CW: Loneliness; touch starvation; pet whump; dehumanization; claustrophobia; fear of punishment; anxiety/panic; mentioned sex work;
The Pet trembled, a bit too harshly. He heard the dishes rattling on the upper shelf of the cupboard. He stilled immediately. If he moved too harshly, the dishware would fall, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine the punishment from destroying something so fine and expensive. It was an old collection that Grand Master had purchased on one of his trips.
...He would be punished either way, because he shouldn’t be in there. But it would be a bit easier if there weren't broken things to add to the offense. It was bad enough that he was hiding.
...It was meant to be only a little bit of time. Just while the scary man was working on the house, with the loud scary tools that made holes on the walls. Pet could only wonder what it would feel like to have one of those used on them. Pet hugged itself.
The people were gone, now. They had gone hours ago, and the house went still and silent, with the staff finishing their jobs and heading home or into their bedrooms. Pet tried to open the cupboard, but failed. Someone had probably seen it wasn’t locked anymore, and fixed it, not knowing Pet was hidden on the inside.
...Fat tears ran through its face. There was no way for Pet to leave without asking for help, and if they saw Pet had been in there, there would be hell to pay.
There shouldn’t be anyone in the living room right now. Still… The Pet’s soft whimpering caught someone’s attention and Pet only realized when he heard footsteps. Pet clasped his hands over his mouth, eyes widening and stomach revolving.
...Well… the sooner he took the punishment… the better.
As soon as the door opened, he let himself fall outside of the cabinet and onto the floor. He didn’t look, just kneeled, forehead touching the person’s shoes, trembling. He would kiss them if he was sure it was one of the Master’s, but he didn’t recognize those boots, so he just whimpered meekly.
...The person stepped away and crouched, Pet finally peeking up. It was… Grand Master’s favorite… Company? Bed warmer? ...Boyfriend? He wasn’t sure what he was. It didn’t matter. He would surely tell the Master about this, but at least… Pet would have some time to calm down, and practice his begging. It was best if Grand Master was the one punishing him, too. At least, he was more predictable than Young Master.
“...It’s alright, breathe. What were you doing there?” He stared at the pet, scary dolly eyes seeing right through him. He frowned “...Has Farlan put you in there?”
Pet shook his head.
“Oh. Were you… Hiding?” the pet shrugged. It wouldn’t be good to say that he was, but, it was clear, wasn’t it? “...I see. I don’t blame you. I’d hide from Farlan too…”
“N-no!” ...That was barely a whisper, but for Pet, it was a scream. His voice was bad, ugly, and shouldn’t be heard unless he was singing for Grand Master. He regretted raising it so much. Yet… The man had to lean in closer to hear him “N-not Master… N-never from Master! Never hiding from Master, Never. Pet good. "
“Hey, hey, it’s okay” The man shused “...Who were you hiding from?”
...Breathe. Breathe. The man isn’t mad. He isn’t angry. And if he was, he wouldn’t hurt Pet anyway, he isn’t Master, he can’t.
“The construction workers” The man said, frowning “That was hours ago. Did you get stuck?”
Pet nodded, letting himself fall back with his forehead on the floor.
“...Well that sucks” he sighed “May I pet you? It’s fine to say no”
...It was never fine to say no. But… Pet wouldn’t anyway. He perked up just by hearing it, shaking his head aggressively, nearly shivering in anticipation. It really, really wanted the pats. Affection was so rare!
The man reached to touch him and Pet melted, head resting in his cupped hands, as he softly brushed his cheeks. Pet even forgot about the punishment. It… It was getting kindness! Someone was looking at him, touching him, talking to him.
“W-w-w-why… Is… You… here...Sir?” That’s not how he wanted to word it, but it was hard to think, and harder to speak. He had relaxed so much onto his hands, he didn’t even worry.
“They don’t mind having me around. At least not enough to kick me out” the man smiled, brushing some hair off the Pet’s face. He pulled his hand a bit closer, and Pet followed, not wanting it to end “...And it’s not like I have a real reason to always be home. It gets quite lonely”
“Lonely…” Pet stopped, pointing at himself. He was lonely too. So much it hurt. Real people felt that way too?
“Yeah I suppose you are” The man gave him a sad smile. The pet noticed his teeth… and pulled away. He regretted it immediately, but it was too late now “...I wish I could help you more. I can get you a snack, if you want?”
...Pet gulped, staring sadly as the man put his hands down. He wanted them back. He wanted to be held. He knew it was bad to wish for this coming from someone other than Master but… The man was offering kindness, and it was so, so rare...
“O-o-only M-m-master a-a-and s-s-staff c-can give p-et food”
“He wouldn’t really know. I won’t tell him about the cupboard either, so don’t worry about that”
Again, Pet shook his head.
“T-t-thanks. B-but, g-good pet”
“I’m sure you are” the man quietly nodded “I… Guess I’ve held you for too long. ’ll leave you be. Good night”
“G-g-good…”
...It took all the pet had not to beg him to stay. He watched as the man walked back upstairs, taking with him the possibility of some more comfort.
Pet hugged itself… And started to cry, rubbing his head on the floor, arms wrapped around him, biting the worst of the sobs.
This was the most anyone had talked to him in months.
Villain blinked their eyes open to find themselves strewn over Hero's equally limp body. They groaned, and rolled off of them, landing with a thud.
"Mornin' love," Hero slurred. Villain wrinkled their nose in disgust before reaching their hand behind their nemesis's head to prod around. With a sinking heart, they felt blood.
"Thanks for the help dearie," Villain mumbled sarcastically as Hero smiled about whatever their concussed mind was imagining. Villain racked their mind for any medical information. They decided on waking Hero up and placing them against the wall.
"Stay awake," they ordered, not really caring it Hero were to fall alseep again and die, but still not wanting that initial guilt. Well, now they prevented the problem to the best of their ability.
This mindset was probably what led them to villainy in the first place.
After settling Hero down, Villain started to look around. They glanced upwards and immediately regretted it when a wave of dizziness overcame them. They toppled to the ground in a very ungraceful manner.
"Mm," Villain groaned and cradled the wrist that they just had to fall on.
"Hey, honey," Hero slurred, earning a glare from Villain. They chuckled deliriously in reply.
"Hey, brat," Villain sneered and took in their surroundings from where they sat. Close walls, kind of dark, damp...
They were trapped.
Villain came to this halting conclusion with an aching heart. Villain was one who would spontaneously fall into traps, but the fact that Hero was also trapped was alarming. The perfect good kid of the city never, ever was kidnapped. Villain could vouch for that after fighting with them for three years.
Actually, now was a great time to end Hero once and for all. Villain stole a glance at their half-consious enemy who was preoccupied with sucking on their thumb and scoffed in disgust. Drool was dripping down their hand and...
"Pleh!" Villain groaned. Their wrist still hurt, but they started prodding around. There had to be an exit, there just had to be.
"Honey bun," Hero fell forward and Villain cuaght them. They didn't know if the nauseating feeling was due to the fact that they were touching Hero, or that their own injuries were starting to get to them. They could feel a few of their ribs move as they worked to replace Hero against the wall.
"I don't wanna," Hero gave a pouty face and Villain scowled.
"And I don't wanna be in this close proximity with your worthless hide," Villain snapped, not exactly caring if Hero actually understood or not.
"I'm not the one with the worthless hide," Hero pointed a finger at Villain. "You are, you dumb-"
"Ah, ah, ah," Villain scolded and gave Hero a sarcastic bop on their nose. "No swearing, you know better."
"Don'ta," Hero retorted.
"What was that?"
"Don'ta."
Villain rolled their eyes and left Hero in peace to try and pronounce the words correctly.
"Don'ta, donna..." Hero growled. "Oh ya! Don't want... ha, mesie did it, me did..." Hero laid their head on their shoulder. "Hero did it."
Villain just blinked.
"Whatcha starin' at cutie pie?" Hero laughed, a guttural sound that made Villain want to strangle them. They held back their instinctual urge and raised an eyebrow.
"What did you do Hero?" Villain asked.
"Outsie. Hero found... found," their eyes unfocused. Villain shook them rapidly.
"Out," they finished.
Villain sighed and rested their pounding head against Hero's knees. That made the other giggle, but Villain tried not to notice the shrill squeaks.
"Where is out?" They said it slow and dumbed it down to their level, but the Hero still seemed oblivious. It made Villain want to scream.
"Pweh," Hero lunged forward and put their dirty hand on Villain's face with a content giggle. Villain grabbed their wrist and chucked it against the ground.
"I am not in the mood."
But Hero just chuckled, much to Villain's annoyance.
Despite Peter’s obvious enthusiasm to join missions, Tony tends to keep him away as much as possible. But this is just a simple raid of a defunct. There’s no trouble the kid can get into here right?
Words: 2534, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English
Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Rating: Gen
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanov
TW: Medical Procedures, Claustrophobia
Read on AO3 or below the line break.
Tony coughs himself awake, the mask of the Iron Man suit cracked nearly down the middle and crumbling at the edges, gaping holes allowing for dust and debris to trickle in. His cough is dry and unpleasant but causes only a small twinge of discomfort in his chest and, beyond the minimal aches and pains that come from the regular wear and tear of trying to be a superhero in his late forties, he feels pretty solid.
“FRI?” He croaks, coughing dryly again on the end and trying to clear his throat. “You up honey?”
His comm that connects him to the rest of his team and his AI is worryingly silent for a three count before FRIDAY’s pleasant Irish lilt says “Here Boss,” with only a small amount of static. Score.
“Thank God,” he breathes out. “Status report.”
“It appears someone activated the self-destruct sequence,” she offers helpfully, a broken layout of the HYDRA base they were raiding popping up on his HUD, only partially visible due to the fractured mask but it gives Tony plenty of info.
“How’s the rest of the team?” Tony asks, still lying on his back and making no effort to move yet. He feels okay considering the situation but he doesn’t want to waste energy until he has to. “Why is my comm muted?”
“The collapse damaged the transmitter,” FRIDAY explains. “I have sent in a distress signal and pinged your location,” Tony lets out a relieved sigh that gets caught in his throat when his AI reports, “All Avengers accounted for except for Spider-Man.”
“Vitals FRI,” Tony says, a little frantic and struggling to sit up now around the dizziness that surely means a concussion. “Where’s the kid?”
“The suit is approximately thirty feet to your left,” FRIDAY tells him, marking it on the blueprint still in the corner of his HUD with a blinking blue dot. “Karen is offline so I’m unable to get vitals,” she tells him regretfully as he groans and rolls onto his hands and knees. The floor starts to rotate under him and he has to take a few deep breaths to control his nausea before he feels like he can crawl through the mess of concrete around him in the direction of Peter.
With FRIDAY’s help, Tony is easily able to navigate through the rough patches on his way to Peter and, though his comm is broken, she is able to relay rescue info from Nat. So far they don’t have much idea on how long its going to take and Tony can already feel his heart beating too fast in worry.
“The kid’s fine,” he tells himself firmly. “He’s okay.”
When he comes across Peter about a minute later he is, decidedly, not okay. His right leg up to mid-thigh is trapped under a large slab of concrete and he’s unmoving except for the stuttering of his chest and the wet sounds of his breathing. Tony’s heart beats ever faster when he notices how wet the suit is around Peter’s trapped thigh and the oddly shaped protrusion that surely indicates a compound fracture.
“Fuck,” he curses, settling next to Peter’s head on his knees and carefully removing the torn mask from his face. Peter is pale under the spandex, a bruise high on his cheekbone and his nose crooked and bleeding – clearly broken again – but he’s breathing and seems otherwise alright. “Up and at’em Petey,” Tony says, patting Peter’s unmanaged cheek softly with two fingers until his eyes scrunch up and crack open.
“Hey man,” Peter slurs, a lopsided dopey grin pulling up the corners of his mouth and his pupils obviously uneven as he looks up at Tony. “Come here often?”
“Oh yeah,” Tony tells him with an eye roll. “Love hanging out in decrepit buildings, you know me.”
Peter snots out a laugh and then winces, a hand coming up to probe at his nose. “Ouchies,” he mumbles, sounding a little nasally. Tony bats his hand away from his face.
“You’re not wrong,” he agrees, pressing a hand to Peter’s chest to keep him from sitting up. “Let’s just take it easy for a bit until the rest of the team busts us out okay kiddo?”
Peter frowns at him, his eyebrows pulling together in an expression that would be adorably confused if Tony wasn’t internally freaking out a little over their situation. Peter looks woozy and out of it from his concussion but the kid has always been pretty perceptive and Tony doesn’t say anything as he does an obvious full body check, gasping in pain almost immediately. “Mr. Stark?”
“You’re alright,” Tony reassures, trying to defuse the situation before it even becomes a situation. “Nothing we can’t fix. You’re just a little… confined until Nat can figure out how to get us out.”
Peter looks unconvinced and he has a tinge of panic on his face – leftover claustrophobia from getting trapped under a warehouse Tony knows – but he gulps and takes a few deep breaths to relax himself. “How long?”
“Whatcha got for me FRI? Any ETA on our imminent rescue?” Tony asks, one hand rubbing through Peter’s sweaty, messy curls and the other tapping on the side of his mask over the comm impatiently. He tries to hold in his grimace when she reports back that it may be a couple of hours for Peter’s sake and, instead, smiles down at him, only half his mouth visible through the cracked mask. He opens his mouth to lie through his teeth but Peter rolls his eyes before Tony has the chance.
“You know I have enhanced hearing right?” He questions pointedly, taking the wind out of Tony’s sails before he can even talk.
“Yeah alright,” the man agrees with a shrug. “It’s going to be a bit before they get here.”
Peter squirms a little uncomfortably, letting out a hiss when he jostles his leg, eyes crossing and sweat breaking out across his forehead at the pain and Tony feels his chest clench in sympathy. “Can you uh…” Peter starts, gulping and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, tears of pain popping up in the corners but stubbornly not falling. “Can you distract me?”
“Did I ever tell you about that time in college when Rhodey and I got blitzed on cheap vodka and flooded the laundry room with foam before our engineering final?” Peter lets out a little hysterical laugh and shakes his head ‘no’. “Well settle in because it’s a doozy. So it all started around ten in the morning in the fountain at the student center…”
Tony had plenty of stories about his and Rhodey’s misadventures through undergrad but he was really running out of semi-appropriate tales he could spin by the time the clock in the corner of his HUD had passed three hours. Peter, stubborn and ever the trooper, had stayed awake and cooperated every time had harassed him to keep the kid coherent. The shifting of concrete was definitely getting closer now.
Peter, however, had continued to steadily decline since Tony had found him. The wound in his thigh where the bone had punctured the skin but, miraculously, not the suit had continued to bleed steadily to the point that Tony had cut a hole in the tightly woven carbon and spandex fibers around Peter’s leg so that he could staunch the bleeding with specially made nano-particles. This had, unfortunately, clearly been a bandaid on a bullet wound situation.
Peter had steadily paled until his face was greyed around the edges and clammy. His hands were shaking and, since he wasn’t able to thermoregulate well and shiver, could only be from shock. The situation was quickly becoming dire and Tony knew he wasn’t doing such a stellar job of hiding his reservations anymore.
“Get me an update FRI,” he ground out, one hand moving methodically through Peter’s flat curls, overworked by how much Tony had been basically petting him for the past few hours. The kid’s brown eyes, half-lidded, flickered up to look at him and some quiet conversation passed between the two of them before Peter broke eye contact with a weary blink.
“Rescue is imminent Boss,” the AI reported. “Maybe fifteen minutes.”
“Here that Pete?” Tony asked, trying for bright but falling short. “Fifteen minutes. We can do that right?”
“Sure,” Peter mumbled, his own voice hoarse from coughing up dust and a little blood sneaking its way onto his lips when he wet them. His teeth were stained red and Tony could feel his heart stutter at the sight. He hated nothing more than being useless and that’s all he was right now. “Fifteen minutes. No problem.”
“Tell them to hurry it up,” Tony hissed into his comm before hitting the emergency release on his suit and peeling it off. Peter’s eyes were hazy and confused, a frown pulling his pale lips down as he watched.
“You can’t,” he said, fingers twitching in the direction of the defunct suit. “Need to be protected.”
“I’m fine kiddo,” Tony promised, moving them around until Peter’s head rested in Tony’s lap instead of on the ground. “We’re almost out; nothing’s going to happen.” Peter’s eyes narrowed but he clearly didn’t have the energy to argue further, letting his lids flutter shut and stay closed. Tony shook him none too gently to rouse him, heart aching at Peter’s low whine of pain and betrayal. “Stay awake for me Webs. Just a little longer.”
“I’m really tired,” Peter muttered, eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to keep them open. “Just a little nap. Please?”
“No can do,” Tony said, feeling on the verge or tears, running his thumb carefully over the bruises under Peter’s eye and up to his temple to gently massage it. “No sleeping until Bruce gives permission. He’s a stickler about these things.”
Peter hummed, his mouth pulling down at the corners. “Sorry Mr. Stark,” he whispered, his eyes closing and his speech starting to slur. “I don’t think I can.”
And then, terrifyingly, he went completely boneless in Tony’s lap.
“No!” Tony nearly screamed, shaking Peter as carefully as he could. “You need to wake up right now Peter I’m serious!” But Peter’s head just lolled to the side, his face and jaw slack and his skin, somehow, even paler than before. “FRI get them here now! I don’t care what it takes, Peter needs out!”
“Tony!” A voice echoed through the cavern not even a second later and Tony felt tears of relief prickling his eyes.
“Here!” He called back, sniffing hard. “About time you got down here!”
Moments later the dusty forms of Steve and Sam pushed their way into the small space that Tony and Peter had been occupying, dragging a stretcher and a bag of medical equipment behind them.
“Shit,” Steve breathed, taking them both in before hustling over to lift the concrete off of Peter’s leg.
“Stop!” Sam said, trying to body block him in the cramped space and having little success but Cap stopped nonetheless. “He could have compartment syndrome. You move that before I place a tourniquet and you could kill him!” Steve turned white and moved back, holding his hands up in surrender. “Tony you need to take the suit and get out.”
“Like hell!” He protested, bearing his teeth and gripping Peter’s shoulders possessively only to have his hands batted away so Sam could get Peter’s pulse.
“You’re in the way,” Sam explained firmly as he pulled the medical bag over and began to wrap the tourniquet tightly around Peter’s upper thigh making the kid gasp in his sleep but not wake up. “You can trust me with him,” Sam promised, making brief eye contact before getting back to his work. “I promise that I’ll take care of him for you but you have to let me help him and I can’t do that when you’re in the way.”
Tony let out a choking sound that he would never admit was a sob and covered his mouth. “That’s my kid Wilson,” he said, voice firm. “I’m trusting you with him.” Sam nodded solemnly and Steve just watched them both with a wounded expression. Tony ignored all this and bent down to press a feather-light kiss to Peter’s hair line before squeezing his eyes shut and doing the hardest thing he’s ever had to do – leave Peter alone.
“Tony,” Bruce said, relieved, when Tony emerged from the hole that the team had dug up. The man was shirtless and in his Hulk shorts, hands shaky and tired but looking alert and ready to do what he could to help them. “Where’s Peter?”
“Cap and Sam are getting him,” Tony said, feeling a little shaky and shell-shocked himself, not noticing he was swaying until Natasha ducked under his right arm to help steady him. “He um. His leg got trapped under dome of the rubble. It’s broken and he’s lost a lot of blood.” Tony explained, allowing Nat to guide him to sit on some of the surrounding debris.
“It’s okay,” Bruce soothed, bending down and grabbing Tony’s wrist to take his pulse with a frown before prodding at a couple of the tender spots on his head that made Tony wince. “We can fix it. I have blood on the jet and we’re only an hour out from the nearest SHIELD base with a full medical staff. He’s going to be fine.”
Tony nodded compulsively and submitted himself to Bruce’s exam, watching the hole intently until Cap emerged, carrying half of the stretcher with Sam following closely behind supporting the other half.
Things became a bit of a blur from there for Tony. Nat held him back from getting in the way of Bruce and Sam treating Peter and assisted him onto the jet and into a seat near the head of the gurney they had moved the kid to. Peter was still passed out, his hair and face covered in dust but he was getting a little color back in his face once Sam started the blood transfusion.
“What’s the verdict?” Steve asked, leaning against the wall and only his finger twitching showing how worried he was, taking the words right out of Tony’s mouth.
“He has a good prognosis,” Bruce reported, looking at the X-ray FRIDAY had taken and sent to his tablet. “He’ll need surgery to reset the bone but you know how quick he heals. I suspect he’ll be begging to get back in the saddle by the end of the week tops,” a collective exhale of relief passed through the team and Tony dropped his head into his hands.
“Thank you,” he said, voice thick with emotion, stumbling over to stand at the head of the bed and run soft fingers down the side of Peter’s peaceful face. This was enough excitement for a while, Tony decided, he and the kid would need to sit out the next few missions and take an actual break. Pepper had been looking at a cabin on a lake as a possible summer home and Tony couldn’t think of a better way to recuperate than sitting on the ample porch in the warm weather with his family.
Doing a double hitter tonight - this summer of whump story covers days 9 AND 10. It’s also a follow up to Thin Ice, though no need to have read that one.
Read below or on Ao3. (I’d rec the latter, it’s roughly 1.5K)
----
“Shit,” Gwaine said, doing his best to slide to a stop before he hit the wall. His boots slid in the leaf litter. He turned to head back out but ran into Merlin.
“Oof!” Merlin said as they collided. He fell to the floor, but Gwaine kept his balance. Behind them, the sound of yipping dogs got louder.
“Dead end!" Gwaine said, pulling Merlin to his feet and leading him further into the ruins.
They'd been doing nothing but exploring, taking time away from Camelot. Gwaine didn’t know if Merlin realized, but he’d purposefully led them outside of Camelot’s borders. It felt safer for what he wanted to do, but he’d never imagined stumbling across a pair of bandits. He for sure didn’t expect them to have trained hunting dogs.
Gwaine ran down what he thought was an alley at one point in the past. The old stone buildings here were of various heights, some walls intact, others crumbling or harvested. Thankfully, the place seemed as maze-like to him as it did the bandits, for they’d not be cut-off or herded while trying to flee. But who cared if the men caught up to him and Merlin, the dogs were faster. And had sharp teeth.
Behind him, Merlin stumbled. He went down with a curse, but before Gwaine could turn around and help him Merlin was on his feet and running after Gwaine again. Left, right, right again. Gwaine hadn’t thought the ruins were this big earlier, and parts of them felt familiar. Just his luck he’d lead them in circles.
“Here!” Gwaine ducked into a building. Two of the walls were tall enough to hide behind while sitting, the other two gone to rubble. He threw himself into the corner, chest heaving. Merlin fell beside him, breathing heavily.
“We need to get out of here,” Merlin gasped.
“You’re telling me. Do you think you can lead us out?”
“Me?” Merlin turned to stare at him.
“Yeah.”
“What makes you think I can when you couldn’t?”
“A hunch.”
In reality, that hunch was the memory of Merlin’s eyes flashing gold in cold river water, both of them trapped under ice.
The barking got closer. Worse, Gwaine could hear the two men talking nearby. They could run for it, or sit here and hope -
“Nice dog,” Merlin said as the beast rounded the corner.
It snarled, slowly stalking into the ruined building. The second dog slunk in too, both of them showing sharp teeth.
“I think they found them!” one of the bandits cried.
Gwaine slowly rose to his feet, hand on his hilt. Trapped in here with two dogs blocking the exit was bad enough. Trapped in here with two dogs and two men would be worse.
“Do you have meat in your bag to toss them, Merlin?”
“No. Why would I? Nice dog. You don’t really want to bite us, do you?” Merlin also slowly stood, hand palm out in front of him toward the hunting dogs.
Gwaine noticed blood on his palm. “You’re bleeding!”
“Just a scrape from when I fell,” Merlin said, not taking his eyes off the dogs. “Easy there. Nice dogs.”
“Good boys,” a new voice said. The two bandits came into view and stood behind the dogs. The shorter one gave Merlin and Gwaine a once-over. He dismissed Merlin fairly quickly, but his eyes lingered on Gwaine's sword and leather gear.
“Hand over the sword,” the taller bandit said. “Still in the sheath, or I’ll whistle for these dogs to attack.”
“Wouldn’t you rather just fall into a nap?”
Everyone turned to look at Gwaine, befuddled. Gwaine only looked back at Merlin, hoping that despite the fact they hadn’t had the conversation Gwaine wanted to yet, Merlin would still catch on that he knew about Merlin’s magic and was okay with the man using it.
“Yeah,” Gwaine said, eyes still locked with Merlin’s blue ones. “A good, golden sleep.” He put up his own hand, matching Merlin’s, and wiggled the fingers.
Merlin blanched. He looked more terrified at the idea that Gwaine knew about his magic than the dogs ready to bite into their legs.
A bandit whistled and the dogs jumped, one to each of them. Gwaine brought his sword out in a flash, swiping at the dog. It shied away, twisting to find another opening. Merlin yelped and the other dog growled, but Gwaine had no time to look. He hated fighting animals and dogs worse of all. They were too low for proper sword swings. To make matters worse, the bandits had trained the dogs to fight with them. The taller bandit rushed him with a short sword and the dog took to nipping at Gwaine's legs. He had to alternate kicks at the dog and unbalanced sword swings at the human, swearing the entire time.
“Merlin! I really do think-”
The human and dog dropped to the ground.
Gwaine stared as he panted for two breaths before looking around. The other dog and bandit also lay on the stone, inches from Merlin. Merlin sat on the ground, hunched over to clutch his bleeding leg.
"Shit." Gwaine dropped to the ground next to Merlin, supplanting Merlin's hands with his own. The blood was warm and still flowing. "Can you heal it?"
"Heal it?" Merlin's voice was high with fear. As much as Gwaine wanted to soothe it, he had to deal with his own rising panic at Merlin's dog bite.
"Yes. Heal it."
"Um, no."
"No?" Gwaine looked up from the wound to Merlin's face. The other man wouldn't meet his eyes, suspiciously focused on digging through his pack.
"No," Merlin repeated.
"Merlin, I'm not upset with you. I want you to use your magic to heal yourself."
Merlin blushed. "I suck at healing spells. I literally can't heal myself."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Move your hands."
Merlin poured water over the teeth marks, the best cleaning he could provide right now, then Gwaine helped him put on an ointment and wrap his leg. It was only as he helped Merlin to his feet to begin limping out of the ruins that Gwaine turned his attention to their would-be killers.
"What'd you do to them?"
"Exactly as you said. Put them to sleep. They'll wake up soon, it doesn't last more than two hours."
"We're not getting far before they wake then."
"We will if we hide their clothes."
"Ah, Merlin. This is why I like you."
They'd talk more seriously about Merlin's magic later, but Merlin already knew the important bits: Gwaine knew and he didn't care.
hi! welcome to this fic :) i feel like it is a little different from my usual stuff but idk how exactly so you just have to read to find out! hope you enjoy :)
It’s a little after six-thirty when they finish making camp. The tent is...standing (nothing much else can be said for it), and inside it the sleeping bags are carefully arranged. A cooler and tote of food sit by one end of the picnic table, atop which is a small folding stove and a propane lantern. Four folding chairs form a sort of circle around the firepit, which is currently devoid of fire.
“I’ll go find us some firewood,” Nick decides. Thus far he has felt less than useful - apparently, he’s the only one of the group - Hank, Monroe, Rosalee, and himself - that’s never been camping, and consequently the only one who knows absolutely nothing about how to set up a campsite. He would like to do something useful tonight, at least.
“Don’t bring back anything that’s -”
“Wet, I know.”
“Just making sure,” Monroe says, raising his hands in surrender. “You want someone to come with you so you don’t have to carry a ton of wood all the way back here?”
Nick shakes his head. “I got it,” he insists with a smile. “Really.”
“Have fun,” Hank calls over his shoulder from where he’s digging through the food tote. “Once you get back, we’ll start dinner.”
With the promise of Hank’s mediocre spaghetti to sustain him, Nick heads out into the woods behind their campsite, scanning the ground for any pieces of wood that look like they could be useful. He picks up a couple and ventures deeper into the forest, until he finds himself looking down the slope of a small hill. About halfway down it are several logs that look perfect, and Nick decides it’ll be worth the climb back up to get them. He leaves the wood currently in his arms at the top of the hill and begins walking down.
The hill is covered with various plants, and several of them have thorns which keep catching on Nick’s clothes. More than once he debates turning around to avoid going through any more of them, but he reasons that he’s already on his way down and already has several thorns sticking out of his clothes. Might as well make this little trip worth it.
He’s close now. He pulls away from an especially prickly vine, yanking the leg of his pants out of the grip of its thorns, and he must pull too hard, because suddenly his legs aren’t where they’re supposed to be and he’s losing his balance and he sticks out a hand to break his fall but he’s on an incline and one hand isn’t enough to stop his momentum. He rolls down the hill and can do nothing to stop it.
It’s one of the most confusing experiences of his life. One moment he’s just stumbling, sure that he’s about to catch himself, and the next, he’s tumbling painfully downwards, thorns and pinecones and twigs poking at him and catching on him and hurting, and the movement itself is hurting, slamming every part of his body into the hillside, and it’s making him dizzy and -
And then he’s stopped, breath momentarily knocked out of his lungs. It takes a moment for the sky above him to stop spinning, and when it does, Nick realizes that he must be at the bottom of the hill. His whole body hurts, and anywhere where he’d had exposed skin stings, and he can feel little bits of who-knows-what sticking into him.
“Ow,” he whispers, because everything hurts.
For a moment or two he just lies there, forcing himself to get it together. The pain dies down fairly quickly, replaced by aching and embarrassment. He really does not want to have to explain this to his friends. It’s not that bad, anyway. He’ll just be a little bit sore and bruised, and it’s not like that’s an unfamiliar concept to him. He’s essentially fine.
His fineness decided, Nick gets up. His hands hurt something awful when he presses them into the ground, and when he’s finally standing on achy, slightly weak legs, he sees bits of wood and a couple thorns and even a pinecone scale pressed deep into his palms. He brushes off what he can and decides to pull out the rest when he gets back to camp.
The walk back up the hill is exhausting. Whether Nick wants to admit it or not, his entire body has taken a beating, and it protests against the task. His legs burn with every step he takes, his chest constricts unpleasantly when he takes too deep a breath, and his clothes are still getting stuck on the thorns.
He reaches the halfway point and the precious firewood he’d endured all this to obtain. Nick decides that there is absolutely no way he is going to return to camp without it, so he scoops it all into his protesting arms, wishes it was lighter, and continues his slow and painful trek up the hill.
By the time he reaches the top, the sun has nearly set, and Nick wonders just how long he’s been gone. He hopes, belatedly, that his friends aren’t worried, as he picks up the other pieces of firewood that he’d left behind. If nothing else, they’ll have a roaring fire, and he can sit by it and not move for several hours. That sounds nice…
But he still has to make it back to the campsite. Which, after his walk up the hill, is an easy task. He makes it back just as the sun dips completely below the horizon, dropping the wood with a clatter onto the ground.
“Nick?” Rosalee calls out, peeking out from inside the tent. “There you are, we were starting - oh my god, what happened to you?”
Nick opens his mouth to say, nothing, really, I’m okay, but before he can say anything, Monroe and Hank are calling his name simultaneously, and he turns to look at them as they walk back up the path that leads to the campground bathroom.
“Nick,” Rosalee says, and he looks back to her. “What happened?”
Monroe and Hank walk up to them just in time to hear Rosalee’s question.
“What do you mean, what happened?” Monroe asks, and Nick turns again to look at him.
“Ah. I see it now. Man, you’re covered in...forest. What happened?”
Nick turns away from all of them, feeling his face burn in shame. It’s so stupid, he thinks, what a stupid way to get hurt.
Rosalee says something soft, which Nick assumes is not directed at him, and when he looks up again, Hank and Monroe have left. He reaches up to rub his eyes and Rosalee gently grabs his wrists.
“Don’t touch anything yet,” she says. “I know you can’t see it, but I assume you can feel all that stuff poking into your face.”
Now that he thinks about it, he can. It’s like it is on his hands - he can feel what he assumes are thorns and bits of wood and other such things pressing uncomfortably into his face, and some of them sting and some of them just ache and all of them hurt. He really wants to sit down.
“Let’s sit down,” Rosalee suggests, and they walk over to the picnic table, where the lantern is already glowing, providing light to Hank, who is stirring a pot on the little stove at the other end of the table.
Nick sinks down onto the bench, slowly and gingerly, and Rosalee disappears into the tent, emerging a moment later with a first-aid kit.
From the kit, she produces a bottle of painkillers, shaking out two of them into her hand and holding them out to Nick. He thinks about refusing them and insisting that he’s not hurting that bad, but she seems to know what he’s thinking and shoots him a look that has him taking the pills without argument.
Rosalee sits down on the bench next to him, gently turning his face towards the light. She begins cleaning off his face, starting by brushing off the bits of forest that will come off easily, then carefully pulling away the more resistant thorns. Nick resolutely does not react at all as she does this, just sits there and watches Monroe build the fire and rearrange the chairs.
“This might sting a bit,” Rosalee warns, and Nick turns his gaze back to her as she tears open a packet containing an antiseptic wipe. She rubs it across his skin, and it does sting, but again he forces himself not to react. When she finishes with the wipe, she waits a minute for his face to dry, then pulls out a jar of something that is definitely not standard in first-aid kits and rubs it gently over his face. It feels extremely nice as it settles into his various cuts and scrapes, and he wonders what it is, then wonders whether he really wants to know. He decides not to ask, not that he feels much up to saying anything at the moment anyway.
Rosalee repeats this whole process on his hands, and she’s nice enough to not mention the fact that they’re slightly shaking. “Done,” she says quietly, finishing rubbing the contents of the jar onto his palms, and Nick lets his hands fall back to his sides. “There’s still stuff in your hair. Do you want me to…?”
Part of Nick insists that he say no. That he’s already been cared for, been vulnerable, more than enough for one day. But he’s hurting and she’s offering and he really doesn’t want to do it himself. He nods.
Gentle fingers run through his hair, pulling away bits of pine straw and twigs and who knows what else. Nick finds himself slowly relaxing, the aches and pains slowly fading, and by the time she’s finished, he no longer feels quite as bad.
They both stand up from the table, meeting each other’s eyes. “Thank you,” Nick says, quietly.
“Of course,” is Rosalee’s reply. “I’d hug you, but your clothes are still covered in..poky things.”
Nick smiles lightly. “I’m gonna go change, then,” he says, and makes for the tent.
It takes what feels like forever, but eventually Nick is out of his dirty, scraped-up clothes. He carefully wraps them together and puts them at the bottom of his bag, then dusts off his sleeping area. The last thing he wants is to wake up with more thorns sticking into him because they’d fallen off his clothes and onto the place where he’s supposed to sleep.
“Dinner’s ready!” Hank calls out, and Nick unzips the tent entrance and steps outside, taking a moment to survey the scene in front of him. Hank, Monroe, and Rosalee are clustered around the table, and Hank is handing them bowls of his spaghetti, which smells a good deal better than mediocre. The lantern casts a warm glow on their faces, and to the side of them, the fire crackles and pops and blazes strongly, which Nick supposes is the least it can do considering all the trouble he’d gone to for it.
Nick walks over to the table and accepts his bowl from Hank, who claps him lightly on the shoulder and gives him a soft smile. The four of them then head for the chairs around the fire, where they sit and eat and talk and nobody says anything about Nick’s injuries.
When they finally put the fire out and start cleaning up the campsite, after several rounds of s’mores and a rousing game of 20 questions, it’s nearly midnight. Nick is still aching as he helps Hank gather up the dishes, but he barely even registers it - evidently, this evening is the best medicine he could’ve asked for.
Twenty minutes later, he’s lying in his sleeping bag and wondering if everyone else is also secretly thinking that the ground beneath them is incredibly uncomfortable. Maybe you just have to get used to it, he figures. He could get used to it, eventually, he thinks. He’d like to get used to it. Because, despite the fact that he’s managed to hurt himself extensively and somewhat embarrassingly, Nick has realized that he really, genuinely likes camping.
thanks for reading this! all the stuff in this fic is based on my own experiences camping with my family (apart from the falling down the hill which luckily has not happened to me), so if anything sounded a little “why would you do that while camping” just know it’s a product of my weird family lol. hope you liked this fic!!!!
Notes: References to canonical character death. Time loop (ish?). ANBU Iruka. A character believes momentarily that they are hallucinating.
A/N: *Taps fic* This baby can hold so many bad tropes. And I'm okay with that. Also, I'm aware of the past-tense/present-tense change and I did it on purpose. What purpose? Your guess is as good as mine.
~
Kakashi woke up calm, rested, and hungry. He went to the sink and started the faucet, then tilted his head and turned it back off. Why did I… I didn’t dream of Rin, everything’s okay.
He dressed, locked up, and went out to wander the village.
…
Kakashi woke up calm and hungry, but feeling like he could have slept another few hours. He went to the sink and turned on the faucet but… no, everything’s okay.
He dressed, locked up, and took to the roofs to find some breakfast.
…
Kakashi woke up wondering why he couldn’t remember what he did yesterday. He looked around his apartment and his eyes caught on the sink, where he got the urge to wash his hands but—
He dressed, found a granola bar for breakfast, and lounged on his bed to read.
…
Something is wrong. Kakashi wakes up and doesn’t remember going to bed. Hell, he doesn’t remember most of what happened the past few weeks.
He doesn’t stop to lock up, just hits the roofs and heads for the Hokage Tower. The windows are open in Tsunade’s office, so he slips in.
“What is it, brat?” The Hokage didn’t even look up from her work.
“I need a mission.”
“Another time,” she waves him away. “Go enjoy the village. You don’t get to do that much, do you?”
Kakashi turns around to leave, more suspicious than when he arrived.
…
He wakes up back in his apartment and is certain he’s stuck in a genjutsu. He can’t remember anything, only that he’s calm and relaxed but also has the desperate urge to wash blood off his hand. He folds his hands together and mutters, “Kai,” but nothing changes.
Kakashi gets dressed and leaves. He has to figure this out somehow.
On his walk around the village, Gai catches his attention. “Rival! You owe me a challenge!”
Normally he would humor him, but… “Later, Gai, I promise,” Kakashi waves at him and grimaces apologetically. “I have a puzzle to figure out.”
“I shall find my own riddle to solve then! And if you solve yours first, I will—”
“That’s great. Hey, actually, before you leave,” Kakashi wanders closer to Gai and tries not to fidget, “could you do me a favor?”
“Anything for you, Esteemed—”
“Break the genjutsu I’m under,” he says, finally holding out a hand.
Gai looks down at his hand, then back up to his face, and then begins laughing. “Your sense of humor is so hip and cool,” he declares, and then turns and walks away.
…
Kakashi wakes up and groans. He can’t remember what happened yesterday, or any of the days before. He doesn’t have a concussion and anyway, hasn’t been out of the village recently enough to have gotten one.
Something niggles at his mind, that’s not right, but he gets up and focuses on the faucet. Why is he focussing on the…?
He goes out to wander.
It takes him most of the day to realize that he doesn’t recognize anyone in the village, even though they all smile and wave—and isn’t that odd in itself? Most people avoid him, either due to his reputation or Icha Icha. But today he almost seems popular. It’s unnerving and he’s not fond of having so many eyes on him.
“There’s a seal.”
Kakashi looks around for the voice, for whoever said that, but he is in a civilian district and no one is having a conversation about seals. He knows that voice but he can’t put a name to it.
“As we thought. Can you remove it?”
A different voice this time, one he’s still familiar with, and Kakashi looks around carefully but still can’t—
…
Kakashi wakes up calm and well rested, but it quickly fades. He’s still in bed and he hears voices murmuring around him, discussing a seal, vitals, genjutsu—
He looks down at his hand and sees blood. He rushes to the sink, pulls down his mask, and heaves. After, he rinses vomit down the drain and washes his hands for an hour.
He sits down on the floor and brings one knee up to his chest. The room has changed; he's not in his apartment anymore, but a small windowless white room. He looks down at himself and finds his uniform gone, replaced by white hospital scrubs.
He can’t smell anything, can’t hear anything besides his pulse in his chest. The room is bright and too clean.
How did the blood get on his hand? How did he wash it off; there’s no sink in here.
“I need a little more time.”
Kakashi perks up at the sound, but there’s no one else here. He sighs; he’s been in solitary for long enough that he’s beginning to hallucinate. At least he’s not hungry.
“He might not have more time.”
“Then find a way to give him some!”
“How—”
…
“I’ve got it. Careful, now, he could be aggressive coming out.”
…
Kakashi blinks and he’s in a cave, he’s in his apartment, he’s in the white room; back in the cave. It’s fuzzy, but he can focus on the pressure on his shoulders holding him down. He’s kneeling, his hands in his lap, and around him is a team of ANBU. His thighs ache. Where’s his shirt? Where’s his mask?
“Senpai? Are you with us?” Tenzō is on one knee in front of him, still behind the Cat mask.
“There may still be lingering effects,” Owl mutters. They’re turned to watch the rest of the cave; Kakashi's grateful Owl is giving him the privacy they can. “If he can move, we should leave.”
Kakashi can’t find the energy to speak. He feels like he's gone a week—or more, maybe—without proper sleep.
“Fox, how’s the removal coming?” Tenzō asks.
“Frustratingly fascinating,” comes the voice from behind him. Startled, Kakashi turns his head to look over his shoulder, but two fingers to his chin keep him facing forward. “Sorry, Hatake-san, but I had to remove my mask earlier. I can’t have you knowing, can I?”
But he does know. He knows that voice. And when they get back to Konoha, he’s going to corner Iruka and ask when he tested for tokujō and enlisted in ANBU.
“Can you do it on the road?” Owl asks.
“It’s still linked to this space,” Fox-Iruka responds. “Five minutes.”
Tenzō sighs. “We’ll give you what we can.”
Kakashi’s awareness is returning to him in bursts, and indeed he can feel the seal drawn on his back and the fresh ink drawn over it. Of course Iruka would have made tokujō based on his fūinjutsu; and of course ANBU would have snatched him up as soon as possible after that.
“Hatake-san,” Fox mutters. His breath is inches from Kakashi’s shoulders. He fights the chill. “I’m going to release this now. Based on how the seal read, you may feel a discharge of chakra or your own may flare up.”
Kakashi nods. He glares at Tenzō and tries to tell him don’t let Iruka get hurt without moving. Tenzō, bless him, gives him a subtle nod back.
Iruka puts his palm in between Kakashi’s shoulder blades, then pulses his chakra and says, “Kai,” at the same time. He can feel the seal shatter across his chakra and he doesn’t hold back the wince. But there’s no discharge nor a flare, and so Kakashi is left breathing hard and remembering the weeks he spent in the genjutsu—weeks, days, hours… oh, hours in real time, though it felt like weeks.
He hears the shifting of porcelain behind him, and turns to see Fox packing up his ink and brush into a storage scroll. “Ir—Fox,” Kakashi says, and it’s the first thing he’s been able to say since he was sealed. Iruka looks over at him. “Thank you.”
Fox shakes his head. “Cat and Owl found you. I’m just here for the seal.”
“Still,” Kakashi turns to the others and nods. “Thanks.”
Tenzō hands him a shirt—one of his own, with a high neck he can pull all the way up and over his face. Kakashi dresses and stands, letting Tenzō lead the way out of the cave, Fox and Owl taking up positions at the back.
Content Warning: BBU, hopelessness, reference of past abuse, vague reference to past noncon/sexual touching.
Freedom is an empty word. An offering of false reassurance that often comes in some variant of, ‘your life is your own, you’re in control now.’
It’s the type of nonsense tossed around by those who have never experienced the crack of a whip across their shoulders, a confined space unable to be exited. The crawl of fingers over their skin, ones that caress and dig and take what no longer belongs to them.
Those things, they never fade. They cling to body and mind and soul like invisible bars, caging them in. They stay with the ones who have suffered, the ones used and abused and abandoned. The ones like Alexis.
So when, sitting at the top of the stairs that curve out of view, they hear that promise spoken to the safehouse’s newest bastard, they know it means about as much as algebra does to a mutt.
A round of introductions drift up the stairs, and Alexis knows them all already. The images of them, their mannerisms, so burned into their brain that they can safely guess where each is standing.
Olivia, delivery driver and safehouse owner, a large and oblivious woman with a voice that’s soft and a brain that’s soggy. Probably in the vicinity of the drab armchair she practically obsesses over. Some family hand-me-down type of bullshit.
Mallory, willowy and easy on the eyes, competent but sparse - she divides her attention between multiple safehouses and her job as a secretary to some big shot nobody. No doubt she’s sharing air with the new rescue she delivered. She always hovers.
And Ian.
A newer volunteer a couple months in - or perhaps it’s been longer, Alexis never has been good with time - who they have witnessed go from the delicate uncertainty of someone new to a line of work, to a tentative… something darker.
Alexis sees it sometimes. In the subtle hitch of his breath at the sight of a flinch, and the way his eyes come alight when a rescue complies with ingrained obedience. They had heard it in the roar of his voice and his choice of word when he screamed respect at the volatile domestic.
If asked to elaborate on their stance of ‘freedom,’ Alexis would point their finger at him. The man is a fleshy fact that has solidified their belief that no one once owned is ever free. The locations evolve, the faces change, but all they are are different forms of cages.
Ian is likely hanging back, observing from one doorway or another, with arms crossed and eyes on the latest addition to this ramshackle group of theirs.
The approach of footsteps to the base of the stairs makes Alexis rise, a hand habitually touching to the faded grey beanie sitting askew atop their head. It or a cousin is always there, even in the summer months, save for when they catch short stretches of sleep.
Olivia is leading their newest addition to his - or hers, or theirs, Alexis has not heard them speak yet - quarters. The soft echo of her voice in the stairway proceeds her.
On silent feet Alexis pads the length of the hall, mindful of the creaky spot on the carpeted floor and maneuvering around it. Compulsively they run their fingers over the edge of a wintery forest painting as they pass it.
Before the other occupants can fully ascend the stairs they dip into their room, clutching at the open door and swinging it almost closed. They leave it ajar by a couple of inches, just as they always do. A little reassurance that there remains a way out, a way to escape that particular cage.
Their skin crawls with the awareness that their roommate is regarding them from his position on his bed, back to the wall with a drawing pad perched on his knee. He hasn’t yet chosen a name for himself.
“The new rescue?” he asks.
Alexis shrugs, noncommittal, and avoids his eyes as they leave the door in favor of their bed. They crawl onto it and snag a blanket to wrap securely around themself.
The roommate doesn’t press them. His attention returns to the sketch he’s working on, a thing that vaguely resembles a house, but Alexis is too far away to be certain.
A loose thread on their blanket draws them, and they pick at it as they listen to the opening of the door adjacent to theirs, the step of feet into the vacant room. One set lumbering and the other cautious.
They wonder if the new rescue will be the mutt pretending to understand a thing by way of learning some clever trick. If this new ‘home’ will feel like freedom to them.
Or if they’ll realize, as Alexis does, that this place has all the freedom of a snare caught ‘round the neck of some forsaken hare.
