Drat, i’m a day late for Day 2 for Summer of Whump. Here, have a food posioned Percy anyway
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“I’m home!” Annabeth called out, stepping into the apartment she shared with Percy.
The sound of retching met her ears.
Dropping her backpack by the door, she rushed to the bathroom. Percy could be throwing up for all manner for reasons – poison, a gut injury, appendicitis. She tripped over the doorjamb, sliding to Percy’s side as he held the toilet bowl.
He wasn’t bleeding, so that was good.
“What’s wrong?” Annabeth let her hands lightly search his body.
“I’m gonna guess,” Percy spit acid into the bowl, “Food poisoning. Don’t try the new taco truck on campus.”
“Food poisoning,” Annabetth said.
“Yup.” He raised himself over the bowl, hovered, but didn’t vomit after thirty seconds so fell back to the floor.
“Food poisoning,” Annabeth said again. How banal. How normal. She couldn’t help but laugh, kissing Percy’s temple. “I’ll head out and get you some ginger ale, yeah?”
“You’re the best.”
“Mhmmm.”
She got a two liter from the local convenience store and picked up a box of saltines too. She could just make Percy bland rice, or give him a burger bun to nibble, but she knew he liked the salty crackers. It was a pity ambrosia and nectar only worked on injuries. Percy would spend the whole night on the couch, moaning about his stomach and dissing the new food truck, insisting on having control of the clicker because he was sick.
He’d curl up on the couch, head in Annabeth’s lap perfect for petting, and draw the blue blanket up to his chin. He’d make pitiful faces, and call her a good girlfriend for looking after him and she’d kiss his nose, safe in knowing he was only in mild discomfort and she wouldn’t get sick. They’d fall asleep on each other, some teenage romcom still sounding on the TV, safe and warm in each others arms.
Oh yes, what a pity nectar wouldn’t make her boyfriend feel better.
“Arthur!” Merlin dashed back into the prince’s bed chamber when he heard the retching.
Arthur was half out of his bed, one foot on the floor, the other still tangled up in his sheets. His hands were fisted so tightly in the blanket that his knuckles had gone white, and he was bent at an uncomfortable angle over the side of the bed.
Merlin rushed to him, leaping back just in time as Arthur emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor. Skirting around to pool of sick, Merlin grabbed Arthur as he sagged forwards. One hand on his chest and one on his back, he lifted Arthur’s torso upright to get a good look at his face.
It was ashen, a green tinge around his lips, and a sweat had broken across his forehead. His eyes watered as he lifted one arm to rub the end of his sleeve across his mouth.
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“Arthur? I’ve got you.” Merlin desperately tried to remember everything Gaius had ever taught him about vomiting. “Tell me how you feel.”
“Merlin, I –” But before he could say any more, his stomach jerked and he clamped his lips together, one hand pressing hard against his mouth.
He heaved, his hand quivering where it was pressed over his mouth and Merlin ducked down to retrieve the empty chamber pot from under the bed, holding it in front of Arthur as he moved his hand aside and retched. Rubbing Arthur’s back as he gagged and spluttered, he watched him carefully for any other worrying signs. He wasn’t happy about the way he could feel Arthur’s heart pounding, or the temperature of his skin radiating through his shirt.
Arthur groaned as his stomach stopped spasming. He clutched Merlin’s arm for balance, swaying as he leant back away from the chamber pot.
“Tell me how you feel,” Merlin asked as calmly as he could manage.
Arthur spat into the pot and wiped his mouth on his sleeve again.
“I felt a little queasy, but it felt better when I lay down and” – he paused to force down another retch, his jaw clenched and his fingers digging into Merlin’s arm – “and then my stomach…” He clenched his hand into a fist to demonstrate the feeling. “I couldn’t stop it.”
Merlin rubbed his back again as he panted for breath, hiccoughing and groaning. The panic was rising in Merlin’s chest as he helped Arthur back into the bed, scooting him across to the far side from the mess on the floor and propping pillows behind him. The hand clamped on Merlin’s arm was clammy and Arthur’s face had a sickly sheen across it, drained entirely of colour.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised before running to the door.
Outside Arthur’s room, Merlin let the panic overwhelm him. Arthur had been poisoned, he was sure of it. He dashed along the corridor until he bumped into another servant. Merlin grabbed her arm, making her drop her basket of laundry.
“Fetch Gaius! Quickly, the prince is ill,” he ordered and the maid gasped and hiked up the hem of her skirt to run off.
Merlin’s feet skidded as he turned around and sprinted back to Arthur. He could hear him throwing up again as he burst through the door.
He was by Arthur’s side in a split second, patting his shaking back. When Arthur flopped back onto his pillows, Merlin placed a hand on his forehead, chewing his lip at the temperature.
He fetched a goblet of water from Arthur’s dining table, bringing it over and helping Arthur sip it, trying to ignore the way Arthur’s hands shook.
“Come on, Gaius,” he muttered under his breath, looking over his shoulder towards the door every few seconds. He was already running through spells in his head, trying to decide the best one he could use if Arthur suddenly took a turn for the worse.
Arthur had vomited several more times by the time Gaius arrived, and had reached a point where there was nothing left for his stomach to expel. Merlin held him up as he shuddered weakly with each dry heave.
“Are you alright, sire?” Gaius hurried to the bed, stopping briefly to examine the sick Merlin hadn’t cleaned up from the floor yet. He frowned then bustled around to Arthur’s side, carefully lifting the prince’s face to peer at him.
“What’s wrong with me, Gaius?” Arthur groaned then ducked his head to retch again.
“Has he been poisoned?” Merlin hissed over Arthur’s bent head, still steadying Arthur’s torso.
Gaius gave a half shake of his head, still concentrating on Arthur; testing the temperature of his forehead and looking in his mouth when he’d finished vomiting, leaning him backwards and feeling across his stomach.
“Is your stomach painful?”
Arthur shook his head. “Doesn’t hurt, just churning… can’t stop –” He clamped a hand to his mouth again but managed to swallow forcefully before anything came up.
“Did you have chicken for dinner tonight?” Gaius suddenly asked.
Arthur screwed up his face, rubbing his hand over his lips and nodding.
Gaius hummed in acknowledgement to himself as he examined the contents of the chamber pot that Arthur was still cradling in this lap. Arthur wrinkled his nose in disgust. After taking one more look at Arthur’s face, Gaius wiped the prince’s brow and gave him a sympathetic smile.
“I do not believe it is poison,” Gaius reassured them. Merlin let out a gust of breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. “It seems,” Gaius continued, “that some of the chicken at the feast this evening wasn’t adequately cooked. You are the fourth person I have seen being sick tonight, sire.”
“I’ll be alright?” Arthur asked groggily.
“Perfectly fine in a day or two.” Gaius patted his arm comfortingly. “Merlin, give him two spoonfuls of this every few hours, it will help.” He pulled a little bottle of apple cider vinegar from his medicine bag and placed it in Merlin’s palm. “And make sure he drinks lots of water.”
Arthur groaned and flopped backwards into his mound of pillows, his face still looking a little green, and Merlin patted his shoulder.
CW: pet whump, runaway whumpee, dehumanization, starvation (of food and attention and touch), mentions of drinking and eating from insanitary sources, ambiguous ending
It had been a few days since Whumpee had managed to run away, and so far they have been lucky in not being caught again. However, even as they planned their escape the possibility of success had been so distant that they hadn't given any thought about how to survive once they were out.
It had been a few days since Whumpee had last been spoken to, even to be insulted, a few days since they had last been touched, even to hurt, a few days since they had last eaten. They drunk water from puddles after it rained or the ones that formed under air conditioners. It wasn't as if they had never drunk from the ground before. Food was harder to find. No one left it out in the open, where it could attract all sort of pests, strays like Whumpee included. Asking for it from a passerby was too dangerous and unlikely to get them anything but trouble.
Whumpee soon realized they would have to steal. Restaurants and markets were all locked when closed, and they weren't smart enough to pick the locks, but they had seen the restaurants' workers throwing out leftovers into large trash cans that no one bothered to lock. They waited until it was night and the shops were closed to walk to the back of one of those restaurants, careful to be as silent as they could.
They kneeled by the trash can, feeling almost as if they were asking for its permission. It was a comforting feeling. Doing things without receiving permission was still a foreign thing to them. They slowly opened the lid, just a little, a strong scent invading their nostrils. It was of food, different kinds of food mixed and their scents clashing and fighting for attention, over something sour and dirty and nauseating. Whumpee's stomach growled, and that was enough for them to ignore the unpleasant part. They never deserved any luxury, if they found something edible there then it was already good enough.
They opened the lid a little more, but the top of it hit the wall with a loud metallic sound. Whumpee panicked, letting go of the lid, which fell to the ground, and pushing away from the trash can. They could hear footsteps close.
Tears filled Whumpee's eyes as the back door of the restaurant opened, a tall person standing there looking for the source of the noise. Their eyes soon found Whumpee trembling on the ground.
"I-I-I..." Whumpee stuttered. "I-I didn't want to-to cause any trouble. I d-didn't steal! I didn't steal anything, I swear!" Their voice raised at the ending, and their bit their lip.
"Steal?" The person looked from them to the trash can.
Whumpee's stomach growled again.
"Oh, damn." The person mumbled. They took a step forward, making Whumpee try to make themself as small as they could. But they didn't reach for Whumpee, instead, they just took the trash can's lid from the ground and put it back in place.
Whumpee felt their heart sink. It seemed they wouldn't be eating anything today.
"You must be so hungry." The person said. Whumpee choked a sob. "Come with me, let's find you something to eat."
Whumpee raised their head to them, trying to read their intentions. It was so hard, they were tired and hungry and this person was talking to them, offering them a hand and food and they weren't Whumper. Whumpee had never spent much time with anyone but Whumper, never learned to read anyone like they did Whumper. They had never spent so long away from Whumper.
With a nod, they stood on trembling legs and accepted the stranger's hand.
After yesterdays stint in the freezer Adrian decided to stay quiet and obedient at Gabriel’s request, it was painful watching as Mistress Verona gave Gabriel all the love and attention he could ever want and all Adrian got was pain, scars, and poisoned.
“Alright my darling Gabriel it’s time for supper, were having a nice steak dinner done in a red wine marinade, asparagus, and potatoes.” She looked over at Adrian with a look of disdain. “Feel lucky, one of them was freezer burned and since you’ve been very obedient today you can have it.” She immediately went back to cooing at her precious Gabriel as she lead him to the kitchen, Adrian wandered in, his meal was already in a bowl on the floor, the normal kibble but with an unappetizing, leathery, slightly burnt steak was atop, Adrian looked over to see Mistress place Gabriel’s bowl down in front of him, all his food was cut up into bite sized pieces for him, Adrian didn’t have the time to feel resentful or else his steak would become cold.
Mistress and Gabriel had finished their meals while Adrian was still working on his steak, it had been about an hour since they left, the lights had been turned off from the kitchen at that time so he was alone in the dark, he just went about his business until he heard Mistress scream, it wasn’t anger in her voice but fear, she started barking into her phone.
“Somethings wrong with Gabriel, I need you here NOW!” “He’s vomiting, shaking, disoriented, and his breathing is heavy.” “Steak, asparagus, and potatoes.” “Red wine marinade?” “IT’S TOXIC TO CATS?” Adrian had left his meal after he finished the steak, as he crept into the living room Adrian could not feel anything but empathy for Gabriel, Adrian had been poisoned enough to know what to do to handle some of these symptoms, he went off to get him water because all the vomiting would cause dehydration, though The only way Adrian could bring it is by moving upright, if it meant he would be punished he would accept it for helping the only friendly person in this building.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? CAN’T YOU SEE THIS IS AN EMERGENCY YOU STUPID CAT?” Mistress was in a panic, Adrien needed to stay calm and logical.
“I’ve been poisoned enough to know how to deal with some of the symptoms, until the vet arrives he needs care, either you can let me help or have him suffer.” Mistress raised her hand so strike Adrian, he prepared for it but after a moment instead she sighed.
“Fine, I’ll allow it this once, you do understand what being poisoned is like.” Mistress sounded desperate, Adrian got to work on Gabriel, he was sweating profusely, a makeshift vomit bucket by the couch he was lying on, Adrian firstly checked for consciousness, his breathing was shallow. Adrian set Gabriel on his side instead of his back in case he vomited so he would not drown on it, since Gabriel was awake but in pain Adrian coaxed them into drinking water, keep Gabriel comfortable and make sure his symptoms don’t become worse, this went on for an hour until the vet arrived, Adrian slunk off to a dark corner and drifted to sleep hoping Gabriel would be alright in the morning.
the snow isn’t all that cold if you’ve got someone to hold
prompt: freezing (leftover from yesterday, used as kind of an alt prompt)
whumpee: eddie diaz
fandom: 911
hi! this fic is technically for day 1 i guess, but there are a couple days this month where neither prompt is really my thing so in those cases i will be using a prompt from a different day. there will still be 30 days of whump, but not 30 separate pairs of prompts used! anyway this fic is a bit softer and fluffier than my usual stuff but there is still whump! it’s just more gentle i guess lol. that’s just how it happened. i hope you enjoy! (title from heater by little car)
Buck opens the front door of the little cabin and steps aside to let Chris enter first. Chris walks inside, looks around for a split second, and promptly makes a beeline for the bedroom he’d claimed as ‘his’ the second he’d seen it on the website.
“Buck, come see!” he calls excitedly, and Buck smiles to himself and follows Chris inside, glancing briefly back at Eddie, who is struggling up the path with the bags that he’d insisted upon carrying inside himself.
“Look at that lamp!” Chris says, pointing to a bear-shaped lamp sitting atop the bedside table. He turns to Buck, smiling so widely that Buck thinks it must hurt his face. “This is gonna be the coolest weekend ever,” he continues, and Buck nods in agreement.
“What do you wanna do first, Superman?” he asks, and Chris shakes his head.
“Buck, I gotta read my book for that,” he says, very seriously. The front door slams shut, and Chris immediately calls out to Eddie: “Dad! I need my book.”
Eddie comes into the room a second later with Chris’ bag, his beloved Guide to Sequoia National Park sticking out from one of the side pockets.
“Thanks!” Chris says, grabbing the book and sinking down onto the bed. He flips it open and begins studying it intently, paying no mind to the other two people in the room.
Buck and Eddie therefore leave Chris to it and step out into the living room to grab their own bags, which Eddie had evidently simply dropped in the middle of the floor as soon as he’d gotten inside. Buck sets his bag down next to the couch and flops down onto it.
“Buck, are you sure- ” Before Eddie can finish his sentence, Buck interrupts him with a stern glare.
“Eds, I already claimed the couch, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“But- ”
Buck shakes his head, and Eddie, apparently sensing that this is a fight he is not going to win, flings his bag over his shoulder and makes his way to the cabin’s other bedroom, muttering something about at least flipping a coin for it. Not that Buck would’ve let that happen. He already can’t help feeling a bit like he is overstepping, although both Chris and Eddie had absolutely insisted that he come on this little trip with them, and there’s no way in hell he’s stealing the only other bed in the house from his best friend. So the couch it is.
It’s silent in the cabin for a few minutes, until Chris comes out of his room and sits on the couch next to Buck, guidebook in hand.
“Buck, I can’t decide which thing we should do first,” he says miserably, extending the book. Buck takes it and flips it open, looking through messily highlighted passages and various sticky notes covered in the handwriting of himself and both of the Diazes.
“What about this?” Buck suggests, pointing to a picture of a person standing underneath a tunnel in the roots of a massive tree.
Chris makes a noncommittal sound, so Buck continues looking through the book. Chris leans into his side and looks along with him, occasionally pointing out things he thinks are contenders for their first activity tomorrow.
Eddie startles them both when he comes into the room, and he chuckles softly as they both turn to look at him. “I’m gonna go find some wood so we can have a fire tonight,” he says. “Sunset’s in about an hour and it’s supposed to get pretty chilly.”
Chris nods in agreement and asks if they can make hot chocolate later, to which Buck and Eddie simultaneously reply yes; and Buck jokingly tells Eddie to be careful with the ax (which is about half the size of the one they regularly use in the field), and then Eddie heads out into the forest and Chris and Buck return to their very important activity of scouring the guidebook.
About twenty minutes pass pleasantly, with Buck and Chris slowly figuring out their plan of attack for the two days ahead. Then Chris looks up from the book and gasps.
“Buck! Look, it’s snowing!”
Buck turns to look out the window, and sure enough, snow is pouring down from the sky. “That’s weird,” he says, half to himself. “It wasn’t supposed to snow this weekend.”
Chris suddenly looks very concerned. “Will we still be able to go and see the trees?”
“I think so,” Buck says reassuringly. He can’t imagine that this snow is going to last very long. He’d done a lot of research into the weather up here in the past couple weeks, and it’s really not supposed to snow this early into November. He figures that this snow will probably melt by midday tomorrow, which should still let them do everything that they’re planning on doing.
“Good,” Chris says, and then he gets up and looks out the window, leaning against the pane, breath fogging up the glass. Buck wonders if he’s ever seen snow before, and he’s about to ask whether Chris would like to go outside and see it when he thinks of Eddie, and decides to shoot him a quick text to see whether he’s almost done with gathering wood.
Eddie’s phone dings on the kitchen counter, and Buck sighs. He looks back out the window, where the snow is beginning to fall harder. It’s already a couple inches deep, he can tell, and Eddie hadn’t been wearing a coat when he’d gone out. He gives Eddie two minutes, in case he’s on his way back, and then starts putting on his own coat and the snow boots that he’d brought, just in case.
“Are you going to get Daddy?” Chris asks, moving to stand next to Buck. He sounds a little worried, and Buck puts a soft hand atop his hair.
“Yep, and then we can spend all evening with a nice, warm fire and some hot cocoa and maybe even a movie,” Buck says, zipping up his jacket. “In the meantime, why don’t you keep looking through your book and see if there’s anything we can do that’s inside.”
Chris nods and makes his way back to the couch, and Buck steps outside onto the front porch.
It’s cold. Really cold. Buck tries not to think about all of the many terrible things that could’ve happened to Eddie in the twenty minutes that he’s been gone as he makes his way out into the snow, calling out Eddie’s name.
He walks for maybe ten minutes, slowly circling outwards from the front door of the cabin, continually calling for Eddie. The sun is starting to set, and the snow is falling faster still, and he is really trying not to panic now. He’s about to get out his phone and call 911 when he hears a voice, faint but unmistakably Eddie’s.
“Hold on, Eddie, I’m coming!” he shouts, and hurries off in the direction of Eddie’s voice as fast as he can.
He skids to a stop in front of Eddie, barely managing to stay on his feet as he hits an especially slippery patch of snow. “You okay?” he asks, even though Eddie is clearly freezing his ass off and definitely not okay.
“Slipped,” Eddie says, through chattering teeth. “Not hurt, don’t think, but it was too slippery. Couldn’t get back up.”
Buck can see how that might’ve happened. “I almost slipped too,” he says. “Lucky I didn’t, or we’d both be stuck out here.”
Eddie gives a soft laugh, then sucks in a sharp breath. “‘M really cold, Buck,” he says.
“I know,” Buck replies, carefully bending over and grabbing Eddie underneath his arms. “We’re gonna get you back to the cabin and warm you up as soon as we can, I promise.” He hauls Eddie to his feet, keeping an arm firmly wrapped around him to stop him from slipping again. This close together, he can hear Eddie’s teeth chattering, can feel the coldness of his skin and his clothes. Buck unzips his jacket and maneuvers his way out of it without letting go of Eddie, then tugs the jacket securely around Eddie’s shoulders, guiding his shaking arms into the sleeves and zipping it up.
“‘S nice,” Eddie whispers, leaning a little more heavily into Buck.
“I bet,” Buck says, sympathetically. “But try not to lean on me too much, okay? The last thing we need is to both end up on our asses in the snow.”
Eddie nods and pulls away slightly, and then the two begin a very slow, very careful trek back to the cabin.
Halfway there, the sun dips completely below the horizon, and the temperature feels like it drops another ten degrees. Eddie starts shivering harder, despite Buck’s jacket, and Buck throws caution to the wind and pulls Eddie closer, taking smaller steps and shining his phone’s flashlight onto the ground ahead of them.
“Is Chris okay?” Eddie asks, suddenly, stopping in his tracks and nearly causing the both of them to fall.
“He’s okay,” Buck says, gently pulling him along. “He’s looking through his guidebook and finding some things to do indoors tomorrow, if this snow doesn’t let up.”
This answer seems to satisfy Eddie, who lapses into silence as they walk along through the snow.
“Look, there’s the cabin,” Buck says, gesturing to its lights glowing through the darkness, even though he knows Eddie can’t see his hand. “We’re almost there.”
Eddie only hums in response, and Buck tugs him along a little faster, very anxious to get him inside and warmed up before this cold does any real damage.
A minute later, they’re stumbling through the front door, dripping melting snow onto the floor. Chris hurries up from the couch, guidebook tumbling to the floor. “Dad!”
Eddie turns to look at Chris, and Buck can see him trying to act okay for his son, but he’s shaking so hard that Buck doubts Chris is buying it for a second.
“Is he okay?” Chris asks Buck, and Buck so desperately wants to wrap him in a hug and tell him that yes, Eddie’s going to be okay, but that would mean letting go of Eddie, which is not an option at the moment, so he settles for a nod instead. “Your dad’s going to be just fine,” he promises. “But he’s really cold right now, so I need to go and get him warmed up. And you know what he’s going to need most of all?”
Chris shakes his head.
“He’s going to need to curl up on the couch with you and me and some hot chocolate and a movie. So, while we’re gone, we need you to pick out a good movie to watch, okay?”
Chris nods and adds, “I think maybe we need some blankets, too. Should I find some?”
“Yeah, buddy, that would be perfect,” Buck says, smiling. Chris smiles back, then steels his face into a look of pure determination and sets about on his very important task of finding blankets and picking a movie.
Meanwhile, Buck leads Eddie into the bathroom and turns on the shower. He starts it off at a lukewarm temperature, not wanting to shock Eddie’s system by forcing him under hot water immediately. While the water warms up, he helps Eddie out of his freezing clothes and tries not to think about how much worse their situation could be right now if he hadn’t found Eddie when he did.
Once the shower heats up, Buck opens the door and Eddie steps inside, flinching back as the warm water hits his freezing-cold skin.
“Is it too hot?” Buck asks, but Eddie shakes his head. “Nice,” he says.
“Once you feel like you’re used to that temperature, you can start warming it up in small increments,” Buck directs. “In the meantime, I’m going to get you some warm clothes and a towel, but you just yell if you need me, okay?”
“Kay,” Eddie agrees, and with that, Buck heads out of the bathroom.
He takes a quick glance into the living room, where Chris sits on the couch, surrounded by at least five blankets. He’s flicking through movies on the TV with intense concentration, and Buck smiles at the back of his head. God, he loves this kid.
He then gets back to his task and heads into Eddie’s room, where he locates Eddie’s bag and digs out his pajamas, which consist of a threadbare white t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants. He’s got a sweatshirt at the bottom of the bag, but Buck decides to go back out into the living room and grab one of his own sweatshirts instead. It’ll be bigger and hopefully cozier than Eddie’s own (not to mention the fact that he’s been wanting to give Eddie one of his sweatshirts for...too long).
“How is he?” Chris asks, while Buck is digging through his bag.
“He’s taking a nice warm shower right now,” Buck says, tugging his sweatshirt free of his other clothes. “Then we’ll come and join you out here with -” he looks up at the TV, where Chris has chosen the movie Frozen. He laughs out loud, and Chris giggles. “With Frozen, and I’ll make us some hot cocoa, and we’ll get nice and warmed up.”
“Okay,” Chris agrees. Buck makes his way back to the bathroom with the clothes in hand, stopping along the way to grab a towel from the linen closet. He throws all of the items into the cabin’s little dryer and lets them spin for a few minutes, during which time he checks up on Eddie, who seems to be shivering considerably less under the now-steaming water.
When the clothes and towel are nicely warmed up, Buck brings them back into the bathroom. “You might wanna get out now before these all cool down again,” he suggests, and Eddie reaches up to turn off the water. His hand trembles a little, but for the most part he looks quite a bit steadier, and Buck breathes a sigh of relief. Eddie’s really going to be fine.
He gives Eddie some privacy to dry off, and a few minutes later, he emerges from the bathroom, hair still wet, the sleeves of Buck’s sweatshirt covering his hands, which hold onto the damp towel. Buck takes it from him and uses it to dry off Eddie’s hair a bit better than Eddie had managed to do. It sticks up from his head when he’s done, and makes him look way cuter than Buck thinks he has any right to. He quickly squashes down that thought and hangs the towel up in the bathroom, then tells Eddie to go sit down on the couch while he makes some hot chocolate.
Buck watches Eddie walk slowly out to the living room, and hears him laugh softly at Chris’ choice of movie. He smiles to himself, wonders briefly how in the hell he had gotten so lucky as to have these two wonderful people in his life, then gets busy making some hot chocolate. While he stirs the milk in the pan, he thinks about what they’re going to do if their activities end up being impossible due to the snow. He knows Chris might complain for a moment, then accept whatever fate they’re handed, but they had spent a lot of time planning this trip, and Chris had been so excited to come and see the trees he’d learned so much about in school, and he can’t let the kid miss out on that. Privately, he resolves to bring the Diazes back to the park in the summer, when they can be assured it’s not going to snow.
Buck finishes up the hot chocolate and distributes it across three large mugs, which he balances precariously in his arms as he makes his way into the living room. He sets the steaming mugs carefully onto the coffee table, pulling it closer to the couch so that Chris can easily reach it, then sits down on the couch with Chris and Eddie. Chris is curled into Eddie's left side, a large blanket covering them both. Eddie’s still shivering a bit, but there’s a tinge of pink returning to his face, and he turns and smiles at Buck when he sits down on Eddie’s other side.
“How you feeling?” Buck asks softly, as Chris presses play on the remote.
“Better,” Eddie whispers back, reaching out and grabbing one of the mugs. He wraps his hands around it, and Buck wraps his left arm around Eddie’s shoulders, tugging him closer in the process and letting his hand rest on Chris’ shoulder.
They watch the movie in comfortable silence, and by the time it’s halfway through, Chris is almost asleep and Eddie is no longer shivering. After another fifteen minutes, Chris is solidly asleep, leaning against the side of the couch, and Eddie’s head has dropped down to rest on Buck’s shoulder.
I really don’t wanna do this, Buck thinks, but he also doesn’t want Chris and Eddie to sleep all bunched up and uncomfortable on the couch, so he gently pushes on Eddie until he sits up, blinking around confusedly for a second until his eyes land on Buck.
“Sorry,” Buck whispers. “Couldn’t let you fall asleep out here.”
Eddie nods, resting his head against the couch cushion instead, and Buck stands up, circling around the couch. He carefully picks up Chris, trying his best not to wake him, then carries him to his room and tucks him into bed. He presses a quick kiss to Chris’ forehead, then gently closes the door and returns to Eddie.
Who is again half-asleep. “C’mon Eds, let’s get you to bed,” Buck says, grabbing Eddie’s hands and pulling him to his feet. Eddie leans forward, pressing his head into Buck’s shoulder and making an mmph sound.
“It’s not that far,” Buck promises, and Eddie reluctantly starts walking. Buck follows behind him, arms full of several of the blankets from the couch.
Once they arrive in the bedroom, Eddie immediately flops down onto the bed, not even bothering to crawl under the blankets. Buck sighs and untucks them, pulling them out from underneath Eddie and then draping them over his already-nearly-asleep form. He piles on several more blankets, until Eddie is fairly buried in them. That done, he turns to leave.
“Buck.”
“Yeah?” Buck turns around in the doorway.
“Stay.”
Buck doesn’t even pretend to try and fight. Instead, he simply crawls into the bed beside Eddie. His skin is still slightly colder than it should be, and Buck tells himself that this is the only reason why he pulls Eddie in closer to his chest, tucking Eddie’s head beneath his chin. They fit together like that easily, and Eddie sighs contentedly, tugging one of the blankets completely off of Buck and pulling it closer to himself as his breathing slows and deepens.
Buck is all of a sudden very glad that it’s dark and Eddie is turned away from him, so there is no chance of him seeing the ridiculously fond grin that spreads across his face. I think maybe this is what it’s supposed to be like, Buck thinks, and then he closes his eyes and lets sleep take him, too.
CW: Dehumanization; Pet whump; It as a pronoun; choking; food whump; crawling; bruises; anxiety/panic attack; gaslight; humiliation; swearing; conditioning; cage; nausea;
Blue is napping on it’s cage, but crawls out as soon as it hears Master calling. Don’t make him wait, never make him wait… It thinks if it should take Bonnie with it. It… wants to. It feel safer with her, and she always gives good advice. But… she still has little stitches on her arms and ears, from where Master hurt her last time. He… He won’t risk it. He wants to be a good friend to her, and as such, kisses her forehead and wraps her on the blankets so she can rest. He will face this one alone.
“It, It will be back soon” It promises, because Bonnie is worried. But it doesn’t have much time to soother her, Master has already called twice, he must be so impatient… Blue whimpers, and crawls to the kitchen. He has no reason to hurt Blue right now, so it shouldn’t be scared… But it’s so easy to give him one...
Most of Master’s house have a carpet. A dark color… that doesn’t get visible stains from blood. It’s soft, mostly, although it does cause carpet burns to his knees and hands. However, it’s better than the kitchen, bathroom and video rooms. Those are made of tiles, very similarly to the basement. They don’t only give Blue a bad feeling, but rather than burns they cause bruises. They are cold to the touch, which is awful when it’s cold, and also hurts it’s hands. Putting so much weight on their hands… kind of fucks with Blue’s wrists. But it is a dog. That’s how dogs walk.
“There you are, Pet” Master smiles. The kitchen is filled with a nice smell of food but… Blue doesn’t get that. It gets dog food. Dry, if it is bad, wet if it is lucky. He bites back a whimper, wondering if Master brought him here just to suffer “...I have made something for you”
...Blue stares at the bowl, as Master places it in front of it. The food on it… Looks delicious. Blue has done nothing to deserve this. It swallows the knot on its throat, staring blankly at Master. And worse. Blue can see the camera. It’s a prank, it has to be.
“...What a good pet. Go ahead, you are allowed to eat” Master praises, a slight twitch to his face.
“H-h-human f-food Master…” Blue whispers back “B-b-lue shouldn’t…”
“I’m allowing you to, so it’s fine”
....It keeps staring, Master’s expectant - almost angry - eyes glued to it. It… It it caught between a rock and a hard place. It would extremely rude to refuse a gift from Master. But also… Blue feels like eating it is impossible. It has to be tampered with. Last time it god ‘human food’, it was full of burning pepper that hurt like hell on it’s wounded, broken rotting teeth. Other times, Blue got rocks and carrots and terrible hard food that hurt to chew.
“I’m giving you something nice, dog. You aren’t going to be a misbehaving little shit now will you?” Master says, a bit too low. He might cut that from the video later. Maybe. He has been more and more cruel, even on camera, lately.
“It-it doesn’t deserve it” He whimpers.
“I’m saying you do”
...Blue tried to eat. It dropped to its elbows, lowering its face to the bowl. It smelled… So good… But Blue’s stomach revolved. It couldn’t. A tear rolled down and fell over the food. Blue snapped back, staring wildly at Master, words slipping before it could contain them.
“It…It’s poisoned isn’t it??? IT IS... Or, or has pepper, or, or rotten or something-“
...Blue got backhanded, and shuts its stupid mouth. Master crouches down, grabs Blue by the hair, and pulls it closer whispering at its ear.
“...You are right, Pet. I’ve put something terrible on that food. Something that will cause agonizing pain, later. You’ll feel sick, you’ll suffer and I’ll fucking enjoy watching you suffer. Just like I’ll enjoy watching you eat it because guess what - you will, even if I had to shove it down your stupid throat. You’ll lick the plate clean, Blue”
After that, Master roughly shoves Blue’s head down, inside the bowl. It nearly chokes on the food, whimpering and trying to pull away, as it barely has room to breathe. Master finally lets it have some room, food spread all over it’s face. The smell is delicious… but also nauseating.
“Eat” He orders, still keeping its head down.
Blue obeys. Each bite makes it more anxious, and it struggles to force it down it’s throat. Breathing is hard, and it’s heart feels like it will jump out of its chest at any point. It feels sick. It hasn’t even started to eat yet, but it already feels sick, just thinking about the pain it will be in later.
Just as he promised, Master doesn’t let Blue go until it has licked the bowl clean, despite the tears and muffled whimpers, and the awful way it’s body shake. It wonders if that’s part of the poison effects.
Finally, finally Master lets it leave, and Blue scrambles back to hide in its cage, Bonnie there waiting for it. It curls up under the blanket, crying more freely and just… waiting for the pain. Soon enough, it’s head starts to feel dizzy… It’s stomach hurts and rumbles, very upset, and Blue feels so nauseous. It’s muscles feel tense… and it’s heart, beating so so, fast. It… It wonders how long it will take. He does feel worse, and worse… But then it just… stabilizes.
Blue keeps waiting for it to get worse, but it doesn’t. Master eventually comes into the bedroom too, starting to change into his sleeping clothes, and catches the pet peeking behind the cage bars.
“How are you feeling, darling Blue?” He gives it a mocking smile “Hurts?”
“A-a-ah… Little” Blue whimpers softly “N-nauseous and… Uhhng… Chest… Hurt… Hard to breathe… Please… No… no more. W-w-when it gets… gets worse? Please? Please no worse?”
Master rolls it’s eyes.
“You are an idiot, did you know that?”
Blue knows it. But it doesn't understand why he says that now. Well, maybe it is because it is an idiot that it doesn’t understand.
“…Blue, there was nothing on the food” Master smirks “I just wanted a cute video. You made yourself sick over nothing, you dumbass”
…Blue freezes. There was… Nothing?
Was that supposed to really just be… Something nice? A nice moment? A gift? It’s jaw dropped. Every bite of that meal had been terror-filled, torturous. And… it was just a nice thing!!
Blue really was an idiot. Blue didn’t deserve nice things. It let itself fall back on its blanket, covering its face so the sobs didn’t disturb the Master.
Content warning: bbu, aftermath of vomiting, mild mention of noncon.
The porcelain is cool beneath the arm Bellamy braces to the rim. Using the toilet as a support as his body trembles from the strain of having been violently sick. Even with nothing left in him his stomach coils and rolls, and he only just keeps from retching as he reaches to snag a hand towel from the rack.
Embarrassment heats his clammy skin as Mr. Hansley moves into view, occupying the doorway with a crossing of arms. The weight of his gaze heavy on him as Bellamy ducks behind the towel to mop the sweat from his face. He doesn’t need to see his Sir to know there’s displeasure written over his expression.
“You’ll sleep in your room tonight.”
It’s both a relief and a blow. In his own bed he can rest, free of expectation and exertion. A brief reprieve from the habitual coition that takes place most nights in Mr. Hansley’s room. But his own bed means a solitude void of comfort. Without the reassurance of arms wrapped around him, and the warm press of a body to his.
“Y-yes sir,” he mumbles. A tremor rattles him, and he lowers the towel to set moist eyes on his owner in a silent plea.
A sigh comes in answer, but Mr. Hansley obliges. The shoes he wore to dinner that evening clicking over tile as he steps into the bathroom to stand behind Bellamy.
“You look wretched.” A hand finds gentle placement at the back of Bellamy’s neck. “And not in a way I like.”
Guilt knots in his chest. For being unpresentable and unfit for his master’s bed. For being on his knees for an entirely different shade of discomfort than that which his master enjoys.
“‘m sorry, sir.” His throat aches with more than the effect of his affliction.
“The restaurant is lucky I don’t sue,” Mr. Hansley muses. “But we have the gallery next week, and Williams has been practically begging that we visit him before he leaves for France.”
Bellamy makes a noncommittal sound as he melts under the motion of fingers circling his skin. Doing his best to focus on them and ignore the unpleasant roil in his abdomen. He leans back, shoulders lightly pressing to Mr. Hansley’s thighs, and is rewarded with a palm to the top of his head.
“Clean yourself up and get some rest.” Mr. Hansley slides his hand through sweat damp hair. “I’d like you to be improved by tomorrow night.”
Improved enough to return to their usual routine. Bellamy wonders if this disruption will warrant a punishment. He’s certainly earned it for being a nuisance. “Yes sir.”
