiles haunted his dreams? The Holt's good natured bickering, Shiro's quiet excitement. The endless questions of why and how? No bodies to bury, no wreckage or data to tell them what went wrong and how to fix it. Lost to the void and stars, their equipment frozen in time, awaiting their return.
For all of their abandoned hope, Shiro is here now. Whatever he has experienced has aged him ten years but he's alive. The answers they've been craving are almost in reach.
He can't bring himself to ask, not yet. Shiro flinches at the slightest hint of movement, shoulders raised from the gurney, eyes wide and breathing just this side of hyperventilation. Iverson's heart squeezes painfully in his chest. This isn't Shiro. The Shiro who left was calm under pressure. The Shiro who left might get flustered but he didn't panic. Not in his cadet years when retrieved a fire extinguisher to put an electrical fire. Not even when multiple lightning strikes sent his shuttle into a spin and he'd been forced to abort the mission.
This Shiro is panicking. He cranes his head to see the room, strains against the restraints.
“What are you doing?” he demands.
“Calm down, Shiro.” Iverson answers. He has practice with sounding calmer than he is, “We just need to keep you quarantined while we run a few tests.”
You know this. He wants to say. No one in the room doubts the existence of life outside earth, not with the overwhelming evidence right here. They've never seen a ship like what they've recovered outside. But if Shiro has had contact with aliens, then he's also had contact with alien bacteria. The risk is too great. He can't risk unleashing a plague on the world. On the barracks of children only a few short miles from here.
Shiro doesn't calm. Can't, more like. He continues to rant, voice rising in desperation. We are listening, Shiro. He can't help but think. They really are listening. But there is only so much they can do without more information. Information he doesn't think Shiro is calm enough to give.
Shiro's distress is catching. It settles in Iverson's lungs, presses down on his shoulders. He needs to do what is right, guilt be damned. What's right for the planet, for the garrison, for Shiro.
“Do you know how long you've been gone?” he asks. It's the safest of the questions he can ask, and one that will help him distinguish his plan of attack from here.
“I don't know. Months? Years? Look, there's no time! Aliens are coming here for a weapon. They're probably on their way already. They'll destroy us! We have to find Voltron.”
Iverson's heart sinks further, even as he makes note of the word Voltron. He expected something like this. Something scarred Shiro's face, forced the already athletic boy to bulk up further. What did these alien bastards do to him?
“Sir. Look at this. It appears his arm has been replaced with a cyborg prosthetic.”
Iverson's breath catches in his throat. He's been so focused on Shiro, on collecting and processing the data, to really observe all the changes he's undergone. The metallic hand clenches as though terrified of the notice.
It's a remarkable piece of work. Solid, well built. It appears to give Shiro the full dexterity of a real arm. It's a complex piece of beauty and the dagger of worry slips between Iverson's ribs and threatens his composure.
Why would aliens hellbent on finding a weapon, one that could destroy worlds, give a prisoner of war such an advanced prosthetic?
Did Shiro really escape? Or was he set free? What dangers lay lurking in it?
He'd reached the breaking point. There was no way to avoid it. It was what was best for Shiro. What was best for the planet.
He takes a deep breath, like a man signing his death warrant, and gives the order.
“Put him under until we know what that thing can do.”
Shiro's reaction is immediate, a panicked protest that will haunt Iverson's dreams for months to come.
“No. No. No. - No – Don't...” Shiro's voice cracks. He bucks against the restraints. The medtech only just catches his head in time, before he can smash it against the gurney and injure himself.
“Don't put me under. No!”
Iverson can't bring himself to watch. He busies himself with one of the screens.
This is the right call. He has a responsibility to the people of earth. To his men. To Shiro, who clearly can't be trusted with his own safety right now.
It's the right call, he tells himself as Shiro's shouting grows quieter, as the man slumps limply against the gurney.
It's the right call. They need to know what the damned arm can do. Then they can pack Shiro up and send him to a proper hospital with all the resources to give him the help he desperately needs.
Could Be Better: A hurt/comfort Keith birthday fic
“Hey. How are you feeling?”
Keith glanced up from his datapad. He was still pale, eyes glassy. But he was awake and not screaming in agony anymore, so that was a plus. Keith's responding smile was tired.
The mice squeaked insistently, dragging Keith's attention back to the pad. An altean strategy game was displayed. The mice crowded around it, gesturing with their tiny paws. Chulatt stared up intently and Keith gave a tiny nod. Permission obtained, the mice set to work.
“I brought some tea.” Hunk told him, settling the tray on the bedside table. He still had no clue where the table had come from, save that someone had unearthed it in their time of need.
Keith settled back against the mound of pillows. Platt skittered behind the datapad and Keith propped it against his furry body. He accepted the tea with his left hand. His right arm remained limp at his side, still stubbornly swollen.
“Thanks.” he rasped. He pressed the cup to his lips, sipping gratefully. He hardly blinked when Hunk pressed a calloused hand to his forehead. They'd been mothering him a lot in the past twenty vargas, Hunk supposed.
“Still feverish.”
“ 'm alright.”
“Keith.” the exasperation escapes with little effort, “I was with Coran when Regris called. Hell, I went with him to get you. I heard you screaming.”
He drew a shuddering breath. It was a sound out of nightmares. Incoherent screams, sobbing moans, growing harsher and harsher as his vocal cords gave out under the strain. Even now, a little over a quintant later, Keith could barely speak.
“Sorry.”
That was the straw that broke the camels back. Hunk surged forward, drawing Keith into hug. Keith stiffened in his arms, like always, and Hunk bit back his tears.
“We were really worried, man. Coran went white as a sheet when he heard you were bitten by a death lizard - “
“Slit viper.”
“-Venomous alien reptile with the most painful bite in the nearest six galaxies. He was terrified, man. And then Regris told us that he'd already given you the antivenin and you were still screaming like that...”
And the screaming hadn't stopped then. The Blades might have stocked up on human friendly analgesics, but they didn't have any that could be used safely with slit viper antivenin. No, Keith had continued screaming until Hunk and Coran had arrived at the rendezvous and Coran was able to administer a powerful painkiller. Hunk hadn't even been able to enter the pod because of the smell of sweat and vomit had been overpowering.
Hunk pulled away, meeting Keith's eyes.
“We're gonna mother the hell out of you, man. No one should have to deal with this on their birthday.”
Keith's eyes widened, mouth open like he wanted to protest. Hunk shushed him with a gesture.
“Shiro told us when we started planning Halloween. We were gonna get Kolivan to send you back and do a big surprise party.” He softened his voice as he added, “I know you're not feeling well, but if you're up to it, maybe we could do cake and a movie night? Or we could just raincheck the whole thing.”
“I'll just fall asleep.” But Keith was smiling, so that was a go.
“We'll build you a pillowfort.”
----------------------------------------------
Operation pillowfort was complete by the time Shiro brought Keith to join them, fresh from a (assisted) bath and wearing clean clothes. Lance looked positively pleased, though whether that was from Keith joining them or the fact that the clothes were his gift to the guy was up for debate.
“So, birthday boy. What are we watching?” Pidge teased. She was among the cords and cables on the floor, but she'd snuggle in with them once the movie started up.
“Princess Bride.” Keith muttered, sinking into the cushions. At Pidge's raised eyebrows, he gestured to himself, the pillows behind him, and then Coran and Allura.
I'm going to fall asleep but their reactions will be hilarious.
Pidge nodded, selecting the movie on her laptop. Her finger hovered over the play button.
“Everybody ready?”
They settled in as the opening credits played. Keith made it through half a slice of cake and the first 'as you wish' before he fell asleep, head pillowed on Shiro's shoulder. He slept soundly through Coran questions, Lance's gleeful answers. Didn't stir when Allura fetched the blanket from his room, or when Pidge called it ugly, or when Hunk explained that Regris didn't even know what a birthday present was and had tried his best in true utilitarian galra fashion.
He slept deeply and warm, surrounded by the people he loved.
Pidge shivered. She was scared and cold. The gross feeling of too much was going away, but she just wanted to go back to the Castle. She didn't want to be here, not where the sheep-people could get her.
She sat up. It wasn't the room she'd been in before, the one with the window-wall. It looked like a jail. Like the ones on tv. She frowned, lips pursing in a pout. The sheep-people put her in jail? No. They did something else, didn't they?
She brought her hands up to cradle her aching head and froze. Her hands... they were so tiny and pudgy.
“I'm a baby!”
The quivering pile next to her shifted. The tiny toddler faces of her friends peered at her, first in confusion and then in surprise. Their wide eyes turned to each other, mouths curled into little “O's”.
The sheep-people turned them into babies!
Pidge jumped up, stomping her little feet. She was so mad!
“Dumb sheep!” she shouted. “I don't wanna be a baby! I'm a big girl!”
There was no answer. It only made her angrier.
“I wanna go home.” Hunk whimpered. His eyes were red from crying. How dare they make her friend cry! She was going to... going to... tie their shoelaces together so they tripped and fell!
Allura was just as mad as she was. She stomped up to the door of the cell, threw her little head back, and shrieked. Keith wandered up to the door and shook it. It rattled a bit, but didn't open.
Pidge studied the lock. She was good at getting into things she wasn't supposed to. She used to open Matt's door with the nail file.
She decided that grown ups were stupid. It wasn't a hard lock. It was as easy as the lock on Gunther's puppy cage. She just needed to reach it. The bars were cold against her little bare feet. She tried to shimmy up it, aided by the tackiness of her skin. But every time she reached a tiny hand towards it, she slipped down.
“I 'tan help!” Lance said. He crouched down. Even standing on his back, Pidge couldn't quite reach.
“Keef! Come here!”
It took a few tries and they needed Allura to help. But if Pidge stood on Keith and Keith stood on Lance and Allura's backs, and Hunk made sure they didn't all fall over, she could reach the lock. The door opened with a drawn out creak.
They didn't know where they were going, so they just wandered around. Unfortunately for the Estoi, earth (and altean) children were far more dexterous than their alien sheep counterparts. Closed doors meant little.
Pidge didn't know how long they had been walking, but her feet were tired. And she was still cold. She wanted to go home and curl up in a warm blankie, and eat cookies. Her little tummy was talking to her and it was saying “feed me!”
They rounded another corner and ran into the first person they'd seen in ages. Huge, with purple claws and a white braid.
“Kowiban!” she howled.
Kolivan dropped the datapad in shock. In later years, he would admit to how surprising it was to be on an infiltration mission and suddenly be mobbed by an army of naked toddlers. In the moment, however, he took charge of the strange situation immediately. He gathered them up and beat a hasty retreat.
At the Blade of Marmora base, Pidge was content. She was wrapped in a blanket like a baby burrito, and one of the Blades had unearthed a stash of cookies. Kolivan was on the space phone with Coran, and they would all be home soon.
But first, she needed to eat all the cookies before Coran could tell her not to.
Hunk awoke with a bitter taste in his mouth and a throbbing headache. The ground beneath his trembling frame was hard and cold. Not the couch in the suite.
Please no please no please no.
Fear told him to keep his eyes shut tight. Fear told him to curl up as tight as he could. Fear told him to ignore the dread settling in his lungs, making it hard to breathe.
He opened his eyes wide, squinting into the bright lights. Not the suite. It was a room with plain walls. Plain walls, plain ceiling. He tried to roll over. The unexpected strain on his wrists halted him, breath catching in his throat.
He tugged again. Handcuffs. Behind his back, where he couldn't see them. Where he wouldn't be able to free himself or even use his hands. He whimpered.
“Hunk?!”
“Allura?”
He threw his legs up and over. His wrists protested as the bulk of his weight rolled over them. The room wasn't a room at all. Well, technically it was a room. His back had been to the glass wall when he woke. He shivered. A cell with no bars.
Allura was in the cell across the hall. Her hands were cuffed behind her, like his. Tousled white locks clustered around her frightened face.
If Allura was here... He inched forward. Craning his neck, he could make out the edge of an adjacent cell. Fudgesicles! They were all here.
But how? The Estoi? It had to be. The Galra hadn't conquered the planet yet. The private militaries of the nobility were strong enough to discourage it. The Countess Daithi wouldn't have anything to gain for it. Except she would, because now she had the Voltron lions and all the paladins captured. And there was a hefty bounty on them.
Assuming it was the Estoi, who were built like horses – strong but surprisingly fragile – they would have drugged them. But when? It had been hours since dinner and they had all been served from the same platters. They were all different sizes with varying amounts of body fat. Using the same amount of sedatives would have been ineffective; Someone would have received too much or too little. And the paladins were worth more alive than dead. They would have needed some way to tailor the dosage to each of them...
The lapte! The cups had been color coded by lion. And Keith was both the first person to finish his drink and the first to fall asleep. Shoot. They should have expected something like this to happen sooner or later.
Steps approached. The soft clopping stopped out of sight of his cell.
“Excellent. They are coming to. Escort them to the bairn apparatus.”
“What do you want with us?” Lance snapped.
Hunk was hauled to his feet and dragged out into the corridor. His movements were still sluggish. The sedative hadn't fully worn off.
“Hey! I asked a question! Answer me, you stupid dust mops!”
Shut up! Hunk wanted to scream at his friend. The Estoi had thick, unruly wool covering their bodies. It was a mark of superiority to have clean and well groomed wool. 'Dust mop' was an incredibly offensive insult!
He didn't see what they hit Lance with. Just that his friend let out a yelp and dropped in a spasming heap. Some type of stun gun, he supposed. It didn't matter. They were dragged down the hall and herded through a door.
It was a lab of some type. There were a few monitors off to the side. At the center of the room was a mini room.
His Hunk senses were tingling. That room was seriously not good. He dug in his heels as they pushed him towards it. The Estoi holding him struck him in the back of the head to get him moving.
“Hey! The Countess wants the goods undamaged!”
The Estoi growled and just shoved Hunk harder. He stumbled into the room, nearly tripping over Pidge. He could feel her trembling.
“Start the procedure.” was the last thing Hunk heard before the vertigo hit.
The machine hummed, growing louder and louder. The lights grew brighter, searing into his brain. It was too much. Everything was too much. Sight. Hearing. Touch. Taste.
He curled into a ball with a sob. The room was to much, too big, even filled with the others crammed in beside him. His handcuffs fell away with a clatter and he pressed his palms against his eyes and cried.
Hands dragged him forth, picked him up and carried him. There was something inherently wrong about that, but his distraught mind couldn't think of why. He was dumped on the floor of another cell, the door slamming shut.
He couldn't bring himself to do anything but huddle against his friends and cry.
