"Your highness, you should rest some more," you advised the prince, watching him sit up.
"I told you to call me Yonji when it's just us," he said instead of replying.
"Don't think I haven't noticed the bags under your eyes, Yonji," you point out softly.
Yonji groaned in response, placing his face in his hands. You sit up next to him, pulling some strands of his hair out of his face. He spread his fingers apart, letting his eyes gaze into your caring ones. He sighed, bringing down his hands and letting his head rest on your shoulder. His hair fell over his eyes, blocking his sight until you pulled it out of the way.
"I'll never understand this thing you humans call concern," Yonji mumbled, feeling you playing with his hair. "I don't need it, I'm strong, I don't die easily like you humans do."
"That may be true, but that's not a reason to disregard your sleep Yonji." Gently, you move his head into your lap. You continued playing with his hair as you elaborated. "Sleep may be good for the body, letting you recharge your stamina, but it also helps your mind. Sleep is a necessity for mental health. If you don't get proper rest..." Your hand stopped brushing his hand, your gaze falling into your memories. "Well, I know the consequences firsthand."
Yonji surprised you when his hand reached up and caress your cheek. His eyes stared into yours, you couldn't tell what emotion he struggled to understand, his face stayed stoic. You smile, admiring him for trying his best to figure out what he felt. He's different when he's like this, especially when his hair is down. You ran your fingers through his locks once more, humming in inquiry, knowing he wanted to say something.
"You could use some more sleep too," Yonji told you as his hand traced under your bags.
Such simple words, such a simple gesture, and yet they meant everything to you.
Note: Thank you to @loverhymeswith for talking over the initial idea, reading this over and always being supportive of this series 💖
Part 4 of the “In Love” series
Frank had messed up. Big time. He had gotten lucky in his years as The Punisher and had always managed to either escape unrecognized or leave with no witnesses to identify him. However, the night he had first gone after the Costa Crime Family, he had underestimated their forces and barely made it out alive. And to make matters worse, his injuries from that night had caused him to develop a near-fatal fever, the aftermath of which had almost cost him you.
And now, he was afraid of losing you again. After only three months of dating, Frank had revealed everything to you: his time in the military, his previous family, what happened to them, what he became after their deaths. While you had been a little shaken by the revelation, you had accepted him. All of him. And in the two years since you learned the truth, he had done everything in his power to shield you from the violence and bloodshed of The Punisher.
But last night, the Costas had sent an assassin to attack the two of you in your apartment. Frank had taken care of the man before he could touch you, but it had been a wake-up call. Seeing you quaking in fear in the corner of the room, blood splattered across your face as you stared up at him in fear…. It was something he had always hoped you would never have to experience.
He had been terrified you would be frightened or repulsed by him after seeing him kill the assassin. But as he bent down and held out his hand, you had thrown yourself into his arms, sobbing loudly as he held you. He had never felt so simultaneously relieved and heartbroken before. You might be traumatized about what just happened, but at least you were safe…. For now.
Which was why Frank was currently helping you pack your bag so you could go stay with Red for a while. Frank and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen might not see eye to eye on a lot of things, but he knew Murdock would protect you with his life if it came down to it. Of course, Frank hadn’t told him what he planned to do next, but he was sure Red had some idea of what he had in mind.
The only issue was that you were far from happy with this arrangement. As Frank threw a few of your shirts into a suitcase, you stood in the doorway to the bedroom with your arms folded across your chest, wrapped in the ratty oversized sweater you only wore when upset or needing comfort, as you watched him. Frank grabbed a few small things off your dresser to toss into the bag before slipping in one of his hoodies he knew you loved to steal. Then he turned and held out the suitcase to you, but you refused to take it.
Ignoring the bag, you looked up at him with large, pleading eyes. “Don’t make me go…. Please. Frank, I want to stay with you. I want to help.”
He placed the case on the floor and ran his fingers across your cheek, pushing your hair off your face. “I know, sweetheart. But the Costas aren’t going to stop until I’m dead or until I kill every last one of them. And I’m not gonna have you be here for that. The best way you can help me right now is to go someplace where I know you’ll be safe, and that means with Red. It won’t be for long. Just until I can take care of them once and for all.”
“And what if something happens? You almost didn’t make it back the last time you faced them. And if– when –you come home, who’ll patch you up and take care of you afterward if I’m not here?”
Frank sighed softly. “Then I can call you and you can come back to me because it’ll be safe. You won’t have to be gone long, I promise. But I need you to promise me that you won’t come back until I say so. Can you do that?”
However, you ignore his question as you fire back your own. “But what if you never call? How long do I wait? And how will I know what happened to you? What do I-”
Frank drew you into his chest, where you instantly wrapped your arms around his waist, desperately clinging to him. In no time, he felt your tears dampening his shirt but he just rubbed your back and let you cry. He was just as scared of losing you as you were of losing him. But while Frank had the training and skills to hold his own in a massive shootout or brawl, you had only the most basic self-defense training, none of which would help you if you encountered multiple assailants with guns. As much as he didn’t want you to leave either, he knew it was the only way.
Once you had stopped crying, he put his hands on your shoulders and held you at arm’s length so he could see your face. Tears still stained your cheeks and your eyes remained trailed on the floor. Placing one finger under your chin, he tilted your face up to meet his as he said, “Hey, I love you and that’s the only reason I’m doing this. Once this job is done, nothing will keep us apart ever again. Do you hear me?” You nodded softly and Frank smiled. “Good.” He placed a light kiss on your forehead.
“Frank?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Don’t make me say goodbye, okay?”
Frank knew you weren’t just talking about when you left the apartment. Wiping a tear from your face, he reassured you, “Never. It’s never a goodbye, just a for now.”
“Do you promise?” you whispered.
“I promise. And have I ever broken my promise?” You shook your head slightly, some of the anxiety lifting from your face. But Frank knew you were still scared for him. “And, uh, this isn’t exactly how I wanted to do this, but while you’re gone, how ‘bout you start looking at wedding dresses, huh?”
Your eyes grew wide as you took a sharp breath in and whispered, “Do you mean it? I mean… are you sure?”
Frank ran his thumb across your cheek. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Tears once again filled your eyes, but this time they were accompanied by one of the brightest smiles Frank had ever seen. “Okay, Frank. I’ll find the perfect dress. One I know you’ll love.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll love you in anything you pick.”
You laughed, “Okay, then I’ll just wear one of your old sweaters and a pair of my sweatpants.”
Frank grinned. “Sounds perfect to me.” He cupped your face and drew you in, your lips pressing against his. Despite his promise, he tried to memorize every detail of this moment just in case it was your last kiss. Just in case he didn’t make it out of this one.
But he wouldn’t let that happen. He had to come back to you. The two of you now had a wedding to plan.
In the two days since you left, Frank had searched all over the city for any trace of the Costa Family. But it seemed as if they had all just disappeared. Like rats scurrying back into the sewer. Normally, he wouldn’t have cared that it was taking a while to find them, but now, the longer it took, the longer he had to be away from you. And he was already missing you with every fiber of his being.
As he approached your apartment, he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Drawing his gun, Frank burst through the door, ready to take out whoever was waiting. Yet the place looked empty.
However, it was apparent someone had been there at some point. The entire living room was in disarray. Lamps knocked over, cushions tossed from the couch, chairs and knick-knacks lay on the floor. And as he cautiously eased further into the room, he noticed a small pool of blood on the throw rug in the middle of the floor. But who could have made….
Glancing around quickly, Frank’s blood ran cold and he feels his legs threatening to give out. Next to the door was your suitcase. The one you took with you when you left for Red’s.
Frank stumbled over to the bag, falling to his knees beside it. He fumbled with the zipper but finally managed to open it. Inside, everything that he had packed for you was still in it. The only thing out of the ordinary was his hoodie was missing and there was a tablet sitting on top of the stack of clothes. You didn’t own anything like that.
Flipping it over, Frank saw a sticky note on the back with the words “call me” on it. When he turned on the tablet, he saw there was only one app installed. It was used for video calls and there was only one number programmed into it. Clicking the button, Frank waited.
A minute later, a man’s face filled the screen. When he saw Frank, he smiled widely. “Ah, Mr. Castle. At last, we meet face-to-face… sort of.”
“Who the hell are you? What the fuck have you done with her?” Frank growled.
The man beamed. “Oh, you mean your little girlfriend? She’s right here with me.”
The camera panned around and Frank inhaled sharply. You were sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, your hands and feet bound and a gag tied tightly around your mouth. Blood dripped down the side of your face from a small cut on your forehead and some had landed on his hoodie that you were currently wearing. Your eyes looked slightly dazed as if you had been drugged or recently regained consciousness. Yet the moment you caught a glimpse of him on the screen, your eyes widened and you began to squirm against the ropes, your muffled pleas coming through loud and clear through the speakers.
Frank tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible to not give the man any satisfaction nor to worry you, but inside he was in full panic mode. You were supposed to be safely in Hell’s Kitchen with Red. How the hell did these guys get to you? And what were they planning to do now that they had you?
The man with the camera gave an order and a second man, who had been standing silently behind your chair, removed your gag and you cried out, “Frank!”
Giving you what he hoped was a reassuring smile, Frank asked, “Sweetheart, are you okay?”
“I-I think so. They knocked me out with something a-and my head is still a bit fuzzy b-but I think I’m okay.” However, your lip began to tremble and a sob tore from your throat. "I’m so sorry, baby. I-I couldn’t leave. But when I came back to the apartment, they were waiting a-and grabbed me.”
“You promised me you’d stay away,” he whispered.
Shaking your head, you gave him a small smile. “I avoided that question when you asked.”
Frank opened his mouth to say something, but the camera moved again so he was once again staring at the man from before. The man chuckled. “She’s a tough little thing, I’ll give you that. Put up quite a fight when my men tried to grab her in your apartment. But a little bit of chloroform goes a long way.” Frank gritted his teeth, but the man continued. “Now, you asked who I was. I thought that might be obvious, but seeing as it’s not, my name is Frank Costa and I believe you have been targeting my operations and killing my men.”
Frank swallowed sharply. Of course it was the Costas. If he hadn’t been so distracted by your disappearance, he would have realized that instantly. No one else had a reason to go after you. But knowing who was behind your kidnapping only made the dread in his stomach worsen. The Costas were known for their brutal form of torture and abuse that often left the victims praying for death. There was no telling what they had planned for you.
“What do you want?” Frank snarled.
“I want you to get what you deserve.” From behind his back, Costa drew a pistol as he looked into the camera at Frank. “Now, I believe in a just world. And eye for an eye and all that. You tried to destroy me, so now, I’m going to destroy you. Metaphorically speaking.”
He raised the gun until it was pointed directly at the center of your forehead. You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a small whimper as Frank begged, “Please! Don’t do this! She didn’t do anything to you! I’ll turn myself over. You can do whatever you want to me, just don’t hurt her!”
Costa smiled. “Oh, don’t worry Mr. Castle. I’m certain we will be seeing you very soon. Well… I will.” He pulled the hammer back on the gun.
“No!” Frank cried. “No, please! Stop this! Sweetheart-”
“F-Frank….” Your eyes were open once more, terrified and pleading. “I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you. But I love you. I love you with all of my hea-”
The blast of the pistol cut you off. Frank watched in horror as your head jerked back and a plume of blood sprayed into the air. Then the video cut off.
He continued to stare in shock at the blank screen in front of him, trying to come to terms with the fact he had just witnessed your execution. You were gone. He had lost yet another person who he had given his whole heart to, who he had loved more than life itself. And it was entirely his fault. He had known from the moment he met you that being a part of his life meant you would be in constant danger, yet he had taken that risk anyway. And you had paid the price
With a mighty roar, Frank hurled the tablet across the room. It slammed into the wall and the screen shattered on impact. Frank rose to his feet and began flinging furniture around the already destroyed room. What did it matter anymore? The life he had planned in this place was over. He would never carry you over the threshold of the apartment in your white dress. He would never start the family you had talked about late at night while you were wrapped in his arms. He would never see you grow round with your children or watch you chase them around giggling and playing. He would never watch you age or grow old, your life cut short on this day. And it was all because of him.
Sinking to his knees in the middle of his destruction, Frank felt all of the fight drain from his body. What was the point anymore? Why should he keep going?
But then he spotted something amongst the debris over by the couch. Going over, he picked it up. It was the picture of the two of you that had been taken on your second anniversary. You had asked him to smile and he grumbled he hated having his picture taken. Through the smile you had plastered on your face, you said, “I don’t care if you hate it. It’s our anniversary and I’m going to get one goddamn picture of you actually looking at the camera with something other than a scowl. Now shut up and give me a fucking smile.”
Try as he might, he hadn’t been able to keep the grin off his face at that, and you had managed to capture the perfect picture.
As Frank traced his fingers over your face, he thought about how he should have just sucked it up and given you a smile. How there were a million things he should have done differently to make your life better, easier. How you deserved better than him. Better than this terrifying death.
His hand tightened around the picture frame until the glass shattered under his grasp. Rising up from the floor, Frank headed into the bedroom and quickly changed into his Punisher gear. Grabbing as many weapons as he could conceal, Frank then headed out the door. If Costa wanted him so badly, he was going to get him. But Costa should have been careful what he wished for.
The pain in your shoulder distracted you from the throbbing in the back of your head where the man standing behind you had violently yanked your hair, forcing your head backward until you were staring at the ceiling. You tried to glance at your shoulder but just a glimpse of the damage from the bullet was enough to make your stomach heave, forcing you to quickly look away.
You heard someone clear their throat and you glanced up to see Costa smirking at you. “I’m sorry for the theatrics, but I needed Castle to believe you are dead.”
“Why? What was the point of that? What are you going to do to me?”
“Nothing…. yet. You’ve served your purpose for the time being. Now we just have to wait for Castle to arrive seeking his revenge.”
You burst out laughing. “That’s your plan? You seriously just wanted me to make Frank angry? Oh…. you’ve made a huge fucking mistake,” you hissed. “He’s slaughtered entire legions of men single-handedly. He’s walked through Hell and left the Devil tied to a chimney. And now, he’s coming for you and he won’t stop until every single one of you are dead.”
Costa crouched down until his face was level with yours. “I’m counting on it, my dear. And when he arrives, we’ll be waiting for him. We have just taken the love of his life away from him for the second time. The Punisher or not, that will make any man reckless, cause him to make mistakes. And if by some miracle he makes it this far, I still have you as leverage.”
You froze in your chair as you picked up on something he said. “W-what do you mean you’ve taken the love of his life away for the second time?”
“I thought you knew,” Costa said smugly. “We were the ones who arranged to have Castle and his family killed all those years ago. Yet somehow, regrettably, he managed to survive.”
“Why?” you asked in horror. “Why would you do that? What did you have to gain from the death of an innocent family, two children?”
Costa shrugged. “Nothing. We just wanted Castle dead. His family was just collateral damage. But where we failed to put him down back then, we won’t fail this time. Because we have you, my dear.”
He ran his fingers down the side of your face and you pulled back in disgust. His eyes narrowed as he straightened up. “But just remember, Castle already thinks you’re dead. And if you don’t behave, that can still be arranged.”
He nodded at the man standing behind you and they both walked towards the door. But just as he reached it, Costa turned back to face you. “I’ll send someone in to look at your wound and then I have some questions for you. If you answer them, then we won’t have a problem. If you don’t…” he smiled cruelly. “... then I can make it so you’ll wish I had put that bullet between your eyes.”
With that, the two men exited the room, leaving you alone, bleeding, and still tied to the chair. Trying your best to ignore the pain in your shoulder, you hung your head and squeezed your eyes closed tightly as you muttered, “Please, Frank. Please be careful.”
“Better me than you,” Was all the whumpee registered through the haze of pain.
“I’ll see you, later, alright?” A continued, as they were escorted out by the guards. They couldn’t see the whumpee get hurt any longer - it was a necessary sacrifice for the whumpee to be left alone - at least until rescue.
Warnings: missing limb, Fili x Bofur if you squint
Word count: 944
Fili wakes up after the rock slide to find the consequences of the accident.
Please refer to the warnings of this story. If you go past this point you are consenting to reading this content.
A groan sounded as Fili’s eyelids fluttered open. The first thing he recognized was the pain throbbing through his body and the sound of his own heart beating in his ears. His back was stiff as stone and his chest felt heavy and in a despite attempt to sooth his pain, he rolled to his right.
Fili cried out, the sound bouncing around the room like a roar. Something crashed to his left but the prince was too busy trying to breath through the pain with his eyes clenched close. If wasn’t until a pair of callused hands rolled him back onto his back that he dared open his eyes.
Bofur looked down at him, worry dancing in his eyes and his hands gentle on his chest. Dark bags sat under the miner’s eyes and he was close enough that Fili could smell his gentle scent of tobacco and vanilla. He groaned again and fell into his friends embrace, a strange sense of comfort coming from the darrow.
“Easy now lad. Can’t go run’n off on us so soon now, ya hear?”
“Bofur?” he croaked, his voice thick and sounding tied even to himself, “what happened?”
“Aye lad, you were in a pretty nasty state when we pulled you out of that rockslide. Ya blacked out on us before we could get ya to the healers. You’ve been out almost a week now,”
“A- a week?”
Bofur gave a nod and Fili narrowed his eyes, scanning his friend.
“You’re missing your hat,” he stated flatly.
It was a strange sight to see, the darrow almost never taking it off during the quest, and rather shamelessly Fili stared.
Bofur’s hair was messy, like he hadn’t brushed it an a few days, but what caught his attention was the way it was braided. Fili had always assumed that the miner’s hair was simply plated around his ears, short and dark. But now, without the hat hiding his head, he saw the multitudes of braids that wrapped around the crown of his head showing off the different tones of brown his hair held. It made Fili flush to think just how long and lush it would be it he was to keep it down.
Bofur gave a sheepish smile and pulled on the tooth earing that hung from his left lobe. It was a nervous hobbit of his, one that made Fili flush even further.
“Aye, I uh…it came off when we were getting ya out. Lost it when the stones came crumbling down after,”
“Bofur,” Fili gasped, his eyes wide, “I’m so sorry,”
The miner held a pain in his soft brown eyes but shrugged it away, “Just a hat lad,”
Fili sent him a look. He knew it was a lot more than that to Bofur, he could still remember the way he had pulled in down over Fili’s head to make him feel safer as the stone creaked and groaned around them, but he didn’t press on about the matter any further. He just hoped that his friend held no hatred towards him for it.
“I- thank you. For getting me out of there I mean,”
“No need for thanks. I’m just grateful the stone held as long as it did. You’re a lucky dwarf you know Fili,”
“You don’t need to remind me,” he groaned as a new wave of pain struck him, “Can you help me sit up?”
Wordlessly Bofur wrapped his sturdy arms around him and lifted him from the bed, stuffing the pillows around his body to sit up comfortably. The blankets rolled down his body, showing off his bare things and Fili froze as his legs were uncovered. Well… one of his legs.
“I’m missing a leg,” he said dumbly, rummaging through the blanket like it had casually fallen off.
“Um, about that-”
“My leg is gone,”
“When the rocks come down-”
“Gone! It’s gone!”
“Fili please I’m trying to-”
“Where did it go!”
“Fili!” Bofur grabbed him by the shoulders and held his still, slowly loosening his grip as the initial panic wore off, “It’s gone lad, I’m sorry. It got crushed in the slide. The healers had to take it off,”
“Gone,”
“Gone,”
“Ma’s gonna kill me,”
The miner let out a snort, “That’s what your worried about? Ya ma?”
“Hey, you’ve met my mother, she’s bloody scary when she wants to be,”
“Aye, that is true,” he nodded before a look of guilt crossed his features, “Does it hurt?”
Fili gave a nod as he traced his shaky fingers down his skin. It had been cut just above the knee and was wrapped in what looked like a hundred bandages. It was light to lift compared to his other leg and despite the pain he swung himself to the edge of the bed to let them hang.
Bofur watched him carefully pulled himself out of the chair next to his bed, walking around the one of the shelves and grabbing a bottle of white liquid. He ground up something into a cup, adding the white liquid all the while Fili stared blanky at where his leg should be.
“Here Fili, take some on this. Oin said it should help with the pain,”
The prince took the cup, pulling a face as he downed its contents. Almost instantly he felt its effects, the throbbing in his body dulling but his mind fogging also.
“Easy now,” Bofur hushed, guiding him to lay back down as the medication took over, “Rest now, and I’ll grab Thorin and Kili,”
“No,” Fili slurred back, “Just… just stay I little longer first please?”
Whumptober, day 29 | What Doesn't Kill Me... (sleep deprivation)
His hands jittered and he couldn't sit still. He couldn't quell that need to move, mind running at a thousand miles an hour while nothing was happening.
Staring out of the window in twelve-hour shifts. Watching over a freight yard, looking for any signs of cop presence. And it was a little difficult with his mind wandering to places he usually reserved for downtime.
And for once, Durant wouldn't be opposed to Fuchs running his dirty fucking hands over his body. Sneaking under his clothes. Touching him in the hottest ways--
Jesus fucking Christ, no. No. What the hell was he thinking?!
He couldn't deny the heat rushing to his cheeks, and... other parts of himself.
He wished, he fucking wished he could occupy himself in some way, not just... have to sit in a window, looking down at a dead-silent shipyard.
How long's he been awake?
He couldn't tell, but his gut suggested it's been more than thirty-six hours.
Whoa. A day and a half in a row, spent wide awake. Granted, he couldn't have possibly accomplished this without copious amounts of coffee, and... meth. A lot of meth. Shit he bought off that Tommy Wiseau-looking ass. What's his name? Ray?
And where's he gone, anyway?
Well that... didn't matter anymore now, did it?
None of the containers had shifted. No new boats on the horizon, no cars pulling into the lot, no movement down in the 'yard.
He messed around with his fingers, rubbed his fingers together to do something while the seconds dragged on.
Even with the rifle in his arms (some old Winchester, fitted with a sixteen-power scope) he still fiddled with his fingers, he pawed at the bolt, fiddled with the little piece of hardened steel it had for a handle.
Maybe he could take pot-shots at the seagulls down there, fucking sandwich-stealing feathered terrorists.
But he kept his eyes peeled for the yard activity instead. Removing one or two gulls wouldn't help anyone, and he'd waste precious ammo.
Wasn't easy to get thirty rounds of .308 to feed this thing. Three full magazines of the precious brass, full-metal jacket teeth ready to shred and maim.
He tapped his fingers against the wooden stock, he played with the trigger, pulled until he hit the safety (fuckin' pinnacle of gun safety right here) and then he let go of it, only to repeat the whole process mere seconds later.
His gums itched and crawled, as if an ant colony burrowed under the firm flesh, and the only thing that seemed to help was gnashing his teeth together, grinding side to side
Durant had to stop himself each time he noticed himself doing it. His teeth weren't the greatest, even if they were pretty much intact (going ten-odd years without a dentist visit would do that to even the most mineralized of teeth), and smoking some two packs a day wasn't helping either.
He even felt the beat of his own heart in his teeth, a feeling he knew, but deeply hated. But at least he could tell his heart was going far too fast. Even when he sat still (or as still as he could, among the shivers and constant fidgeting he couldn't stop), even then he was twitching with every beat, all hundred and sixty of them per minute, if he guessed right.
How much longer will he have to sit here?
Too long, he mused. Even fifteen minutes felt like days in his state. An hour felt like a week. Ten hours - a year.
Durant hated to admit it, but he was losing his mind, doing nothing. Where was the thrill of the chase he so craved? Where was the adrenaline? Where were those fuckers who wanted his boss' shipments?! Even though the rifle in his hands didn't belong to him, wasn't a part of him, it screeched and wailed with a bloodthirsty fervor, it wanted to bite and maim and kill!
The gunman sucked in a tight breath. He's too high, nearly overdosed on meth, trying to keep himself from going utterly nuts.
And all the caffeine wasn't helping.
He stared at his hand. Still trembling. Still twitching with every beat of his heart, just like the rest of him.
Bite it, puppy. Feel it between your teeth. Chew with your sharp molars.
Suddenly, the door behind his back clicked and Durant nearly jumped out of his seat.
Silhouette in the doorway. A man. Familiar shape, he knew that jacket. "Fuchs?"
"Time's up, we have to go," the man uttered, motioning with his hand. A quick little wave towards the door. "And grab the rifle."
And as his boss turned on his heel to leave, Durant got up. There was that whine again, escaping with the lungful of air he involuntarily exhaled.
Finally. Finally he could rip and tear (let the doped-up rabid dog run free), kill at his master's Fuchs' command!
The rifle in his arms itched with excitement, vibrated with insatiable bloodlust and he rested it against his shoulder, frigid metal resting against the fabric of his shirt.
Oh he couldn't wait.
But he could tell the high wouldn't last forever, Durant could already feel the meth begin to wane. Soft licks of a brewing headache.
He wasn't new to this, he knew there was a crash coming, and with how much he took, he'd be out of commission for three days. Just sleeping. And when he wakes, his whole body will be sore, and achy, and he'll wish for death before Fuchs interferes. Pumps him full of different uppers, to make the crash a little less horrible.
Puppy, you know this won't last forever. With his claws so deep in your flesh, you're nothing but a puppet.
Durant stopped for a moment, resting his face against the wall.
Nothing but a loyal gun by his side, an obedient pet. Where's your pride, puppy?
Note: The number of eclipses in this story was driving me up the wall.
Note: Part of me feels really guilty for writing such short posts every day. But it’s not feasible to write long stories for a daily challenge. I swear I have no idea how I did it last year. I can’t decide if its better to continue it this way or do what I did for deadcember. Like not complete all but for those I do just really go all out on it. I don’t know if its just insecurities but I keep second guessing all the posts this year. Part of me’s like I can’t believe it’s already been 10 days. part of me feels like I didn’t write anything. Maybe making it multichaptered was a bad idea. Sorry for the long rant.
Sequel to Day 10
Pavi couldn't sleep. He just watched the way his brother's chest moved. He was terrified. He had to watch. He had to make sure his brother didn't stop breathing. Not that he knew what to do if he did.
The way his brother breathed still was strange even in his sleep. They were deep and sharp. Like every breath took effort from him. His lips were still twisted in pain. Pavi wanted to wake him to be sure he was alright. But he needed rest. Pavi would stay up for the both of them. Pavi would make sure he was alright.
He bit the inside of his cheek as his brother's lips were turning blue. This wasn't normal. He knew it wasn't normal. But they couldn't do anything. He couldn't do anything. He could only sit there and watch his brother's chest rise and fall no matter how weakly.
Pavi pinched himself as he felt his eyes closing. He had to stay awake. If Luigi stopped breathing he…he… No. His brother would be fine. He just needed to stay awake and Luigi would be fine.
*
The door opened, jolting Pavi. He nearly fell asleep again. He watched the nice man come in bringing in breakfast. Pavi turned away. His stomach growled. But he didn't have any appetite to eat. His brother's lips were still blue.
"What's wrong with him?"
"H…h…his he…he…heart is w…w…weak."
"Shit."
Pavi looked at him. He was an adult. He would know what to do. "H…h…help him."
"Sorry kid. I can't." He paused. "I don't know how."
Tears welled up in Pavi's eyes. He carelessly wiped it. Luigi told him he couldn't be a crybaby. Not here.
"I'm sorry. We hadn't realized."
Pavi looked at his brother once more.
"You should have something to eat."
Pavi looked at the food then at his brother. Maybe if his brother had something to eat, he would get better. "Fra…fr…fratello." He shook his brother gently.
Luigi stirred. His gasps became louder as his eyes weakly opened.
"T…t…there's f…f…food."
"Not…hungry." His breathing became deeper and there was a bit more color in his lips.
“Y…y…you n…n…need to eat…”
“Feel…sick…” His hand reached for his chest once more.
“I…i…it’s n…n…not g…g…getting b…b…better?”
“No.” His eyes widened at the sight of the man standing behind Pavi. He sat up and swayed.
“Fr…fr…fratello.”
He tried to weakly pull Pavi behind him. “Stay back.” He was breathing heavier.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“H…he br…brought food.” Pavi held out the sandwich to him.
Luigi just shook his head weakly.
“P…please.”
Luigi sighed and took it from him. He took a small bite. “Has…pops…paid?”
“No.”
Luigi leaned forward slightly. “He’s not…going…to pay…is he?”
“Fr…fratello.”
“I’m fine.” But his breathing was not slowing down.
“It will take time.”
“He’s…aban…doning us…” He leaned forward more.
“W…w…would h…he?”
Luigi looked at him, “Shit. No Paviche…of course not…” Luigi bent forward more. He couldn’t keep himself upright. “He’ll come…for you…”
Pavi tried holding his brother up but he was too small, too weak. "J…j…just l…lean on m…me, fr…fratello."
He did. "You're…going…to be…fine, Paviche…"
"Don't." Don't give up. Don't say goodbye. Their father would save them. Luigi would be alright.
"I'm…sorry…"
Tears pricked at his eyes.
"Don't…be…crybaby…" Luigi toppled forward.
"Fratello!" Pavi tried to hold him up.
The man helped him lay his brother on the ground.
Luigi was still breathing, weaker this time. His lips blue, face pale.
"Sorry kid."
"P…please."
The man froze.
"I'll d…d…do w…w…whatever you w…want. I w…on't run. I'll be g…g…good. J…just let fratello g…go."
"I can't kid."
"Papa c…c…can help h…him. P…please." Tears fell down Pavi’s face. He knew his brother wouldn't survive long like this. Papa told him to be ready. But he wasn't ready. Not now. Not like this.
"I'm sorry." The man left.
Pavi ran to the door but it was locked. He knocked it. "P…please. Y…y…you h…h…have to l…l…let him g…go. H…h…he's g…going to d…die. P…p…please." Pavi crumpled by the door, crying. Someone had to help them. Papa must find them.
*
"You've gotten soft."
Pavi turned as he heard voices behind the door. He approached the door and tried to listen.
"I agreed to kidnapping. Not child murder."
“It was an accident.”
“An accident we can fix.”
“It’s too dangerous to let him go. And we are ransoming two children. We can’t just release one.”
“We can’t exactly exchange a dead child can we.”
The other man sighed.
“If we let the boy die, you know Rotti Largo will come after us. If we release the children safe, we are safe. That was always the plan.”
“We can’t drop the boy at GeneCo. There will be cameras.”
“We drop him where there will be people passing. No cameras. Early enough that no one can catch the car or the plate.”
“We drop him on the streets like that, he may die before he’s found.”
“It’s not like we’re doing anything for him here.”
“Fine.” The man sighed. “Don’t make me regret this.”
Pavi backed away as he heard footsteps approaching the door. The door opened. “Y…y…you’ll save h…him?”
“We’ll let him go. What happens outside is not on us.”
“T…t…thank y…you.”
“Take the boy.”
The nice man approached his brother and picked him up.
Luigi stirred. “What’s…going…on?”
“T…they’re l…l…letting y…you go f..f…fratello.”
“What?” Luigi tried to push the man, trying to get him to release him. “Let me go.”
“F…fratello, s…s…stop f…fighting.”
“What’s…going on?”
“Y…y…you n…need help.”
“I said…let me…go.” Luigi tried to kick the man but the man kept his grip tight.
“We’re letting you go. Be grateful.”
“No.” Luigi struggled harder, then stopped. He desperately tried to catch his breath.
“Your brother so graciously begged for your life. I suggest you don’t make me change my mind.”
Luigi’s brows furrowed. “Pavi.”
“I…i…it’s going t…to be al…a…alright, fratello.”
“I won’t leave you behind.”
“I’ll b…b…be o…okay, fratello. I p…promise.”
“If you want…to let…one of us go…then let Pavi…go.”
“F…f…fratello, it’s o…okay. This is b…b…better.”
“Don’t be…an idiot.”
“I’ll s…s…stay, fr…fratello.”
“He’s a child. He’ll be scared…alone.”
“I…I’m s…s…scared now.” He locked eyes with his brother. “I’ll w…wait h…here unt…t…til papa p…p…pays.”
“Pavi.”
“B…better m…me than y…you. I’ll b…be okay.”
“Let me…go.”
“T…thank y…you.”
“Pavi!”
The man carried Luigi out of the room, with him struggling the whole way. He dumped him behind the van. He had to grab him before he tried to dart out of the van. “Stay still.” He tossed him back in before closing the door. He ignored the banging at the back of the van.
He got into the passenger’s seat and his companion drove off. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“We can’t ransom a dead child.” Was all he said.
They drove back to town. The streets were quiet. They knew where the cameras were when scouting their getaway. They stopped at a part of town that would be busy by morning. “What if no one helps him?”
“I’m not delivering us straight to GeneCo and to the hands of the GeneCops.”
The man sighed. He got out of the van and headed to the back. The boy was passed out once more, his breathing was very weak. This wasn’t right. Then again, kidnapping and ransom wasn’t right either. He carried the child and placed him on the sidewalk where he would be seen. Someone would call the GeneCops at least. He hoped someone would help him before he… He got back into the passenger seat and his companion sped off.
