Frank Castle aka The Punisher who's driving his van home with you in the passenger seat. The two of you were coming back from a mission. A mission you weren't supposed to be on. You had snuck along to help Frank, which he ended up needing, but that was beside the point. You could have gotten hurt. You did get hurt, blood slowly leaking from the shallow cut on your cheek. Frank was 100x worse, his whole face covered in blood, bruises blooming along his jaw like twisted flowers.
He's angry at you. He had told you not to come. It was far too dangerous. His hand gripped the top of the wheel.
He was hardly paying attention to the road ahead, fixated on you.
"What were you thinkin'? Putting yourself in danger like that." He hissed. Frank was trying so hard to not yell. He didn't like yelling at you.
"I was thinking about you. I knew you were gonna need help." You grated. "I'm not sorry for doing it."
"And what would have happened if you were hurt badly- or if you were killed!" His voice was raising.
"And if I wasn't there, you would have been killed, and you know it." You weren't backing down.
"I can take care of myself, I don't need-"
"Might I remind you, that I just saved your ass!"
Frank's hand tightened around the wheel. Why weren't you listening to him?! "I would have made it out. I always do. You're not as capable."
"Capable?! Frank, you know damn well that ain't true!"
"I already lost Maria and the kids! I can't lose y-...I can't lose you too." His voice softened.
"I understand that, Frank, I really do, but-"
"Then don't pull that shit again."
"But it's important to me that I don't lose you, Frank. I'm not going to be idle while you're in danger!"
"I'm in danger every night! I'm a Marine, I can take care of myself!"
"Frank-"
"No! You need to listen to me-"
Suddenly you lunged forward grabbing the wheel, swerving hard to the left, trying to swerve out of the way of oncoming traffic. You did it too late.
The truck slammed right into the van, sending the two of you catapulting into a ditch.
You were the first to wake, completely upside down.
"Frank...?" You gasped out, wincing at the sandpaper in your throat.
He wasn't moving.
"Frank!" You tried a little louder. You shimmied out your torn hand to grab his own.
He stirred, groaning as he came to.
"Holy shit."
Your side had taken most of the damage, Frank could see the pain you were trying to hide from him. Frank had done this before, trained for it, even. It felt more real this time, more pressing on his heart. He managed to undo his buckle and pull himself through his shattered window.
Glass stuck in his back and stomach, his neck ached. Otherwise he seemed okay-ish.
He sat up, fully intent of getting you out of there, but staring at the mess, he just froze. Frank had never frozen up in danger. He always acted.
You tried to call him. "Frank- cmon, snap out of it."
But Frank's eyes glazed slightly, being thrust back into the memory of his daughter's bloody body in his arms. Of his wife's corpse. It was happening all over again.
"Frank!" You called out again as loud as you could, it didn't get him out of it. You could feel sleep taking you over. If you fell asleep right now, you weren't so sure you would wake again.
You managed to grab an empty coffee cup and throw it at him. You felt the cut in your arm, a piece of glass sticking in it. You couldn't think about it right now.
That finally got Frank's attention, he scrambled to his feet.
"Shit, I'm sorry, love."
He got over to your side, easing you from the car, lying you in the grass.
"One way to get me to shut up, Frank." You tried to joke.
The joke didn't land.
"Doll, this ain't lookin' pretty." You had a pretty large gash in your leg. He ripped off a strip of his jacket, pressing it to your leg.
"I'm sorry, doll. I know you're capable, I just don't want you to die trying to save someone like me."
You reached up, cupping his cheek. "I will always return to you, no matter how far. Promise."
"Alroght then...let's get you to a hospital." He hoisted you up into his arms.
He carried you to the nearest emergency room. It was only a few minutes away, thank God.
When he got there, he burst through the door, completely disregarding his own bloodied face or the very obvious punisher symbol under his jacket. That wasn't important right now.
"Hey!" His voice thundered, "Somebody help them now!"
He laid you down on the stretcher that had been wheeled out.
They put a few stitches in your leg and your arm, but everything else you would heal from naturally.
He sat next to your bed, holding your hand.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "you know you're the bravest person I ever met.”
Disclaimer -- Prologue -- Previous Chapter -- Next chapter
Despite how tired I am, despite Cub cuddled close to me, despite finally being safe, and fed, and comforted, I can’t sleep.
Mumbo’s dead.
Everyone hates HotGuy.
The memories run again and again in my mind.
‘So, HotGuy, who's your best friend?’
‘Not saying.’
Pain, electrocution, straight to the neck. I twist and struggle, spasming against my control, as I bite my tongue and struggle desperately not to scream.
‘HE KILLED MUMBO- I SAW IT, SKIZZ! I SAW IT HE MURDERED MUMBO- HE LET MUMBO DIE!’
‘He’s faking it for the fucking attention. He can't make himself cry, so he’s pretending he can't breathe and ignoring us.’
‘Oh my gosh, what a drama queen… Notch…’
‘If I was in his shoes, I would’ve actually done something.’
‘Is this FUNNY, Jangler? Are we a JOKE TO YOU?’
‘‘No- no- please- you’re monsters. Both of you. You’re FUCKING MONSTERS!’ Goat fights and struggles. Jingler grabs his arm, replying with perfect, seething, calm.
‘Correct.’
Barracuda drags Cub into the chair, keeping the cleaver in place. The fencer starts to strap him down. I catch the metal spikes on the leather, cutting into his ankles, then his wrists.
‘Oh my gosh we should try using a drill, I’ve never used a drill before- what? What’s wrong, HotGuy? You jealous of my new toy?’
Jellyfish tests the drill in front of me, a whine that send terror through every bone, every muscle, before-
Cub screams.
I jolt from half-asleep memories, turning to find him curled up, just sobbing, and gasping.
‘Cub I’m here. I’m right here, what happened?’ I hug him. He buries his head in my shirt. ‘Was it a nightmare?’
Cub nods, a little, but keeps crying. He wraps his arms around me and doesn't let go.
‘We’re safe, Cub. Both of us are safe. Everyone we love, all our friends, our family, everyone’s safe.’
No reply. I keep hugging Cub. The clock across the room says 2:54, so I close my eyes to sleep again.
But I don't.
The next time I check, 3:27.
Then 4:06.
Then the alarm’s ringing. It’s 5am. I must’ve drifted asleep, but not for long. Cub’s not moving either, still cuddled close. I can barely move for exhaustion, or switch off the constant buzz, just on and on and on and-
‘SHUT UP!’ Cubs hurls a glass at the alarm clock, breaking both. The noise stops. Cub breaks down sobbing again.
We remain there, awake, for another hour.
Until I realise.
‘Cub, I’m late for work,’ I murmur, eyes barely open. ‘I need to get up.’
‘Don't leave me,’ Cub pleads back, softly.
‘You can come too.. Lizzie and Jimmy wouldn't mind. But I can't miss another day of work, Cubby.’
‘You need recovery time.’
‘We need money.’
‘We have enough money.’
‘I need to get back to normal… Cub…’
He lets me go. I manage to get out of bed, get dressed, eat some almost inedibly overripe fruit for breakfast as I come to terms with needing to go shopping. Eventually, Cub joins me. He looks utterly exhausted, almost unwell, stumbling from the bedroom.
‘Let’s- go Bambloozers…’ Cub mumbles. ‘Plants n’stuff.’
‘Oh Cub…’ I wheel closer. He glances over. ‘You don't have to come… please, please don't come if you don't feel well.’
‘Whenever you’re out of sight, some part of me says you’re there again.’
My mind goes back to the day before, finding him sobbing, in the corner of the kitchen. I wheel closer, taking his hand.
‘Cub, it’s alright. I’m here.’
‘I should've done something.’
‘You didn't know.’
‘But I did. Jellyfish sent posts about it. I- I knew I had to do something…’
‘What could you have possibly done, Cub? You would’ve just gotten yourself hurt, or caught, and then what? They would’ve killed you, just like they killed Mumbo.’
A pause.
‘I know my way around the mansion.’
‘That didn't help me.’
‘And- well- the Vex magic.’
‘No.’ My tone snaps to cold refusal.
‘I should’ve become the Jingler again.’
‘No you shouldn’t have. Absolutely not.’
‘He- he comes in, protective of the mansion, drags HotGuy away, under the pretence of hurting him elsewhere, and we get Mumbo safe, we run, I help both of you, Mumbo doesn't die…’
‘Cub, Cub- please, you would’ve been shot. And killed. And if you weren't- we’d be stuck having to bring back the Convex properly. Doing that again.’
The doorbell rings.
‘Who the fuck is it now?’ I mutter, approaching, glancing through the curtain. And lock eyes with Skizz. So, with a deep breath, I have to open the door.
‘Scar, buddy- what happened? Joe called us saying you were missing-’
‘I went to the mansion. It’s a long story.’
‘Dude- Scar- what?!’
‘I don't want to talk about it. We’re late to work, anyway. Cub was just- having a moment.’
‘Would you like a lift? We can talk more on the way. Oh, and Grian’s been properly suspended from work. He’s not even allowed into the building… . he tried to beat up HotGuy, and he let Cub get hurt, disobeying direct orders…’
‘HE KILLED MUMBO- I SAW IT, SKIZZ! I SAW IT HE MURDERED MUMBO- HE LET MUMBO DIE!’
‘He- Grian attacked HotGuy?! What?’ I manage to react with before Skizz gets suspicious.
‘He was upset about Mumbo, it was less than an hour since the news dropped. But still, unexcusable… Rubbadub, you coming?’
‘Yeah, yeah…’
Cub, still exhausted, follows me and Skizz out the house, and into the car. The moment we’re on the road, Skizz is asking questions.
‘So… Did you find anything out about Big Salmon? In the mansion?’
‘Someone in Big Salmon has blue hair. Either Barracuda or Jellyfish. Oh- Jellyfish was in the CARE system. According to Barracuda. There’s also a ‘Papa K’ and an ‘xB’. xB’s alias is Anglerfish. He lives in the mansion.’
‘That’s incredibly helpful. Thank you… Martyn, we need investigation into an ‘xB’...’ Skizz says into his walkie-talkie. ‘Scar, what did he look like?’
‘Pretty short, 5’6”, 5’7”ish…? Dark brown hair, curled- kinda like Cub’s, but a little more, a full beard, but not very long, Caucasian, he was wearing a black hoodie, with a turquoise lining, didn't see eye-colour… face and nose rounded.’
‘Yep, got that. May also need a drawing from you later, if you have the time.’
‘He didn't seem hugely involved. Quite new to the whole thing. Papa K introduced him. Oh, they had custom number plates on their vans. ‘Papa K1’, and ‘Princess’ with a 1 as the I.’
‘This is all incredibly, incredibly useful Scar. Thank you.’
‘No worries.’ I turn to the window, as we park outside Bamboozlers. Skizz turns back to face us.
‘You stay safe, ok? If you need anything, just shout, I’ll be here to help you… Jiggles! Look after Scar, ok?’
‘Of course, sir!’ Jimmy shouts as he greets us outside. ‘Come on… gosh- ah, there we go.’ Jimmy gets my wheelchair in place outside the door, and we head inside. I give a final thanks and goodbye to Skizz, and he drives away.
‘I’m sorry about-’
‘I’m so sorry we-’ Jimmy pauses, as we both try to speak at once. ‘You go first. Sorry.’
‘I’m sorry about yesterday, man. I was in a bad mood.’
‘No- no, absolutely not, Scar. It was our fault. We were acting up so badly… Lizzie! Scar’s here!’
We enter the shop, already mostly set up for the day. I catch the sound of the news behind.
‘...from our own news show, of a startling new update in the Jellyfish vs HotGuy saga…’
I wheel past Jimmy and into the back, where Lizzie’s about to stop it.
‘No- no keep it on-’ I say. Because the footage is new. It’s Zedaph, the on-site reporter, talking with witnesses I recognise from yesterday.
‘You were right at the front, did you consider calling an ambulance, or helping Mumbo yourself?’
‘Well, I have a young child, so I’m not getting involved in the Nether, and risking their life.’
Gunshot.
I flinch, even though it’s on TV. My injuries flare up. The interviewee collapses in a spray of blood that hits the camera. Zedaph backs away, yelling to cut.
‘CUT AND I CUT YOU UP!’
A cold wave washes over me as Jellyfish strides into view, grabbing Zedaph by the neck, holding a pistol to his head. All I can think through the fear is I should’ve been there. I should've helped him. I should’ve seen this.
‘You’ll keep rolling if you want him to stay alive.’ Jellyfish spits, hoarse. His white hoodie is red with blood, mask cracked. He’s swaying a little. ‘My face? Oh, yeah, HotGuy did this. When he ran away like a little fucking coward, tail between his legs. Wait, oh my gosh- this is how everything started as well, HotGuy runs away, and fails to save anyone. Didn't stick around long here either, flee the moment he could hitch a lift and escape. Sat there as Mumbo died, not caring for the reasons of innocent people who never chose to get involved, never needed to get involved, but now it’s their fault they don't want us to find them and hurt them too? For saving Mumbo?’
‘STAND DOWN. The police are on their way.’
‘What are they gonna fucking do? Send me back to prison? Stand there yelling for help instead of stopping poor Zeddy bleeding out? We need a HotGuy around here but- hm. None of those, are there? Just a team of terrified innocents that HotGuy isn't here to help. Just watching this play out, safe, somewhere.’
Jellyfish stares straight into the camera. Straight at me. I can’t breathe.
‘You are everything that’s wrong with this city, HotGuy.’ He says. ‘You’re a coward, and a monster, and I swear on Notch himself, and all that I love I am going to find you, whatever it takes, whoever I have to hurt, and then I am gonna find whoever you care about most, and I’m gonna rip them apart, piece by piece, joint by joint, while you watch, knowing it was all your fault. And whoever gives me this information, whoever tells me HotGuy’s real identity, however you get that information, and however you give it to us… hey, I’ve got the whole fucking mansion and everything inside it. You’re gonna get billions. And we’re gonna give you immunity from the police, and everyone in the nether. And I know all of you hate-’
Lizzie pauses the television. I just stare at Jellyfish.
‘You alright?’ Cub murmurs, a hand on my shoulder. I nod absently. ‘When was this?’
‘Yesterday morning. Like- within two hours of Mumbo’s death.’
‘Symnet’s going insane,’ Lizzie explains. ‘HotGuy is No.1 trending, WTF HotGuy is second, but it is almost tied with JusticeForHotGuy.’
‘You are everything that’s wrong with this city, HotGuy. You’re a coward, and a monster,’ Jellyfish’s words repeat over what everyone else says, as much as I try to listen and engage.
‘Like- some people want the money and immunity of finding HotGuy, while others saw HotGuy’s speech, oh my gosh, brother, that speech was so inspiring, you need to watch it- people who saw it are fighting for him. Cleo also posted something about interviewing HotGuy, Scott almost got fired from the HCBS for symming a pro-HotGuy message on his private account ‘SmajorlyGay1995’. And there’s also discussion of the guy in the corner.’
‘The guy in the corner?’ I murmur, in attempt to join in despite the shock, and the blood rushing in my ears.
Lizzie points to the far left corner, where a vague pink shape is sticking out from the edge of the street.
‘...Wormman?’ Cub asks. ‘I swear he retired?’
‘This superhero-looking guy ran into the cafe, covered in blood, a couple days ago, asking for me.’ Wormman should’ve stayed the city’s superhero. Not HotGuy. Wormman’s a good person. I’m not. Wormman wouldn't have killed Mumbo.
‘No, I don't think so- wait- it actually could be- but but everyone on Symmnet, they reckon that’s actually Cuteguy, the new superhero!’
‘Wait, didn’t they say they were gonna get involved if HotGuy didn't come back…’ Cub says. ‘Does he do anything? Here? On the news?’
‘They cut back to the studio before we see what happens.’ Lizzie says.
‘But Zedaph is fine, by the way. They- uh- they mentioned that on another post later. The private account- but yeah, new superhero? What do you guys think?’
‘I am gonna find whoever you care about most, and I’m going to pull them apart, piece by piece, joint by joint, while you watch, knowing it was all your fault.’
Then I can't hear what anyone’s saying any more. All I hear is the sound of blood, rushing, in my ears, and tinnitus as shrill and loud as Mumbo’s screams. All I see is Jevin hurting him, live on camera, all the blood and gore. All the pain that I could’ve stopped, I could’ve avoided. Tears run down my face, my breathing falters, but one thought runs through my mind.
We know xB’s identity. We have information about Jellyfish. Barracuda’s on our side.
We still have a chance of stopping them.
...Right?
Plot twist more chapters-
Only took- uh- over a month?
(Welp upon checking the last post was - uh- kinda- AUGUST-)
Hopefully that’s everyone. Anyways, here’s chapter two! Drop a kudos and comment over on ao3: Under the Earth; Far from Home. Angst, panic attacks, being buried alive, ptsd flashbacks, as well as depictions of a severely malnourished and emancipated Danny ahead. If any of this triggers you please be careful!
Jason had been ignoring the signs. The itch to go riding that would inevitably end at the cemetery where he had been buried. The feeling like he had something to do there. Some kind of unfinished business that he couldn’t remember. The amount of trauma that was linked with the place made it…difficult, for Jason to even think about going past the cemetery gates.
Both Dick and Tim had gone in to see if they could find anything. They didn’t and Jason tried to put the whole thing behind him. To forget about the whole ordeal. But something kept pulling him back. Now two weeks after he initially started feeling the strange pulling, Jason is standing before the gates. He stares at the wrought iron with a slight distain.
He takes a deep breath and pushes past the gates and into the cemetery. His burial plot was in the southeast corner. So he made his way over to it, hoping that it would make these feelings finally settle. As he passed row upon row of headstones, the feelings did not settle. If anything, something stirred in his chest. Something fearful and desperate. Jason was about to turn around and give up when something caught his eye.
Tucked away in an unkempt corner was a very recent grave. Initially he thought it was unmarked but upon a closer look Jason found a wooden plaque sunken into the muddy ground. It had hastily carved words; ‘To our beloved son. We wish we had known sooner.’
Jason picked up and turned the plaque over to see if there was a name. There was none. Only the words he had seen before. He neatly places the plaque back at the head of the grave.
“Your parents must have loved you a lot buddy.” Jason says, his emotions settling just a bit in his chest. “I hope you rest in peace.”
And as he was turning to leave, something happened. It was like the barest of whispers spoken directly into his mind. Quiet but desperate all the same.
help
Jason turns back towards the fresh grave. He doesn’t know why he did it, but he responded. Not really in words, more of a wave of morbid curiosity. The answering response he got nearly knocked him off his feet.
Help, help, buried, not dead, alive, alive, ALIVE.
An instant wave of panic took over his senses. Suddenly Jason was back in his own casket. Buried underground with no hope of help or rescue. Left alone to suffocate and die a second time.
He was on his knees clawing at the dirt before he knew what he was doing.
Alive, help, coming, safe?
He waited on baited breath. Hoping for a response. Anything that would tell him that the boy buried there was still clinging to life. The further he dug into the dirt the more desperate he became. It had rained recently, just the night prior, so the dirt had become heavy and sloppy. Even with it being freshly turned, the rain had packed it down some. Making it much more difficult to dig through.
No, no, hurt, alive, hurt.
Jason screams into the empty cemetery. He roughly shucks off his motorcycle jacket and his shirt. Leaving him in his boots, jeans, and white tank top. Tiny rocks and dirt shove themselves under his fingernails as he shovels and scoops dirt, throwing it haphazardly, only caring about hopefully, possibly saving the boy.
Jason continued to send mental waves of help and safety through whatever mind fuckery this was. With every desperate cry for help, he became more frenzied and desperate himself. Soon, far too soon, he hadn’t dug even two feet into the ground, he made first contact with the casket. What he wasn’t expecting was to be shocked and for green sparks to shoot out from the box in the ground. Jason pushes past it though. It wasn’t too painful, more of like the kind of static shock you would get as a kid playing on the trampoline. Slowly, too slowly, he uncovered more and more of the box. He had finally uncovered most of it when he noticed a sliding hatch closer to the head of the coffin-like box.
He was not prepared for what he saw on the other side of this tiny window. Blue eyes with a green shine stared up at him. Tear tracks running down his face, glowing a strange green. Black hair limp and lifeless, flopped to one side of the kid’s face. Skeletal hands and fingers pressed up against the mockery of a window as green sparks flitted about. A gaunt, skeletal frame shaking from the constant shock.
Jason hesitated for only a moment before nearly ripping the lid off of the coffin. Hydraulic hinges squealing in protest as stale air flooded out of the box. There was soft sobbing coming from the teen. Jason gently picked him up and pulled him out of the tiny prison. The teen shook in his arms but held tightly to Jason as if his very being depended on it. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans with only socks on his feet. Everything was far too baggy on the boy, only testifying further that he was severely dehydrated and malnourished.
Jason whispered consoling words. What they meant he didn’t know, because at that moment the panic had finally swept him up. Flashbacks and anxiety threatened to swallow him up completely but was staved off by the quivering teen in his arms. It grounded him enough to keep a tight hold on the teen.
~~~
Jason wasn’t sure how long they had stayed down in the dug out grave. Long enough that the sky had turned from an almost dusky color to the city lightened smog of the night. The black haired teen had passed out into a deep sleep a while ago. When he had first fallen asleep Jason panicked, thinking that he had died. But a quick check showed that the teen was still breathing lightly and an impossibly slow heartbeat still thrummed in his chest.
Jason finally pulled them out of the somewhat shallow grave. He laid the teen in the grass and gathered up his clothing. Before he put his shirt back on, Jason chipped away all of the dried dirt on his arms. Anything that was still wet was scraped off and flicked into the grass. With his shirt back on he picks up his jacket and the teen, making their way back to his motorcycle by the gates.
He situated the teen to sit behind him on his bike. He used his jacket to secure the tiny, skeletal body to himself. Settling it over the sleeping teens shoulders then tying the sleeves around his own torso. Once Jason secured the teen as best he could, he took off into the night, phone ringing in his ear.
“Master Jason.” A prim and proper voice answered. “How can I help you this evening?”
“Hi Alfred. I’m going to need medical help.” Jason’s voice is gruff and water from the amount of screaming and tears he’s experienced in such a short time.
Alfred sighs. “What have you gotten yourself into that requires you to visit the Manor instead of your apartment?”
“I don’t need it. I found a boy buried alive in the same cemetery that I was buried in. He’s really weak, most likely severely dehydrated and malnourished. I-I’m not equipped to take care of something like this.” His voice is breaking slightly.
There was a moment of silence. The only sounds Jason could hear were the wind screaming in his ears and the muffled sounds of traffic. The panic he had shoved into the furthest darkest corner of his mind was starting to creep into his thoughts again.
“Alright. Bring him straight into the cave. I’ll have a bed ready for him and I’ll call Dr. Leslie in. I may be able to do many things, this however seems like a situation we need a professional opinion on.”
(from: @squad380) for Spotify wrapped starters/asks: 27
[Nice, song 27: Panic Room by Au/Ra]
Bite wakes with a jolt and a loud swear, tumbling from his top bunk and groaning as he lands on the previously distant floor.
"Kriff, one night of uninterrupted sleep in all I ask for." Bite mumbles in staggered, sharp breaths, aware of the vode sleeping around him. He pushes himself up on shaking limps as the adrenaline from his nightmare continues to rage through him.
In the darkness of the barracks, Bite could have sworn he was somewhere else, the cold floor only serving to help his mind send him places he never wants to think of again. Only the steady breathing of sleeping clones, intrupted by the sounds of rustling sheets and creeking frames, grounds him in the room.
Even now, Bite can feel the panic in his throat, and the images of past horrors flash across his vision. The shaking has spread throughout his entire body, and his breathing is still uneven. With each thunderous beat of his heart, Bite moved further into the shadows of his mind.
Notes: Again, this was written a long time ago and has just been sitting in my google docs cause I felt guilty for not posting. Sorry for the wait and thank you for the patience.
I also lost the ask for this one. Sorry :/
Description: You have a panic attack and Tom Hiddleston helps out
Characters: You, Tom Hiddleston, mentioned crew members
Warning: Panic attacks, flashbacks, anxiety
Word Count: 500 ish
It started out with you dropping your coffee. Someone from craft services just handed it to you, and you dropped it like the clutz you are. You immediately fell over yourself apologizing. The craft services person assured you that it was okay, but that first even stuck like glue for the rest of the day. Whenever you made a mess at home, even if it was an accident, you would always get berated, but if your parents were really mad, there would be a few hits.
You nailed all the scenes for the day but one. That particular scene had one of your co-stars dressed exactly the way your mother would when she was going out. After she would get back at 4 in the morning, she would always stumble into your room and make you clean the entire house, throwing dishes at you when you didn’t work fast enough. The director was patient and let you take your time. You eventually got it, but you could tell that everyone was getting tired and fed up with your childish behavior.
Then you got a call from an unknown number. Paranoid, you didn’t answer it. Instead, you told your manager to take all the calls from then on. You holed up in your trailer from then on.
Turns out that was a bad idea, too. Being locked in that enclosed space made you more anxious. You distracted yourself by checking in with the emancipation proceedings, but the bad news from your law team made you want to curl into a ball and cry.
You're so caught up in the panic that you miss the door to the trailer open and the dipping in the couch.
"Y/N, darling?"
Your head snaps up. Tom, the person that helped you get away from your parents and gave you a place to stay, sat on the couch next to you. Concern laces his eyes and his face is creased with wrinkles.
"Can I come closer to you?"
You can only nod at his question. He scoots in closer, wraps one arm around you and takes one of your hands. Pressure is immediately eased when he does.
“You’re okay. You don’t need to do that anymore, okay? You don’t need to do that anymore...”
Without even realizing it, you had been digging your nails into the soft flesh of your upper arms. You suck in a shaky breath and look back at Tom.
"Tell me what's upsetting you, love. Let me help."
You shake your head quickly and begin to choke out your fears. “I’m scared. They’re gonna find me and they’re gonna make me go back, they won’t let me go, Tom. I can’t.. I-I can’t. ”
He shushes you and begins to rub your back. “You don’t have to be scared anymore. I won’t let that happen. I’ll keep them away from you.”
Jason Gideon x reader fic dad scenario for our friend @genderfluidsanta
Warnings: Child abuse, dark emotions, negative emotions, flash-backs, physical abuse
~
It was another night filled with terror. Her nightmares were acting up again, they were far worse than any terror she had had before. She saw it again, him charging at her, eyes wide with rage. Her breath quickened as she found herself back in the claws of the cage within which she was once caught.
The cage of his rage laden with the torment of her childhood. His malicious grin as he struck those she held dear to her.
He got closer, rushing towards her at a quick pace. She felt her heart racing in her chest, her lungs burning, crying for oxygen yet unable to get any. Tears streamed down her face as she called desperately for help.
Her limbs flailed against him yet he gripped them in his hands, screaming curses at her. She could feel herself slowly blacking out when suddenly she was jarred awake.
The sensation of cold water on her face startled her but she didn’t have long to think about it before inhaling deeply, desperate to get air in her lungs. Clutching at her bed-sheets she looked up, noticing he was there, her adoptive father, Jason Gideon. The man who had rescued her from her father, the man who she now called ‘dad’.
He stood near her bed with wide eyes, an empty glass of water in his hand. His presence greatly comforted her. She quickly reached out, hugging him, unwilling to let him go, afraid of succumbing to her nightmares once more. She inhaled his comforting scent of cinnamon and his favorite perfume.
“Please don’t leave me,” she whispered, her voice muffled against him as he gently stroked her back in an effort to calm her down. Though she shivered with fear, she refused to let go.
“Shhh. Everything will be okay. How about this, we can have some tea and if you’re up to it we can either talk or not. Then we’ll watch some of those adorable pet videos that you like in my bedroom till you fall asleep,” he said softly, trying not to spook her.
Her arms tightened around him at the mention of sleeping. Understanding her fear, he comforted her, saying, “It’ll be okay. I’ll be there to watch over you. If you get another nightmare I’ll wake you up gain.”
Slowly thinking about what she wanted to do she slowly nodded her head.
He lead her to the kitchen. She watched him prepare her favorite tea, finding his routine actions calming as the soft sounds him moving around in the kitchen filled the air.
Bringing two steaming mugs out of the little kitchen he gently placed one in front of her and sat down next to her.
He told her stories about how his day went until she was relaxed. She didn’t feel like talking, unwilling to re-live the events of the nightmare that seemed too realistic to be a dream.
After their tea was finished, he put the cups away before taking her to his bedroom. His bed was big enough for the both of them.
She nestled herself within his sheets, inhaling his comforting smell.
He laid against the headrest, her head placed on his chest as they watched pet videos on his laptop.
After a few hours, he felt her breathing slowed and her body slumped. Slowly closing the computer and placing it on his bedside table, he wrapped his arms around his daughter, pulling her closer.
He kissed her forehead, whispering a soft ‘good night’, praying to whoever was listening that she’d have a peaceful night.
