CW: panthom pains; long-lastin injury; pet whump; extremely low self-esteem; comparing to other people; permanent injury; separation anxiety; dehumanization
It was still early in morning. He was on the floor of the shared bedroom, while Castor napped on the bed. There were two of them, but he knew better than to believe in that trick. He should be in a cage or on the floor, and brother in bed. It was the way things had always been, the way things would always be.
He couldn’t help but whimper a bit when he heard Caretaker knocking on the door. He wanted to stay sleeping for a little longer. He felt so tired… It didn’t matter. It never mattered what Mutt- No, no. That was not his name anymore. He was now called Pollux. He needed to remember that. Brother always had different names for his work, and had to learn to be called different things on film. Mutt had only ever been Mutt, but now he was Pollux, and he had to remember it.
“Boys… When you are ready, join me in the kitchen. We need to talk” Caretaker shouted from the other side of the door. M- Pollux breathed relieved as he walked away. He had been patient, but he wasn’t sure how he would react seeing Mutt-Pollux, Pollux, Pollux - was sleeping on the rug, and not on the floor. It was a risk, but it was so cold… He had decided to take it. He wasn’t stupid enough to fall for the bed, but maybe the rug wouldn’t be so bad of a trap.
“Come…” Castor said, standing up, and stretching. He walked to the closet, trading his sleeping clothes for the pretty day ones and waiting by the door. Pollux stared from the floor. His brother sighed, rolling his eyes “...You need help getting up?”
...Pollux quietly nodded, embarrassed for asking so much out of his brother. He was selfish. But he really, really couldn’t get up by himself anymore, and he didn’t want to bother Master with such a silly thing. He got brother’s hand, and as he was pulled up, his joints and bones cracked loudly. Brother always twisted his nose to this noise, bothered, but Pollux couldn’t avoid it.
He limped after his brother, as he darted into the kitchen, smiling at their owner and making a small reverence. Pollux dragged his feet, trying to keep up with brother. He didn’t want to seem like a lazy pet. Of course he was very useless, and brother was good, but… He wasn’t lazy! He always tried.
...Not that trying was enough. Brother had no trouble doing chores, helping Master, being cute and happy and useful. Mut- Pollux, Pollux could barely move, his left hand shook constantly, and didn’t close properly anymore, he couldn’t really use it, and he was always sick and causing medical dispenses to Master, always needed medicine and soothing teas to be able to eat and Master had been so, so kind to let him have it, but he kept being bad and selfish and needing more.
He sniffed. He wondered when that pain would stop.
He should have kneel on the floor, to greet the Master, but he couldn’t. It would hurt too much and he would need help getting up, and that could be worse. He hoped Master would forgive him.
But… Master didn’t seem to be in a forgiving mood today. Their usual smile was gone, they had a serious, dark expression. Were their eyes always this red? Had Master been… crying?
Mu- Pollux swallowed, trying not to get sick, as his anxiety spiraled out of control. Was this a punishment? Master said he needed to ‘talk’. They talked to Castor. Castor was smart and a star, and people wanted to know what he thought of things and his movies and his director and life…
“Alright, boys. I need both of you to sit for this”
And Castor pulled himself a chair. Pollux got prepared to fall on the floor, but Master was quick and held him by the good wrist. It would hurt so much if it was the other one! He struggled not to flinch, closing his eyes in anticipation for the blow.
“No. On the chair, you too, Pollux. I told you, we all sit on chairs, here. That’s okay”
“S-s-sorry…” He was stupid. So stupid he couldn’t even remember Master’s rules. But… he had never been allowed on chairs, except on films.
Master sat in front of them, tapping on a glass of water. He seemed lost in thought, trying to organize his words enough for the boys to understand. Castor would get it. He was smart, a star! He got to read a lot and make intelligent characters. But Mu- Pollux was dumb. He squinted, hoping that would help him listen better. Master was so soft spoken, and that was nice for his nerves, but sometimes it was hard to listen. Only one of his ears worked now.
“Alright, first thing. I want you two now that I love both of you dearly, and equally. This was not an easy decision for me to make. It hurted me, and it will hurt you now…” Master took a deep breath. Pollux dry swallowed, on the threat of hurt… “But I’m convinced it is what you two need right now”
Castor pulled his hands from the table, straightening his posture a bit. He offered a hand under the table, and M- Pollux took it. This way, brother wouldn’t be nervous. It helped him a little bit, too.
“...One of you will… Will go live with one of my friends. I’ve already talked to them. I promise, they are very, very nice. They’ll help you recover too, and do everything for you to be comfortable” Pollux felt his throat dry. Castor pressed the grip on his hand so much it hurted. All those years, and this was the only thing no one had ever done. They had never been separated “And, this, this isn’t permanent. You two will be able to visit each other, talk on the phone or maybe write letters if you want. It’s just so… you aren’t glued all the time. It’s the best, for now”
...A tear slipped through Pollux's face, and he slipped to the floor, aching joints meeting the kitchen tiles. He didn’t want to go. He couldn’t go. He couldn’t deal with learning more rules, more Master’s, more people seeing how worthless he was. He couldn’t do anything right, who would want him? The next Master would get sick of him soon and put him on the street, and no one would want a dumb dog like him!
“P-p-please d-d-don’t… P-p-please...I.. I’ll work harder! P-please! Please don’t send me away” He struggled to get his forehead on the floor, bones cracking, spine aching. He wondered if he looked as small as he felt “Please. P-p-please, I… I’...”
He dissolved into gross sobbing. He could barely keep his begging coherent these days. He shot a desperate glance for Castor. Maybe if he begged the Master to reconsider, it could work. After all, Castor was a good pet, he deserved nice things, Master would hear him if he begged!
...Castor just stared at him blankly.
“P-please” He whispered, more for brother than for Master. He curled up as he heard Master’s chair scraping the floor, and he saw the shoes stopping in front of him. Master crouched, to grab his hair and hit his head on the floor, no doubt!
“...Pollux. It’s okay. Calm down, please” And the hand reached his hair, petting it softly “...You’ll be staying with me. My friend will come by night to take Castor”
He snapped his head up. Castor… would be the one going?
...He only heard a small, shocked gasp from brother, mimicking his own.
Hero held onto Villain with all of the strength she could. Villain, though noticeably much weaker, held back. His head rested in the crook of Hero's neck, hugging her. Hero was half slumped against a tree, her legs crunched up and protecting both of them. Both were miserable and their wills broken. One with a very positive view of the world may describe this scenario as cuddling, but it was far from the case.
Villain, struck with a heavy fever, whimpered pitifully. He was barely conscious, slipping farther and farther into his sleep. He tried not to, gripping onto the last bout of consciousness he had, but quickly deteriorating.
Hero was not in much better shape, but she forced herself comfort Villain because he was so uncomfortable and sick- oh so very sick. She would be too if Supervillain didn't run out of doses and only give her half.
Villain eventually succumbed to his exhaustion and illness, his whole body going slack in Hero's arms. That was when she knew that she had to take immediate action.
"Villain," she murmured, her voice rough and haggard. "Wake up." She brought her hand to tap his cheek, only for him to moan and feebly try to move away.
"Villain," Hero said louder and brought her legs under her. She used one shaking arm to support his weight and the other to push herself into a standing position.
The movement roused Villain. His dark brown eyes, glazed and unfocused, look up at Hero's face. She froze, wondering how Villain was going to react with her standing over him.
His face contorted into fear, but that quickly diminished when he remembered what was going on. He sighed in relief and fell limp against Hero's arm.
"Pick yourself up," she snapped, not really knowing where it came from. Villain immediately tensed and tried to scurry away.
"I-i'm sorry," Hero quickly apologized and dragged Villain to his feet. He swayed and leaned heavily against Hero's shoulder, but he stayed upright.
"Where... going?" Villain murmured.
"Water," Hero said after a moment's thought which seemed to please Villain enough to not ask anymore questions. Actually, she had no idea where she planned to drag the pair. Only somewhere that would help them. Help them get better.
Supervillain dumped them in the middle of nowhere. They were lost and had no way of contacting for help. Hero didn't even know if there was water around.
The forest that they were in was very foggy. Being the nature freak Hero was, she knew that they were in a temperate rainforest.
There should be water, somewhere, even if they had to dig a little.
Hero wrapped Villain's arm around her shoulder and started hobbling through the forest. She could feel her own fever spiking, but it was nothing compared to Villain's lethargic figure. She gave him a quick elbow to the ribs, maybe a little to harsh, but it did the trick. A pained moan and a stumble later, Villain was basically walking on his own two feet.
Oh but it hurt. It hurt so bad. Villain was aware enough now to know that Hero was helping him. He wasn't exactly too pleased, but she was all he had. She was his only hope to survive. Without her, he thought with a aching heart, he would die.
His hazy vision did not help the situation. The trees blurred together and his fever produced shadows to run across his vision. All he wanted to do was collaspe on the ground and sleep for eternity, but Hero keeping him up made that dream impossible.
"Villain," Hero elbowed him again. He tried to shy away. She was getting more and more aggressive and intense.
"I'm awake," Villain found himself snapping back. He tensed, waiting for the snarky reply that her newly formed attitude promised, but none came. He relaxed and continued to hobble.
"Sure you are," Hero shot him a glare. She cocked her head, he was more awake than before, but still kind of out of it. He would glance at random trees in fear, and even clutch onto Hero with threatened her nerves to explode. Gosh did she want to dump him here so badly and watch him fail to care for himself.
The two walked in silence, but once again it turned more into Hero walking and Villain dragging. She blew the hair out of her face in annoyance. He was so useless. Hardly able to keep to his feet.
Hero, finally deciding that she could not take this anymore, slammed Villain against a tree. His eyes shot open in malicious anger, but he didn't act upon it.
"If you don't start walking on your own. I'll- i'll..." Hero trailed off. "Well, I will kill you."
Villain spat, right then and there, in Hero's face.
"I'll like to see you try," he snarled.
Hero took the challenge and rammed Villain's head into the tree truck. He swayed for a moment after, catching his breath before tackling Hero to the ground.
After many punches later, Hero finally had enough and pinned Villain down. Her hands on his shoulders dug into them. She squeezed hard with her nails hoping to draw blood.
"Gah, enough!" Villain yelled. He tried to get the upperhand again, but Hero did not allow it. She actually pushed him deeper into the ground.
Then the two tackled each other, kicking, biting, you name it. They kept this up until Hero suddenly collasped Villain. Her head rested next to his, her eyes closed. Villain sighed and closed his own eyes, relieved that he didn't have to continue to waste his energy.
(Prompt #5 for Summer of Whump)
Taglist: @darthsutrich
Previous | Next | Masterlist
Warnings: referenced parental abandonment, prison vibes, fantastic prejudice, referenced fire, needles, non consensual microchipping of a human, blisters, mild blood
.
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Many things change over the three years that Liliana spends in the facility. Her personality, for one. She doesn’t feel like she even has one anymore. She’s been reduced to somewhat of a zombie, forced not to desire anything outside of books, tv, school work, and endless wandering of the sterile hallways. At one point she started singing in her room, just for the chance to use her voice on occasion and to try to hang on to some sliver of her past life, but the guy next door complained and she had to stop that, too.
Now she finds it difficult to even speak when the staff addresses her, she does it so rarely.
Other things about her have changed, too. She doesn’t cry herself to sleep every night anymore. She stopped hoping that her parents would change their minds and come for her a long time ago.
But the most significant change is something less personal, something that, whether they know it at the time or not, affects every single resident. Liliana sees it happening on tv, on the news stations that Papá used to obsess over.
It all starts with a live broadcast of a fire started by a Non. Firefighters are doing their best to contain the blaze and not let it take over downtown, but they’re struggling. Police officers are evacuating terrified people as quickly as they can.
Suddenly, the fire starts to die. A layer of ice is forming over the building, crawling up the walls, dousing the flames as it goes. Everyone stops in their tracks, watching, dumbfounded. The reporter is sputtering, exclaiming how it doesn’t seem possible. Soon enough, the entire, charred building is covered in thick blue ice, and someone has located the man responsible for it. Another Non.
He’s taken in for questioning, of course. He’s a Non, after all.
But no one can deny the fact that he just saved countless buildings and probably multiple lives. It’s all anyone on tv can talk about for the next week. The ice Non is eventually released and starts making appearances, speaking out against the biased treatment of Nons in a way that no one has successfully done before.
For Liliana, it’s the first glimmer of hope she’s had since first discovering her own power.
Emboldened by the ice Non’s stand, other Nons start showing off their own powers, saving people left and right. Many are still too nervous to let their actual identities be discovered, hiding behind hoods and masks and quickly disappearing whenever cameras show up. Others seek out the reporters and boldly proclaim that not everyone with powers is evil.
And just like that, the world is turned on its head once again. Nons aren’t Nons anymore, they’re Supers. People are fawning over their favorite new heroes, giving them nicknames and creating merch.
Yes, there are still bad Supers out there. Yes, people are still afraid of them. And there are plenty of people who haven’t quite accepted this new outlook on Nons in general, still think they should be kept under tabs, that they could show their ‘true colors’ at any time.
In the midst of all of this, Liliana is left wondering what it means for her and the other residents. Will they be free to go? Will they be put into actual foster care now? Will their parents finally realize how wrong they were about them?
She gets her answer on her eighteenth birthday, over a year after this all began. Her day starts with being paged to the infirmary, where the nurse preps the inside of her elbow with an alcohol wipe with no explanation whatsoever before picking up what looks like a very large needle and plunges it in.
Liliana gasps and tries not to yank away. The injection only takes a second, and the nurse tosses the tool to the side and hands her a bandage to stick over the hole left behind.
“Wha-” She clears her throat, trying to keep her voice from rasping. “What was that?”
“Microchip.” The nurse busies herself at the computer, clicking and typing. “New protocols for residents finally came through. Perfect timing for you, turning eighteen and all. Your mutation is classified ‘not dangerous’, so you get a microchip and you get to leave.”
Leave. She gets to leave this place, finally. To go and live her own life, however and wherever she wants. The feelings that bubble up inside of her at the thought are barely recognizable, it’s been so long since she’s felt any of them.
“But...I don’t have any money. Or...or anything else.”
The nurse strides to the door and opens it wide, her cue to leave. “Not our problem.”
An hour later, she’s standing on the sidewalk outside of the facility with her backpack of what few belongings she has left slung over her shoulders. The world stretches out before her, wide and inviting and unknown and terrifying.
When she went into the facility she was just a kid. For the last three years she’s been a prisoner.
Now she has no idea who or what she is.
Where is a person who is and has nothing supposed to go in the world?
Liliana starts walking. She walks until the ill-fitting shoes they gave her when she outgrew her last pair give her blisters. She walks until she starts seeing things that she vaguely recognizes from a lifetime ago.
She walks until she ends up on a different sidewalk outside of a different building, one that should be much more familiar to her than it seems right now.
The green siding is yellow now. There are different flowers growing in the beds beside the porch. There’s a fence peeking out from behind the house that was never there before.
And the woman kneeling in the yard, pulling weeds, is a young woman with red hair and a wide-brimmed hat.
Not her Mamá.
“Can I help you, sweetheart?” the woman who’s not Mamá asks, smiling.
Liliana’s voice has gone into hiding. She’s not sure if and when it will come out again. So she just shakes her head, slowly, and keeps walking.
She walks until the blisters on her feet burst and bleed inside the ill-fitting shoes. She walks until darkness falls and street lights blink on. She walks until she no longer sees anything familiar.
She figures that someone who is and has nothing probably belongs somewhere like nowhere.
Tw: mentions of death kinda, non-con touches, feather clipping, supernatural whumpee
(Unedited -🍍 )
•===============================•
Whumpee stared numbly at the cracked cement floor, hands resting on their knees, head bowed as they remembered, mourned.
They could feel the dust clinging to their skin, from being dragged, beaten, stuffed into a metal cage and shipped... here. A stuffy, cement box with cracked and chipped walls.
They thought of grass beneath their bare feet, wings jostled from rough-housing children, sun beaming down on them while preening feathers.
Whumpee didn’t even want to remember the faces of those poor, innocent children.
The sound of grinding metal startled whumpee and they silently twisted around, eyes landing on a stranger clad in black, bright eyes twisted into a smile.
“Ah, you’re still awake are you?” They smirked, stepping inside, whumpee shifting back on their heels and giving a weary glance. “All your other bird friends are still a bit... jostled from shipment, so it’s a pleasant surprise one of you hasn’t passed out.”
Whumpee narrowed their eyes as they stepped toward them, cocking their head and defensively flaring their wings, despite the twinge of pain shooting through them. Whumper stopped in his tracks, smile growing a bit forced.
“Oh hel-lo, look at those lovely wings of yours.” He smiled, teeth bared like some predator. “A little beat up at the moment but I’m sure you’ll fetch a pretty penny. Ah, who am I kidding, you probably can’t understand a thing I’m saying.”
“I understand you.”
Whumpers eyebrows shot to the ceiling, the smile on their face sinister before quickly returning to the softer smile, trying to look as un-threatening as possible.
“Naw, cute, you think I’ll be fooled by a few words picked up to scare me. You’re certainly not the first to think that,” They purred, condescending, taking another step closer much to Whumpees distress, wing curling around their side out of habit, the bloodied and matted feathers pricking their skin.
“Stay where you are.” Whumpee forced out, voice strained as the fear and pain kicked in, whumpers smile faltering again, realising that whumpee did, actually know what they were saying. “No more steps. Stay there.”
Whumper sniffed, thoroughly amused. “Well, well, well, what a lovely accent you have, it’s quite cute I must say.” He paused, stuffing hands into his pockets. “But I do wonder how a flock bird learned English, I’ve heard you types don’t mingle with humans.”
“I know twelve languages.”
Whumper smirked again, levelling whumpee with a heated glare. “Well,” he spoke, retrieving something from his pocket, “colour me impressed.”
It took whumpee a moment too long to react, the hand clamping down onto their back and pinning them to the floor with practiced expertise. They heard the swish of a blade and feathers flittering down infront of them, the horrific realisation that they were being clipped.
Whumpee tried to struggled as whumper reached for the other wing, flailing about uselessly as whumper gripped it, knee digging into their spine and shearing them without so much of a second glance. Whumpee hissed as their movements caused whumper to clip their skin, strangling a cry in whumpees throat as more of their feathers were mutilated.
When he finished, whumpee laid trembling on the ground, tears streaming down their face at the pain, the humiliation of it all. Whumpers knee was still pressed against their back, the sound of the knife being slid back into his pocket.
“Hmm, sorry.” He purred into Whumpees ear, hot breath prickling against paling skin from the shock. “Normally you bird types are passed out so it’s less traumatic, but your little heart seems stronger than the rest of them.”
Whumpee hiccuped, fingers uselessly scratching the smooth concrete to get away, but whumper only slotted his hands over the top of them, holding them still
“Your skin is so pretty whumpee,” they crooned, free hand tracing around bloody shoulders, and the back of their neck. “You’d look lovely in a collar.”
Finally, whumper got off of them, whumpee curling tightly into themselves with wings brushing up against their sides, the stuck out pins so wrong. Their flight feathers snipped.
“No that’s a better look for you, broken and lost.” Whumper smiled, standing back at the door.
Whumpee didn’t say anything in return, levelling their gaze with Steely determination, biting back tears of their stripped pride. Whumper only grinned more.
“Feisty. I mean, who knows? Maybe when you go up for sale I’ll throw my hat in the ring, just to make it interesting.” Whumpees stomach churned, whumper cocking their head. “It’s not a usual auction you see, whumpee, we let you go in a confined area, and people pay for tickets. Whoever catches you first gets to keep you.” Their smile turned nasty, glancing at the feathers strewn about the floor.
heyo! hope you enjoy this fic :) it’s pre-brightwell and i found it very fun and surprisingly easy to write considering i don’t do a lot of ship adjacent stuff with them! but ughhh i love them sm....i miss them :’(
“Bright!” Malcolm hears Dani yell from somewhere quite far behind him. “Hold on! Backup’s almost here!”
Since when have I waited for backup? Malcolm wonders, pushing himself to run even faster after their escaping suspect. In front of him, the man rapidly changes directions and goes racing down an alleyway. Malcolm follows, his footsteps echoing off the walls.
“Hello?” he calls out, slowing to a walk, looking up and down the alley. He doesn’t see the suspect, but he’s certain that he’d come this way. “I know you’re in here. You might as well come out.”
He steps past a rusted dumpster, looks behind it to see nothing of interest, and is suddenly slammed backwards into the unforgiving brick surface of the wall behind him.
The suspect pins Malcolm’s arms to the wall with ease, despite Malcolm’s frantic attempts to shake him off. Up close, there’s a glint in his eyes and a smile on his mouth that makes Malcolm absolutely sure that this is their killer. Which does not exactly bode well for him.
“I didn’t do anything.” The man’s voice is grating and low and dangerous. Malcolm kicks at his legs and receives a knee to the stomach for his trouble. He bends over instinctively, but doesn’t make it very far, seeing as how both of his arms are being pressed into the wall.
“Sure you didn’t. You just happened to be running from the police, then?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You already said that,” Malcolm says, praying that Dani and that backup she’d promised are close behind him.
“Don’t care. It’s true.”
“We both know you killed those girls -”
Malcolm is cut off by a kick to his ankle. He feels something crack and yelps in pain.
“Shut up,” the suspect growls. “You just shut up right now.”
Malcolm nods. For a second there is silence.
“You thought you were helping them. By killing them.”
“What?”
“The girls. You thought killing them would save them.”
Suddenly the suspect is even closer. He shifts his arms rapidly, one arm now barring Malcolm across the chest and preventing him from escaping, while the other one slaps him hard across the face.
“I told you to shut up.”
“I’m not very good at listening to instructions.”
“Enough!” the suspect snaps, and Malcolm has a feeling that whatever comes next is not going to be good. But Dani is bound to be close by now, and if he can just hold this man off for a few moments more…
Whatever thought he was about to have next is interrupted by an extremely unpleasant twisting sensation in his arm. Malcolm is pulled around, away from the wall, and suddenly quite a bit of weight is being put onto his ankle, which starts hurting about ten times worse. He bites back a cry of pain this time, but not five seconds later he is screaming when the suspect suddenly grabs his arm, holds it out, and slams his own arm right into the center of Malcolm’s forearm. It hurts worse than Malcolm thinks anything has ever hurt before and for a second he can’t focus on anything except the pain, and then the suspect is grabbing his face and forcing Malcolm to pay attention to him.
“Leave. Me. Alone,” he whispers, and then he’s letting go of Malcolm’s face and running away and Malcolm tries to follow him but the world starts spinning and his ankle buckles beneath him and then he’s falling, falling, falling, and then he hits the ground and his broken arm makes contact and he thinks maybe he screams again, and then everything goes bright white.
--
“Bright! Malcolm. Open your eyes.”
Very slowly, Malcolm blinks his eyes open. He’s lying on his back, staring up at the walls of the two buildings and above them, the sky. His left arm feels like it’s on fire and he turns his head to make sure it’s not. His right ankle also hurts, though much less in comparison. He doesn’t even have to check to be certain that it’s not burning. It still hurts, though. A lot. He groans and the voice speaks again.
“Bright, say something” It’s Dani! But if she’s here -
“He got away,” Malcolm says urgently, using his good arm to push himself up. His head spins, but he stubbornly rides out the dizziness, closing his eyes until it passes.
When he opens them again, Dani is crouched in front of him, looking worried. “You good?”
“Yeah,” he says. “But the suspect -”
“We have him in custody. Of course, we could have gotten him into custody without you breaking any bones if you hadn’t gone after him on your own.”
“Or he might have gotten away for good.”
Dani sighs, the long-suffering, put-upon sigh of one dealing with the self-sacrificial tendencies of Malcolm Bright. “He might’ve,” she acknowledges. “I’d ask you not to do anything like that again….” She trails off, since both of them know how that sentence ends.
A few seconds of strained silence pass, and then Malcolm decides that sitting on the ground is not the best thing that he could be doing at the moment. He very carefully pushes himself up onto his feet and then nearly collapses when the weight of his body hits his hurt ankle.
Immediately, Dani is there, slipping an arm around his back and taking the weight off of his ankle. “What in the hell made you think that was a good idea?” she asks, and he gives her a one-shouldered shrug. “A bus should be here in maybe two minutes,” she continues. “Wanna sit back down?”
Malcolm relents with a nod, and together they gently sink back to the ground, leaning against the wall. Dani removes her arm from around Malcolm’s back but keeps a hand on his shoulder. “How much does it hurt?”
“A lot,” Malcolm answers honestly. “I’ve never broken a bone before.” And he certainly has no desire to repeat the experience. The pain is constant and burning and it’s not all-consuming but it’s impossible to ignore and it hurts and he just wants it to stop -
Dani’s hand presses into his chest. “Hey, calm down,” she says, voice gentler than he’s ever heard it. “I know it hurts, but panicking is only going to make it worse.”
He nods jerkily, forces himself to breathe calmly, and blinks the tears from his eyes. He can do this, broken bones are common and really, he could’ve had it so much worse. He is going to be fine.
Malcolm mentally repeats this over and over to himself: I can do this, I’m going to be fine, until at last the ambulance arrives. Dani helps him stand and guides him to the paramedics; and as they start checking him over and saying things like, “we’ll need to take you to the hospital to get these set,” and “are you sure you don’t want any painkillers,” his only thought is that he really doesn’t want to do this alone. But Gil is bound to have his hands full with their recently-caught murderer, and his mother is busy with some kind of social event that he’d been very relieved to get out of, and Ainsley’s on an assignment, and -
And Dani’s in the ambulance and they’re closing the doors and she smiles at him, sitting down next to him on the gurney. Her arm comes back to rest on his shoulder and he turns to look at her and he supposes he must look a little confused, because she says, “what? I’m not allowed to come with my friend to the hospital after he broke his arm and his ankle chasing after a serial killer?”
“No, I’m - I’m glad you’re here,” Malcolm replies, trying for a smile that probably doesn’t go so well with his grimace of pain as one of the paramedics pulls off his shoe to get a better look at his ankle. “It’s always better to break a bone with a friend.”
Dani laughs and turns to look at him at the same instant that he turns to look at her. She’s smiling but underneath it she looks worried, and her hand is steady and warm on Malcolm’s shoulder, and maybe it’s the pain and the adrenaline or maybe it’s not, but he thinks I want to kiss you, and then he thinks that maybe that’s not his best move, sitting in the back of an ambulance with an arm and an ankle that hurt like all hell, or maybe it’s a good idea and -
“Malcolm? You good?”
When he smiles at her this time, it’s genuine and happy and not at all underlined with pain. “Yeah. Apart from the broken bones and all. I’m...I’m good.”
thanks sm for reading this!!! i hope u liked it :)
Just when his life was finally leveling out Parker luck struck again. Peter has had four opportunities with parents and has lost all of them. The way he sees it, this is the least of what he deserves.
Post-Homecoming - Tony didn’t meet with Peter immediately to offer him a place on the Avengers.
Words: 3856, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English
Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Rating: Gen-Teen
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan, Ned Leeds
TW: Depression, Dissociation, a single line of Suicidal Ideation, Referenced Child Abuse
Read on AO3 or below the line break.
Peter was silent as he exited Midtown with Ned keeping a quiet pace with him. Seven months ago they would be just as excited as their classmates for the weekend, for the plans that they surely would have made to build Legos or marathon movies or even to just study together. Ned would have been ecstatic to set up in Peter’s bedroom as his ‘guy in the chair’ while Peter did a quick patrol or two. If they were at Peter’s instead of Ned’s, May would attempt some new dish that would, inevitably, be awful and they would order pizza from their favorite place for dinner.
Now Peter never saw any of his limited friend group outside of school. He didn’t build Legos or watch movies or eat take-out pizza and he certainly wasn’t Spider-Man anymore – he had given that up after the Homecoming disaster when he had destroyed Mr. Stark’s plane.
It had been just over six months since he had found May dead in their kitchen and Peter didn’t really do anything at all anymore.
The ER doctors told Peter that she had an undiagnosed aneurysm that had finally burst – there was no way for anyone to know. She went quickly. She felt no pain. There was nothing that Peter could have done even if he was there when it happened.
The reassurances meant nothing really – Peter was numb. May was his last living family member, he had no one else and nowhere to turn. He can vaguely remember telling the social worker that was with him when they told him the news about May that he was alone now. He can remember being taken forcibly from the hospital before he was ready to go, wanting to kick and scream and drag his heels but too shocked to do so. And then everything was a blur.
Somewhere in his mind he knew that he had been allowed to pack up everything important from their apartment to go into storage until he was eighteen besides the bag of essentials he had for himself. He knew that everything else was donated or sold to pay off their remaining debt and the medical bills he had incurred by calling for help when he found May on the kitchen floor. He knew that the social worker told him that, even after selling everything, they couldn’t afford a funeral. He has a business card in his wallet with the number of the crematorium that was holding May’s ashes until he was old enough to retrieve them and, hopefully, give her a proper burial in their family plot next to Ben.
He spent the two weeks after in a group home, mute and dissociating with seven other boys in similar situations. He didn’t go to school, but he remembers the constant stream of unanswered texts and calls from Ned and MJ before his phone plan was discontinued then his phone became a dead relic in his bag. There were a lot of discussions about school that Peter didn’t take part in but, thanks to his full scholarship, he was able to continue at Midtown at least until the end of the year.
And then he was placed with his foster parents.
The Fishers seemed to be pleasant people when Peter first met them; they didn’t force him to speak, they had extensive fostering experience with teenagers and were willing to pay for his subway pass so he could get to and from his school even though there was a decent public school in walking distance. It didn’t take long, however, for their true colors to show.
Now, though, Peter knew the rules. He was always home by his curfew of four on school days and he never went out on the weekends. His grades were perfect. He kept his undecorated room spotless. He cooked supper every evening and breakfast and dinner on the weekends. He kept the house presentable. He stayed out of the Fishers way. Mostly he drifted. His days slid together to the point he had difficultly remembering entire weeks passing him by but it was fine.
He was fine.
“I’ll see you Monday,” Ned muttered as he split off to get in his mom’s car, not acknowledging the pathetic little wave Peter offered in return. A coiling feeling settled in his gut and Perter felt guilt rise up to swirl in his throat. Ned was his best friend and he was treating him like shit. With Peter basically unresponsive, bullies had taken to picking on Ned instead… well except for Flash. Flash had been the only one to back off and stand up for both of them – it helped but didn’t fix everything.
“Better if he leaves you now,” a little voice in his head whispered. “It’s better to be alone.” And maybe at one point he would have fought against that mindset but now he couldn’t help but agree. Peter destroyed everything he touched and everyone around him was doomed for misery. Better for Ned to get out while he could.
Lethargically, Peter began across the empty football field toward the subway entrance – his trip home was always a little tight and he couldn’t afford to miss this train.
“Peter!” A harried voice shouted as his shoulder was grabbed and he was roughly turned around to face a red-faced and irritated Happy Hogan. Peter’s mind blanked for a moment in total shock at seeing the man again after so long. “Didn’t you hear me calling for you?”
“Sorry Mr. Hogan,” Peter mumbled, not making eye contact. He felt the phantom sting from the slap he had gotten for that when he first moved into foster care burning his bare cheek.
“The Boss has been calling you, he wants to chat. You screening our calls now?” Happy asked, accusatory as his eyes raked down Peter’s form. Peter felt a shiver crawl up his spine and kept his sight locked on Happy’s chin, trying to remain as relaxed as possible. It was important to not draw any unwanted attention to himself.
“No sir,” he answered, voice a little rough and quiet with disuse. “I don’t have a phone anymore.” Happy huffed and narrowed his eyes at Peter before steering him to the expensive Audi parked in front of the school.
“No matter, he wants to talk to you in person anyway. Hop in and I’ll take you to the Tower.” Peter gulped and fought the urge to dig his heels in – it wouldn’t be polite.
“I have a curfew of four,” he protested weakly as Happy pulled open the door for him and motioned for him to climb in. Peter hesitated but relented when Happy gave him a little shrug.
“I’m sure May will understand and Tony can always give her a call to clear anything up.” And with that Peter was gone. No one had said her name since she died and the thought… the very implication that he could still be living with his aunt, happy and carefree, was insane. His mind floated away and he felt like he was watching himself as a specter. He saw his body relax but his eyes were distant, cloudy. Happy, for the first time that Peter could remember, didn’t raise the partition between the front and rear seats and, instead, watched Peter in the rear view mirror.
The drive to the Tower took over thirty minutes with traffic and Peter would be panicking about how late he was going to be if he had any capacity to feel at all. Instead, he let his mind wander as the skyscrapers of Manhattan blurred into a grey mosaic outside the window, fat raindrops sporadically hitting the window as a drizzle started. “We’re here,” Happy told him as he parked the car in the underground garage that was reserved for Mr. Stark and other high level staff of the Tower. Peter popped his door open and followed the man to the private elevator that he assumed would take them to Mr. Stark’s office.
“Hello Happy. Hello Peter,” the disembodied voice of Mr. Stark’s AI, FRIDAY, said as the doors closed and the elevator began to move. “Boss is awaiting your arrival in his workshop.”
“Thanks FRIDAY,” Happy said, texting intently on his phone. Peter just remained silent as the elevator began to slow before stopping completely, the doors trundling open soundlessly. Happy nudged Peter out but remained inside the car as the doors closed, leaving Peter alone in the sleek room.
Tony was seated in front of a large hologram of his armor, code scrolling past on his monitor as he made adjustments. “Mr. Parker,” he said as Peter edged closer to him, not looking up from his work. “You’re a hard man to get in contact with.”
Though Tony sounded more forthright than angry, Peter still had to fight the cringe in his shoulders as he came to a stop about ten feet away from the work bench – out of reach and with enough time to prepare if the man were to make any sudden moves. “Sorry,” he murmured, keeping his eyes low and doing his best to keep his shoulders from curling in – the last thing he needed to do was show any weakness.
“No need for apologies,” Tony said, light, as he fiddled with a holo mechanism in the right repulser. “Just a statement of fact. According to the news Spider-Man has also been just as difficult to find.”
Peter just hummed in response, choosing not to comment on his previous alter-ego. He didn’t much feel like a hero these days.
“A man of few words,” Tony commented, shutting down the programs in front of him and turning to face Peter fully. “Are you the same kid who was talking my ear off in Germany a year ago?”
“Yes sir,” Peter said, keeping his eyes focused on Tony’s chin. He could feel his mind slipping as his heart rate sped up and he struggled to keep present – it was getting harder and harder to stay in the moment the more he allowed himself to get lost in his head. He occasionally dreamed that one day it might be permanent; one of the few good dreams he had.
“Sir?” Tony parroted, his eyebrows raising and a flash of guilt washing over his features quickly before disappearing. “Look kid, I think I owe you an apology. Actually, I know I owe you an apology. I didn’t communicate with you about the whole alien weapons take-down thing. I underestimated you and treated you like a side-kick and ignored you and then I left you alone and without any protection and you saved my bacon anyway.”
“I deserved it,” Peter said matter-of-factly. “I was in over my head and I disobeyed. The punishment fit the crime.”
“No it didn’t,” Tony told him bluntly but firmly, looking surprised but resolute. “Maybe we both share some fault in the situation but I’m the adult and the one with experience and I didn’t do anything to teach you or help you and for that I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Peter assured him, allowing himself to tap his index finger against his thigh once to let out his stress. Mr. Fisher didn’t like his constant fidgeting and Peter knew that it was pretty annoying so he had done his best to learn how to stand as still as possible to not incur any extra punishments – the index finger tap he was able to normally get away with.
Mr. Stark’s eyes were narrowed as he surveyed Peter. “I wanted to offer you a real spot as my intern. You could spend a few days a week in the shop working on tech and I made you a new and improved suit for the other part of your ‘internship’. I promise that you’ll always have the support you need to be New York’s Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. You’re the future of the Avengers, kid, its pretty clear to me now. Your spot on the team is there whenever you want to take it.”
For the briefest of moments, Peter was overwhelmed with excitement and incredulity. Ever since Tony had announced he was Iron Man to the world, Peter had wanted nothing more than to be a superhero as well, to be an Avenger. If Tony had offered him a spot on the team after Germany, Peter would have taken it in an instant. Now…
“Thank you Mr. Stark,” Peter said, voice still a little broken and hoarse from how little he spoke these days. “But I can’t.”
“Oh you don’t have to join now,” the man assured, misunderstanding. “You’ll need some training first but Rhodey and Vision are always down to join us at the compound for some group work. You have a lot of potential.”
“Thanks but that’s not what I meant,” Peter clarified. “I have to decline all of it but I appreciate the offer.”
“Oh,” Tony looked a little crestfallen, a dark expression of acceptance on his defined features. “I understand. Broken trust and all that. Sure.”
“It’s not that,” Peter reassured quickly. “I don’t hold anything against you – I was the one who messed up. It’s just I have a four o’clock curfew every day so I can’t do the internship.”
“That’s easily remedied!” Mr. Stark said, his eyes lifting with a smile and looking relieved. “I’ll just give Aunt Hottie a call and work things out and we’ll have you in the lab and out swinging through the streets in no time!”
Peter’s ears fuzzed out again, a sharp high-pitched note cutting off Tony’s excited words as a feeling of immense emotion flooded through Peter before he could tamp it down. His breathing felt a little ragged in his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment to gather himself. “My aunt is dead,” Peter gritted out, interrupting Tony and rendering him speechless. “She died six months ago. My foster… the people fostering me are a little more strict.”
“Oh,” Tony said, face blank and an awkward silence filling the space. Peter gripped his worn down backpack straps and backed toward the elevator.
“Thanks for the offer,” Peter said earnestly. “It really is an honor I just…” he trailed off. “Thanks. For everything.”
And with that, he entered the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby, the doors shutting on Tony’s pitying expression before the man could say anything much to Peter’s relief. The metro card the Fishers had gotten him only had a set amount of money on it every month so Peter would be hoofing it back to their house from the Tower. His cracked watch face told him that it was already close to four-thirty and his stomach bubbled with anxiety. At this rate he wouldn’t be back in time to have dinner on the table at five-thirty.
Resigned to his punishments, Peter left the building through the shining lobby and pointed himself toward Queens, moving as fast as he could.
——————-
“You’re late,” Mr. Fishers’s tone was short and monotonous from where he was seated on the couch. The house was otherwise quiet which meant Mrs. Fisher was out that evening.
“I’m sorry sir,” Peter whispered looking at the floor and making no excuses. He had learned the hard way that trying to justify his poor behavior only made things worse for him in the long run.
“Go to your room,” Mr. Fisher told him making Peter cringe. “I’ll join you in a moment.”
Later, when Peter was lying on the bed with silent tears still leaking from his eyes and his back and ribs stinging in pain, he thought about Mr. Stark’s offer with selfish desire. In another universe, in another life, he would have been elated but now he only felt desolation - life always did like to dangle things in front of him he couldn’t have.
Setting his alarm for five-thirty so he wouldn’t oversleep, Peter let his consciousness slip away into the ether, mind going blissfully empty and blank.
——————-
Monday came both faster and slower than Peter wanted. His body still ached from his well-deserved punishment and he was exhausted from the extra chores and minimal food he had been offered as a result of his actions. School passed in a lonely blur for him as he drifted from class to class, hiding away in the deserted music room during lunch to avoid Ned and MJ. They didn’t ask as many questions anymore but Peter didn’t want to put himself in a situation where he would have to lie to his friends again.
When the final bell of the day rang, Peter chose to not stop by his locker where he may be ambushed and, instead, left the school, headed directly for the subway. He had nearly made it when a body physically blocked him from the stairs.
“Howdy Pete,” Mr. Stark said, peering over his glasses to look at Peter and Peter did his best to school his expression into indifference. He couldn’t be late again. He couldn’t take another punishment, he was just so tired all he wanted to do was sleep. Maybe forever. “Where are you headed?”
“Back to my fosters,” Peter told him, trying to skirt around. “I have a four o’clock curfew.”
“I remember you saying something about that,” Mr. Stark agreed with a nod. “Tell you what – let me give you a ride home. You’ll get home well before your curfew and I can talk to your foster parents about the internship. Who can say no to Tony Stark right?”
“NO!” Peter said loudly before smacking a palm over his mouth. He could feel the blood draining from his face as his body tensed, preparing for the correction he knew was coming. Mr. Stark’s brow was furrowed now and his eyes behind his blue glasses had a twinkle of understanding in them.
“Peter,” he began, reaching a hand out with the intention of lying his hand on Peter’s shoulder but he never got that far. Seeing the hand coming towards him and already being on high alert after his exclamation, Peter violently flinched away, only barely able to catch himself from falling over due to his enhanced reflexes, and squeezed his eyes shut tight. “Oh Peter,” Tony said, a desolate understanding in his voice.
Peter cracked his eyes open to see Mr. Stark with both hands raised in the universal ‘backing off’ signal, a soft look on his face. “Sorry sir,” Peter croaked out. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s fine.”
“Do you have something you need to tell me kiddo?” Tony’s voice was soft and gentle and Peter felt his eyes well up with tears he hastily blinked away as he shook his head quickly. “It’s okay buddy. You can tell me.”
“I’m fine. I’m okay. It’s fine.” Tony looked even more crestfallen at Peter’s answer and tapped the side of his glasses to activate FRIDAY.
“Can you I’ve me a scan FRI?” He asked and Peter flinched again knowing there was no way to hide the broken and healing bones and skin that he had been doing his best to conceal. Tony’s face was tight as he stared at Peter and Peter felt all of the blood left in his face drain away.
“I deserved it,” Peter told him desperately. “I disobeyed, it was my fault.” Mr. Stark just looked even more beaten at his words and Peter felt his breathing picking up.
“It’s not,” Tony said, voice still unbelievably soft but firm. “It’s not your fault and you didn’t deserve it. You’re a great kid Pete.” Peter shook his head no and couldn’t stop a couple tears from leaking out before furiously wiping them away. “I promise that it wasn’t your fault Underoos. Will you let me help you?”
“You can’t,” Peter said, feeling hollow. “Everyone… everyone close to me dies. I’m cursed and I can’t do that to you too Mr. Stark.”
“Can I hug you?” Tony asked suddenly, arms twitching with need. After a seconds hesitation, Peter nodded and was hastily folded into the man’s arms; one arm tight around his shoulders and the other snaking up into his hair to pull through the too long strands carefully. Peter felt more tears leak out and, suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in any longer, throwing his own arms around Tony to return the hug and letting out a gut-wrenching sob into the man’s shoulder. Tony just shushed him and let him take as much comfort as he could. “You’re not cursed and none of this is your fault. I get the feeling no one has told you that yet and you need to hear it.”
Peter sobbed loudly again, curling in tighter. He had always thrived on positive affirmation and had grown up in a family where hugs and shoulder pats and forehead kisses were the norm. To go so long without… he had forgotten how nice it was to just be held and cared for. “Thank you,” Peter said, his voice clogged with emotion. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Tony said firmly. “Anyone decent would do the same thing and it’s the least of what you deserve.”
Peter squeezed him one more time and took a deep breath before pulling away. “Thank you,” he reiterated, fighting to make eye contact so he could show just how sincere he was. “But I need to get back before four and I already missed my train. I can’t be late.” Tony, who still had one hand resting on Peter’s shoulder, gripped him tightly to prevent him from escaping up the stairs to the train.
“You aren’t going back,” he said firmly, ducking his head and forcing Peter to make eye contact. “You’re coming with me back to the Tower where I’m going to call CPS and my lawyers. You’re never going back there again.”
“I can’t ask you to do that,” Peter insisted. “It’s really not that bad if I’m home on time and do my chores and stay in my room. And its only two more years until I’m eighteen and then I can get a job and an apartment.”
“Pete,” Tony said, eyes shining as he wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders and started leading him away from the subway and toward the Audi that was parked in the pickup lane; Peter could see the outline of Happy’s silhouette in the driver’s seat. “You deserve better. You deserve somewhere safe and you deserve to have someone care about you. I know you don’t believe it now and that’s okay – I’m just going to keep telling you until you do.”
Peter sniffed back another onslaught of tears and allowed himself to be pulled away. “Thank you Mr. Stark,” he said, voice clogged with emotion.
“It’s Tony kiddo,” the man told him with another squeeze that warmed Peter to the core. “And you don’t need to thank me for this okay?”
“Okay,” Peter agreed, fully aware and present and wanting to be for the first time in a long time. Things were never going to be the same, but maybe, just maybe, they would get better.
CW: suffocation, asphyxiation, choking, masked whumper, psychological whump, general angst and suffering
As the masked man forced him forward, a strange and indescribable horror tightened Darien’s chest. No one knew him. The faces that met his searching gaze didn’t recognize him, didn’t even acknowledge his presence. He was a complete stranger in his own house, and the real stranger had become his captor. But he had long since realized that this wasn’t a nightmare.
Flickering light danced across the silver mask and threw its minimal features into stark shadow. Darien looked away. He couldn’t breathe through the weight of fear, fear that he had somehow been erased. As they entered the dark recesses under the house, the possibility that he no longer existed grew more and more real.
“Wait.” A heavy hand on his shoulder jerked him to a stop. He froze, heart pounding. The silence throbbed in his ears. He didn’t know this place. He had never seen this part of the house, and yet the masked man had a key. It glimmered faintly as he inserted it into a nearly-invisible lock. A hinge creaked and echoed, and a current of air told him a door had just opened before them.
“Go in.” The order came soft and sharp in his ear like gentle blade in his flesh.
“I can’t see,” he whispered, still frozen in place. What a coward he had become, a coward in his own house. But this wasn’t his house, and he was no longer its owner. “I can’t see anything.”
The masked man dragged him forward. The air turned damp, stale and murky with years of being closed up and forgotten. How did the stranger know about this place?
Darien stumbled in the darkness and fell. As he tried to stand back up, the stranger’s hand once again dropped on his shoulder. This time, it shoved him violently to the ground. Taken by surprise, he sprawled out on his back. A heavy boot came down on his chest. The weight knocked the breath from his lungs.
“They don’t know you, do they, Darien? They don’t recognize you, because I ordered them not to. From now on, they will only recognize me.”
“You did this?” Darien gasped, burning anger half-replacing the hollow feeling in his chest. “But how? What did you do to them? What have you done to me?”
“Only what you deserve.” The cruel voice seemed to emanate from every direction. The silver mask hovered over him, close to his own face. He had no choice but to stare into its blank black eyes. “And you deserve far more than what I’ve given you.”
The masked man moved his foot, laid it gently on Darien’s throat. “No one’s going to rescue you. You realize that now, don’t you? No one even acknowledges you exist, so why would they acknowledge your pain?”
As the last word echoed out, the weight crunched down on Darien’s neck. His breath cut off with a sickening rasp. Instinctively, he reached up, hands closing around the man’s ankle. He had to get it off. He had to breathe. But it only pressed down harder, crushing his windpipe. Light popped in his vision, filling his head as he fought. His body thrashed, trying to throw off the weight that was suffocating him. The world darkened into a maelstrom of pressure and pain.
“I don’t want to kill you yet, however.”
The horrific, crushing weight on his throat lifted. Darien arched backward, heaving in a shuddering breath. The lungful of air set him coughing until his eyes watered, until he was reduced to a gasping, exhausted pile at the man’s feet. He do nothing but lie there, unable to speak or move, as the mask moved into his line of vision and the man’s gloved hand fingered his aching throat.
“You’ll die once you’re broken, and not until then.”
Footsteps retreated. A door slammed. Silence.
He was alone, alone in the utter darkness and erased from everyone’s minds.
Summer of Whump day 5! Poor Percy Jackson is lost.
------
Annabeth tells herself Percy is simply lost. He’s invincible with the Curse of Achilles, there should be nothing to prevent him from coming home. Wherever he ended up, he just needs to identify where he is and eventually he’ll stride back into her life. Thinner, maybe. Longer hair. But he just needs a landmark, a map, and a source of transportation. They’ve done it before. He can do it again. And she’ll send out search lights and call his name to help him find his way home. Percy is just lost. Really, really really, lost.
It gets harder the longer he’s gone, especially as no information surfaces of how or why he left in the first place. She starts to wonder who too.
Percy could get stabbed in the stomach and walk away. He could be hit by a bullet train, dropped into Lake Baikal. Be force-fed poison and still smile, make a sassy comment, and escape and win like the hero he is. The fact that he hasn’t, it’s been three months, four, five, has Annabeth chewing her nails and hair. She fiddles with pens, runs her fingers along the covers of books.
Percy is just lost, she tries to tell herself.
But at night, she dreams.
Dreams that he’s been runthrough from behind. Or impaled by falling. Or a stray arrow, or rock, or piece of hail struck the small of his back. The most defenseless point of his body, his weak point that only Annabeth knows, found by accident or deduced. Percy blinks sea-green eyes once, twice, and no more.
Dreams that he’s behind bars. Chained. Not lost but caged and restrained, unable to find his way home because his landmarks are stone and captor voices.
Dreams him Sleeping Beauty, drugged or magicked. A more peaceful capture, but one nonetheless. The sun rises and sets, rises and sets. The trees change, Percy grows a beard, grows grey, grows thin. The Curse of Achilles protects against many things, but not age.
Annabeth wakes up, buries her head into her knees and hugs her legs tightly.
“He’s just lost,” she whispers. “Just lost. Very, very lost. We’ll find each other soon.”
