Whumpee stumbled into the house, raindrops still clinging to their clothes and droplets flinging from their hair. Their breath caught ragged in their throat and the door slamming open behind them until it hit the wall made them flinch.
"Whumpee? What's wrong?" Caretaker asked, rising quickly from the couch.
Whumpee pointed behind them, unable to speak, mouth gaping. Friend was there too, and paused the TV and leaned forward.
A sound behind Whumpee caught both of their attention and Whumper strolled neatly into the small kitchen, bringing in another waft of cold, night air.
"Nice place you have here. Quaint." He ran a finger over the countertop, like he was inspecting for dust. "I can see why they like it. They always were one for simple pleasures."
Whumpee's shoulders hunched and Caretaker and Friend, first frozen, now barrelled into action.
"Get out of here!"
"Whumpee come to me! Get away from him!"
"Ah, ah ah," Whumper wagged a finger and waved the knife he was holding in his other hand. "Not so fast."
Whumpee looked between him and their friends, hands gripping the edges of their light jacket like it could protect them.
Caretaker squared his shoulders. "You're not welcome here. Ever."
"Well now that's just rude. I was only in the neighbourhood on a whim." Whumper moved quick as lightning and his hand grabbed the back of Whumpee's neck. With one shove he threw Whumpee forwards until they were face down over the kitchen counter. "And we have so much to talk about."
Whumpee is recovering with their team and just beginning to go back into field work when the team recruits a new member for their latest mission.
It’s Whumper.
Whumpee tries to tell their team that this is the person that hurt them, but the team doesn’t believe them. How could this mild-mannered, kind person ever cause so much pain? Whumpee writhes under the anxiety of being around Whumper, knowing they could lapse back into their old ways at any moment.
Alternatively, Whumpee doesn’t tell the team. The mission is too important, the stakes too high, and unfortunately they realize, Whumper is actually good at what they’re doing. The team needs Whumper if they wanna do this right, and Whumpee isn’t going to jeopardize their friends safety over their own anxieties, forcing them to work right alongside the person who hurt them in the past and only the two of them know about it.
Or, consider, a Whumper who’s left their old life behind. They’ve moved on, tried to put their past behind them, but it haunts them like a ghost, a shadow on the brightness they reach for but can’t quite grasp. When they see Whumpee, their stomach drops and their heart lurches into their mouth. Whumpee is afraid, sure, but they hold the cards now. They have knowledge of Whumper’s crimes and Whumper is desperate to keep that a secret. They don’t want to give up this life they’ve eked out for themselves, or have their connections with the team brutally severed if Whumpee tells them what Whumper has done. Whumpee holds Whumper’s whole new identity in their hands, and Whumper would do anything to keep their secrets. Perhaps Whumpee goes a bit too far and realizes they’re becoming the very same evil that Whumper once was.
Sometimes, it’s still hard to believe they’re actually safe, actually warm and fed and comfortable. Curled up under a blanket in front of the tv, Whumpee sighs and closes their eyes, paying attention to the soft feel of a clean cotton shirt against their skin, the warmth and fluffiness from the blanket, the softness of the couch cushion under them. It took them a while, but they had relearned that they do deserve love and respect, they are a person, they can go up on furniture and make decisions.
Still, some days, when they are half asleep, they forget for a moment where they are, and it’s both terrifying and amazing to realize it wasn’t all just a dream.
“Hey, what are you thinking about?”
With a crooked smile, they look at Caretaker, curled on the other side of the couch, eyeing them curiously.
“Nothing. Why?”
Caretaker shrugs but doesn’t take their eyes off them. “You made this thoughtful face, I was just curious.”
“I was just thinking about how soft the blanket feels,” they guarantee. Not a lie, but also not the entire truth. They know the face Caretaker will make if they tell them they forgot for a second that the comfort and the safeness were real, and the night is way too good to be ruined by sad thoughts.
Caretaker opens their mouth, ready to reply, but before they can, the doorbell rings.
“It’s the pizza!” Whumpee exclaims, jumping up.
“I have never seen someone so excited about classic junk food,” Caretaker says, rolling their eyes. Whumpee simply smirks as they leave the living room and stride to the door, grabbing money from Caretaker’s wallet on the way. They might be eating pizza every week without fail for a year now, but they still remember rather vividly what it was like to get only old bread and water as sustenance.
Shuddering away the memory, they yank the door open with a little smile playing at their lips, hands already reaching up.
…only to be quickly pulled away when a broad figure almost falls over them.
The person catches themself on time, leaning against the doorframe to keep standing, one hand grasping it with white knuckles while the other stays tightly pressed to their abdomen. To a red stain that seems to be growing with each passing second.
“What– who…” Whumpee starts, but the words fail them. “What the fuck,” they mutter to themself, taking a hesitant step closer.
“I didn’t, didn– h-have any…where else to go,” they mumble, looking up through sweaty strands of hair.
It’s the voice that makes Whumpee halt. They know it better than their own. Had been ordered and punished and praised by it. And even if they hadn’t recognized the sound, those blinking eyes, even hazy with pain, are unmistakable.
“Whumper?”
Whumper only whimpers softly in response, leaning harder against the doorframe.
They had dreamed about that sound too, many times. The time when Whumper would be the one hurting, the one crumbling to the ground in a boneless heap, the one under the whip or the taser or the knife. And although in the dreams it felt like justice, in real life it felt like fear.
“What… I don’t– what happened?”
Flashes of their time with Whumper blink under their eyelids unbidden. Suddenly trembling, they bring a hand to their neck, just to make sure that there isn’t a collar there anymore – they can feel its weight around their throat, the tight leather always choking them. Even when they are met with only soft, lightly scarred skin, the tightness in their throat doesn’t go away.
“I need, need he-elp,” Whumper groans, reaching out to grab their hand.
Frozen in time, Whumpee lowers their head and lets Whumper hold onto them to keep standing. Pets never pull away from their Masters, after all.
It’s only when they pull Whumpee out of the door that reality comes crashing back and they yank their hand free, wide eyes and hitching breaths, but still a person. Still at home – safe, warm, rescued.
“Why should I help you?” Whumpee hisses, tears welling up in their eyes. It’s all they can do to keep from falling down in a sobbing mess. “All you ever did was hurt me. You never had mercy, no matter how much I begged or complied.”
For one moment, one fleeting instant, Whumpee waits for an apology. Or maybe a plead.
What they get instead is a growl and a threat.
“Whumpee,” Whumper calls in a voice that nearly sends them to their knees, “You’ll h-help me, b-because I said so.”
A puddle of crimson shines in the moonlight, dripping to Whumper’s feet. Their breathing is coming in short gasps, their body leaning completely against the door now. They barely have the energy to keep their head up, let alone strength enough to force themself inside the house – Whumpee knows they would have done it already if they could.
They take a moment to just stare. Take in the view of the person they loved and hated and feared, hunched and swaying on their feet at their doorstep, so lonely they came to their former captive for help. It’s a pitiful view and one that gives Whumpee a twisted kind of satisfaction. And a surge of guilt soon after – but still. That is Whumper there.
It’s hard to believe that that feeble person is the same one who had hurt them so many times. Who had made them into someone so completely new, they were still picking up the pieces a year later, still fighting their training and their memories. Still trying to understand who they were and who they’d become. All because of Whumper.
“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to,” they whisper, voice quivering but words clear. Whumper coughs and looks up, and Whumpee straightens up at the glare. “I don’t owe you anything. For all I care, Whumper, you can fucking die.”
With one last long glance at Whumper, they step back and close the door with a soft thud, and a satisfying click from the lock. They walk back to the living room with their heart hammering and their hands trembling, but their steps seem lighter somehow. They feel like freedom. True freedom.
“Hey, what took you so long?” Caretaker asks when Whumpee sits on the couch again, covering their shaky hands with the blanket. “And where’s the pizza?”
“It was someone lost, they thought someone else lived here,” Whumpee states, mildly surprised that their voice sounds completely calm and collected.
With a warm smile at Caretaker, they turn the tv back on, even though they can’t hear it under the roar in their ears.
Later, after the pizza comes – and thankfully Whumper is nowhere to be seen and the blood is easily missed by the delivery guy in the dim lighting –, while Caretaker is boiling water for some tea before bed, Whumpee calls 911 to tell them about a weird guy bleeding out in the neighborhood, half hoping it is already too late.
(Tags/TW: Slavery, pet whump, clueless caretaker, vampire whumpee, nausea/vomiting, implied/referenced abuse, implied/referenced past non-con, flashbacks, hair pulling, Whumper Returns.)
Days had passed since that terrible night and Eliel was almost convinced that he'd broken them. Pascal had completely reverted and now he was walking on eggshells when it came to what could tap into that terrible programming.
He didn't know what else to do for them, trying to convince them he wouldn't hurt them was fruitless. He'd already hurt them. So he didn't try to correct Pascal, now that they'd finally established somewhat of a routine again.
If it made them feel better... to think he's their Master, he didn't know if he should enforce correcting them or not.
Now, there was a present matter that was giving less and less time to prepare for. Eliel needed to go to work, which meant the first time in two weeks that he'd be leaving Pascal completely alone in their house.
They currently sat on the floor by the bed and stared at him in the adjacent bathroom; watching as he brushed out his hair with long sweeps backwards.
"So Master has to work... right? How long?" They asked and Eliel gave a grimace to himself in the mirror.
"Eight hours but I'll come back on my lunch break to check on you, I promise." He tried to reassure, coming out once he was done grooming himself and kneeling on the floor to level with Pascal.
"I know it's a long time but you can do whatever you want, alright? Just stay in the house and make yourself comfortable, watch t.v and I'll be home before you know it." He gave a loving brush to the thriving blonde waves and when they turned cheek into his hand, it was hard not to feel the line of smile shift on his lips. "I take lunch in the middle, so I'll be back home for a while in just four hours."
"Pet will be good and stay here. Pet promises to be here when you get back." Pascal replied, watching his features fall a little whenever they called themselves that. "P-Pascal.. promises.."
"I'll see you soon." Eliel gave them a gentle kiss to their temple and stood to part ways, occasionally glancing back at them until they were out of sight and down the stairs. He didn't know why it was so nerve wracking or why he had such a bad feeling in his gut.
He dismissed it for now, he had to.
As soon as they heard the front door lock and a car engine start, they knew that Eliel was long gone from their home. Now it was just up to the very long, very boring wait that they were anticipating.
Since their Master had given them permission to do so, they turned on the television and curled up on the rug just past the coffee table. Even when they were on the floor, it smelled so nice and clean. The hired help Eliel had coming in and out was amazing to watch, especially seeing as they weren't pets.
Pascal thought they'd surely be given some kind of chores but so far Eliel had been insistent that's 'why he paid the cleaners'. Or whenever they'd offer to do something, he'd decline in that flat manner of his and do it himself.
In a way, it made them feel useless. But it was nice to be in a clean house and not have to do it themselves. A luxury they'd never faced before.
The first hour ticked away fairly fast and Pascal had settled on an animated movie when they'd heard their name while flipping through channels. It wasn't until a heavy knock hit the door that they sprung to attention and paused in silence. Again, it wrapped at the door and nearly shook the frame.
"Open up Eliel, I know you're in there." A gruff sounding voice muffled from beyond the entrance.
Normally, Pascal would be told to answer the door but in the rush to leave on time, they hadn't been informed at all. The person sounded angry and each knock was heavier and heavier, pounding and rough twists were delivered to the handle.
They had to open it, right? Surely Eliel would be upset if they left a guest on their doorstep. Maybe it was a test, to see if they would be able to entertain while Master was away. Well they weren't about to fail, not if it meant that they'd be gotten rid of or worse, sent back to the auction house.
Pascal made timid steps to the door and a small click was made to the handle before it burst open and knocked them backwards. When the blonde vampire hit the ground, they were left staring up at a tall, tan male that was seething in expression.
"Where is he?!" He barked, watching the tiny vampire scramble onto their knees in a proper waiting pose.
"M-Master is at work, h-he said he'll be home soon, sir!" Pascal informed and saw the man correct his posture to glance around the house.
"Master, huh? The rich bed-boy got himself his own slave? Guess he missed me too much." The man rambled, "I'm sure he wont mind sharing with his Master."
Pascal swallowed thickly the more the man spoke to them, unable to process all that he was saying. Who's master? Who was missing who? They couldn't fathom it, merely shrinking back on themselves as he loomed closer.
"Did he name you, too?" Alcohol laden breath assaulted the small vampires senses when he got too close to them and their eyes watered at the acidity.
"P-Pascal.." They whispered obediently, eyes lowering as he scanned them over so intently.
"Tch.. Pathetic. He's going soft on me." The man snapped, "Let's see how well his training has stuck with him by how misbehaved you are."
The blonde stared in horror and soon was met with tight stinging pain of their hair being wrapped into a fist. He drug them across the floor, all the way to the door so he could lock the various chains and bolts that had been installed.
"P-Please Master will be home soon-" They whimpered, unable to fight the tension in their hair as he pulled them around wherever he wanted.
"Don't worry, I'll be long gone before he's back.. But you're going to deliver a message for me."
-
Eliel didn't know why he couldn't sit still in his chair. Why staring at his computer was starting to blur his vision and concentrating was making him nauseous. He normally didn't struggle at the work place, it was slow enough and tedious enough to keep him engaged.
But for the first two hours, bleeding into three, he couldn't stop the anxiety that was spiking his heartrate. Something was off, bad off. Something was going to happen, he could feel it, every alarm in his body telling him so. But that in itself wasn't a foreign feeling to him. He was used to his internal warnings being broken and on high defense.
To him it was normal, after everything he'd been through in his life. It wasn't until a coworker drew attention to his current state, that he actually worried if something was wrong.
"Are you okay Eliel? You don't look so good.." They asked in concern.
"Y-Yeah.. I think I might be coming down with something.." He lied, still not knowing why his skin was feeling clammy and palms hot and red.
"Why don't you take your lunch first? I don't mind waiting and you look like you could use the fresh air. Maybe go home and take some aspirin." They insisted, turning him around in his office chair and seeing the roll in his eyes from the motion.
"Y-Yeah... I'm just.. going to go home for a little bit. I swear, I'll be back.." Eliel stood and had to brace himself on his desk, waiting for the floor to stop spinning underneath him.
"Call me if you can't, I'll let the boss know you looked like death."
Eliel didn't remember the walk outside of the office building or the elevator he took to get there. He was barely recollective of how he got in his car and drove the few blocks home. He just kept feeling sicker and sicker, pulling into his driveway and barely opening his door in time to vomit on the pavement. He was shaking and the first step outside the car was like he'd landed on an alien planet.
His gut swirled and emotions pooled like acid, fear radiating up the muscles of his neck and tensing his shoulders. The feeling in the air wasn't right, the dread in his stomach wasn't right. His wrists started to burn like they'd been skinned and throat constricted like he was being choked out.
He needed to take a shower, before he felt himself slip out of his body and he was left disassociating the rest of the day.
Eliel paused at his front door and his brows pinched in disturbance when he saw a small dent in the thin metal fixture. It wasn't there when he'd turned around to lock it after he'd left the first time.
Now there was a terrible feeling in his bones. Something as simple as a divot in the door and he couldn't feel his arms. Even when gripping the knob, his fingers slid off of it and he was left blankly staring at the same indent that had yet to disappear. At least he wasn't imagining it..
- ☪ -
Sooo stay tuned for the next one because it's going to be super intense and whumpy. I'm hoping it will get out a little quicker than this one did but I got a little stuck on what I was going to do next. Instead of trying to add useless build up I thought I would just go for it.
Given what everyone thinks, I might include a couple whump scenes in the next one of this new man coming to test Pascal. Would anyone like that? Or should I just go ahead and get on with Eliel coming home to a beaten up Pascal? And not knowing what the hecking heck to do? :) Let me know your thoughts.
Poor Pascal is probably going to think that Eliel set the whole thing up and that's just going to damage their relationship even more.
- ☪ -
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Written for @amonthofwhump’s March Madness Bracket 1, Trope: Whumper Return
Rated: mature
Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, implied/referenced torture, non-consensual kissing
Pairings: Viggo/Hiccup
Word Count: 1,964
Summary: Hiccup is captured by the Dragon Flyers while trying to retake the Edge. What he discovers during his capture has him spiraling into dark fears and nightmares.
Hiccup was on the Singetail of one of Krogan’s Dragon Flyers. He wanted to knock the Flyer off in some way and take control of the Singetail in order to escape, but he was bound hand and foot. Also, he was practically laying in the Flyer’s lap. He’d been slung over the back of the dragon and the Flyer came on behind.
This whole situation was a mess. Hiccup had been leading an assault to take back the Edge. It had worked, but on the way out, the Flyers had decided to capture him. They’d gotten him right off of Toothless’ back, and his dragon had crashed into the water. He knew from previous experience that Toothless was a good swimmer though, so he would be safe. Hiccup, on the other hand, was very much not. He didn’t know where he was being taken or what would happen to him when he got there. Surely, he was wanted alive though, or else the Flyers would have just killed him. That thought didn’t help much though. If one was alive, one could be tortured.
They flew for what felt like hours. Hiccup wanted to say something, but there was no point. The sun was rising over the sea by the time an island came into view. The Riders hadn’t been following them, as there were too many Flyers and they had to help resupply the Edge. Maybe they’d come to rescue him though. They had Stoick and Skullcrusher with them, and Skullcrusher could track anything.
They landed, and Hiccup was taken off the back of the dragon and tossed over someone’s shoulder. He struggled, but there was really no point; the knots on his bindings were tight.
Light left as he was taken into a cave system, but then flickered to life as someone lit a torch. Hiccup tried to keep track of where they were taking him, but there were so many twists and turns. Eventually, they stopped in a large cavern and tossed him down on the rocky floor like he was just a sack. He grunted as he painfully hit the ground. It was luckily his side, so his face was spared.
Then he was left alone save for two guards. Hiccup worked himself up into a sitting position. There wasn’t much he could do with his hands bound behind him and his ankle and prosthetic tied. He tried working himself out of the ropes, but it was no use. They were just too tight.
A large man entered the cavern without a torch or lantern, his face covered by darkness. Hiccup could tell from the height and build that it wasn’t Krogan, so, who was this? There was something a little familiar about him.
“You know, my dear Hiccup, this capture is partially your fault.”
Hiccup gasped, then felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he was choking. That voice, the term of endearment… But no, he was dead. He was dead!
His eyes popped out as the man stepped into the light of the torches. He still couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know how to.
“Viggo?” This was nobody but, despite the horrible scarring on the left side of his face. It was the same facial structure, same build, same hair and beard, same type of clothing. But the scars… They looked like burns. His skin looked like it had turned into wax and been molded, and his eye was blue and glazed with blindness.
A satisfied smile upturned the corners of his mouth as he stepped closer. “Yes, my dear. It’s me. Surprised?”
Hiccup felt like stones were falling into his stomach. He tugged hard on his ropes. No, he couldn’t be left alone with Viggo, not with all the things he had said to him, the ways he had touched him. Oh gods, oh gods… He was starting to panic. No, he had to keep his cool, remain calm. He couldn’t show Viggo that he was horrified at seeing him again.
But his mind was reeling. He’d seen this man fall into a volcano. He’d seen him die, right? Right? Yes, there had been steam, but how could one even survive that?
“You’re… you’re dead,” Hiccup said. He felt stupid after saying it, because of course he wasn’t dead. He was here standing before him, talking to him.
Viggo laughed lightly. “Well, the volcano gave me its best shot, but here I am.”
Hiccup glared up at him, wishing he could stand to be more level with him. Viggo clasped his hands behind his back, began circling around Hiccup, and Hiccup wished he could turn his head all the way to follow him.
“I assume your life was easier with me presumed dead,” Viggo said. “Less fears, I suppose. Tell me, did you feel guilty?” He came to stand in front of him again, leaned down to be closer to him.
“No,” Hiccup lied. He wasn’t going to tell Viggo about the guilt that had eaten him alive, about the sorrow he had felt over Viggo’s “death.”
Viggo smirked, straightened. “You’re lying.”
Hiccup made a growling sound in his throat. “What do you really want from me, Viggo?”
There was cruel satisfaction in the man’s eyes. “Oh, you’re about to find out.”
---
Hiccup gave a cry as he was helped onto Stormfly’s back. His body was aching and throbbing. He was sure he had broken bones, and there was dried blood on him; it was his own. Astrid climbed on in front of him, and Hiccup grabbed hold of her waist. Then the Riders were taking off.
It was difficult getting off the island. They were shot at with catapults and nets and arrows. The fight had Stormfly going in positions that hurt Hiccup more, but it couldn’t be helped.
They got away. Hiccup looked back. Not a single Flyer or ship was following them. Did that mean they’d gotten what they wanted out of Hiccup. Had he somehow slipped up and given a clue to where the Dragon Eye lenses were?
“Hiccup, what happened?” Astrid asked.
Hiccup suddenly feigned tiredness, though, he was exhausted down to his bones. He slumped against Astrid, leaned his head on her shoulder. Being in that position felt marginally better, actually.
“We’ll talk at the Edge,” he mumbled.
“But-” Ruffnut began to put in.
“I said we’ll talk at the Edge.” Hiccup nearly snapped it. The pain was making him irritable, making even the sensory input around him hurt.
And he wasn’t about to tell all of them about Viggo. Not yet. And there were certain bits he would keep to himself. Like how Viggo had grabbed him by the throat, pulled him up, and kissed him. Hiccup had been so shocked by the action that he hadn’t known what to do. He hadn’t bitten or struggled - he’d just let it happen. And then Viggo had dropped him back onto the ground, a satisfied smirk painting his lips. Hiccup knew that look would haunt him in his dreams, that he wouldn’t be able to unsee the man’s horrific scar. Viggo had chased him across the archipelago, and now, he was back. What would stop him from doing so again?
Everyone kept glancing at Hiccup throughout the flight. Eventually, Hiccup closed his eyes, not wanting to meet his friends’ gazes. He didn’t want them to know what had happened. Not yet. This was a talk for when they were all stationary.
Hiccup’s body protested being on a dragon, but hours went by, and he just had to deal with it. His breathing was harsh with pain.
“We’re almost there,” Astrid told him, and Hiccup lifted his head and opened his eyes to see the familiar sight of the Edge. What was unfamiliar about it was all the Berkian ships there, resupplying it.
Oh no. His dad. Hiccup would have to face his father.
Hiccup groaned and put his head back down.
“What is it?” Astrid asked him quietly, not getting anyone else involved in the conversation.
“My dad,” Hiccup responded. “He’s gonna be all over me.” So would Toothless, but at least Hiccup could confide in Toothless. He was the only one he’d tell about this kiss and the other touches that had followed, the way Viggo had looked at his body as it was stripped of clothing to be bared for injury.
“It’ll be okay,” Astrid said.
Hiccup very much hoped that she was right. He just grunted in response, unsure of what else to say.
Stoick and Toothless were there as they made it to the clubhouse. Hiccup remembered them bringing Gothi along, so she was probably inside. She was the one he needed to see.
“Oh, Hiccup, thank Thor you’re home!” Stoick exclaimed. He went in for a hug once Hiccup had dismounted, but then stopped at his slumped position, looked him up and down. His clothes hid most of his injuries, but not the bruising under his left eye, or the cut on his lower lip. They couldn’t hide how tired and haggard he looked either.
“What happened?” Stoick asked.
“Talk later,” Hiccup said. He was leaning on Astrid for support. “Where’s Gothi?”
“Inside,” Stoick answered. He came and gave Hiccup support on the other side. “Let’s get you fixed up.”
---
Hiccup sat in front of the burning stove with a fur wrapped around him. He’d neglected to put a tunic on, and his abdomen was covered in bandages. There were cuts there that Gothi had had to stitch, and broken ribs. All in all, Hiccup was feeling terrible.
But he had to talk to his friends now. He had to tell them that Viggo was back.
“Now will you tell us what happened?” Snotlout asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Hiccup nodded weakly. He wanted his bed. Toothless sat beside him, and Hiccup kept a hand on his head. It felt good to be with his dragon again. He’d hardly let Gothi do her work until he’d been taken outside. He’d been given a potion for the pain that would eventually knock him out, but they needed to talk first.
“I… I don’t know how to put it tactfully,” Hiccup said, looking at each of the Riders. “Um… Viggo’s not dead.”
Those words dropped into silence. Everyone just stared at him, and Hiccup couldn’t discern what was in their eyes. Did they not believe him?
“Hiccup, did they hit you on the head?” Tuffnut asked. “You saw the guy die yourself.”
“Yeah, well, there was a lot of steam, and-”
“So you’re saying he somehow got away,” Fishlegs cut in. “That he survived the volcano.”
Hiccup nodded. At least Fishlegs was there to support him. “Yeah. He… He’s working with Krogan.”
“Why would he do that?” Astrid asked.
Hiccup shrugged before remembering the action would be painful. He closed his eyes for a moment at the pain that flared through him, groaned a little.
“Revenge, maybe?” Ruffnut asked.
Hiccup didn’t know if that was the reason. Of course, he hadn’t been able to ask Viggo why he was working with Krogan, and he wouldn’t have gotten a straight answer anyway.
“I don’t know.” He yawned, tiredness suddenly hitting him hard. He stood up on wobbly legs, and Astrid rushed over to him to give him her support, as did Fishlegs. “Thank you, you guys.” Hiccup gave them a soft smile.
Once in bed and alone with Toothless, Hiccup felt better. Or… maybe he felt worse. Because now all he could think about was the way Viggo had kissed him, the way he’d trailed a hand down his torso and over his thighs. He hadn’t touched him between his legs, but the want to do so had been clear.
And so when Hiccup drifted into sleep, it was with nightmares.
TW: addiction (beginning of italics section, skippable).
The thing crackles when it comes on. The crackle fizzes against his head, as if he can feel it before it touches his skin. He feels like perhaps he can. There’s a current running through him, an electric fear that exposes every nerve like sparking wires. His skin feels like it’s ready to jump off his bones and run. He wishes he could follow. He wishes...
Then the pain comes, flashing across him and whiting out his thoughts with a harsh jolt.
Silence, and he catches his breath, trying to blink through the haze. His ears are ringing. Something twitches, he isn’t sure where it is. He closes his eyes, opens his eyes, tries to look around, but there are only white patches.
The crackle comes on again, and Lauritz remembers to close his teeth together so he doesn’t bite his tongue. He doesn’t know how he knows to, but the thought--
Disappears from his head with the jab of the electricity again against his shoulder, sending a spasm like an earthquake through his bad arm and down into his muscles, and this time he screams, hoarse and half-voiced, breaking up into a static gurgle as the - cattle prod? As it pulls away.
Oxygen pulls into his lungs painfully, dragged in down a throat that burns. He’s tired already. It’s only been two. There’s going to be ten.
“Ple...” he tries, but the word croaks into nothingness, and pain shears over him in response, pulling his body out of his control. He jerks in the chains, rattling them above his head. His hands are shaking. “Pl...se...”
The crackle and the stab of pain rocketing across him, and his voice wheezes out in a failed cry. The pain stops, then starts again, moments later, and he seizes up, yanking on the manacles and trying to force his voice into motion. It’s like a nightmare, unable to scream, unable to move, body twitching out of his control even after the shock has stopped, and his voice won’t come out, and his breaths are just wisps of air.
He feels like he swallowed a sword of flame and he knows there are still four to go.
The skin is numb when it hits him again, but the wires that run through his skin are no less potent, like poison in his veins. He gasps for breath when it finally stops, and even that barely makes a rasp. This is how he lost his voice, he realises distantly, until the thought is wiped out by the agony.
Two...One left? Only one left, he thinks.
He screams. His body is aflame. His throat vents pain and it only comes back stronger.
He’s done, he’s done, that was ten--
Body dissolves into white flame. He can’t stop shivering. Was it not ten? Were there more? Please, he’s had enough, he needs it to stop--
Please. He can’t do this. The time between them is blurring. The pain isn’t stopping. His chest is locked up and he can’t breathe--
He can’t take it, he can’t, he can’t, stop, please, stop, stop--
Tears stream down Lauritz’s face as his body twitches and shudders like a dying flame, sputtering out, and he can’t find where the air is and he can’t hear anything but the ringing, singing ears and a voice, faint, “Stop, stop it!”
But there’s nobody here but him and the scientists and they never listen when he begs them, they never--
His body combusts and when it fades, he shudders. He’s a man made of ash. He heaves in a single, thin breath, and feels the pounding in his head slow just slightly. He blinks, white and grey static giving way to a twist of shadows. Where is he?
“Leave him alone, he hasn’t done anything!”
But the rat has done so many things, so many evil things, and he had to be punished for who he used to be.
Rain. It’s Rain, on their chair, fists clenched and glaring angrily at Alfonse, standing over him with the silenced weapon in his hand. No more crackles. It’s over.
Weren’t they going to pretend not to care?
“He’s done plenty,” Alfonse says, his husky bass sending a shiver right through Lauritz’s bones - or is that the aftershocks? “You know very well what he’s done. And he’s done much more than you were there for, of course. He’s not a redeemable man.”
“He’s not even the same man,” Rain says. “He’s different. You scrubbed out who he was and now he’s just - a gullible idiot. It’s like watching you experiment on a rat.”
Lauritz looked down. A rat. Yes... He knew. They still thought of him that way.
Alfonse was unmoved. The crackle came on again, and Lauritz tensed with a whimper, only to be rebutted by the man’s laugh. “He was a lab rat, you know. We didn’t know if the procedure would work. But he made a good test subject - nobody to miss him - and the results were better than we’d hoped. He was stupid afterwards, of course... But that wasn’t a detriment at all.”
Rain doesn’t object that he’s stupid. He must be, if they think so. Or maybe everyone is stupid compared to them. Instead they breathe steadily, still blindfolded but appearing more relaxed than ever. “So why shock him now? Hoping he’ll forget me?”
Alfonse laughs again, louder, and Lauritz feels himself shrink as it bounces across the walls. “No.”
Without warning, hot metal stabs against Lauritz’s back and pain lasers across his body. He screams, and screams louder when it doesn’t stop, and screams again as something vast and lightless opens inside his head and he knows, deeper than he knows his own name, that he’s been here before.
The shock stops but the empty space does not go away. He can’t close a door on it like he did before. And it’s growing.
-
Lauritz needs his fucking fix. He needs it. It itches at him constantly. His thoughts loop and circle back to it as if tethered. He needs. He sits on his ratty old sofa, half-watching some shit fucking TV show, and tries not to think about the relief and floating pleasure.
Fuck. Fuck, he just wants to be happy for a while, is that so much to fucking ask?
His work phone rings. He picks it up. Stupid thing, but the boss had got him one for the new job, and he wouldn’t risk pissing off that guy. People who pissed that guy off had a way of fucking vanishing. “Yeah?”
“Lauritz.” The voice was deep and rich with a husky quality. Lauritz didn’t go for guys like the boss, but he’d fuck that voice alone. “You’ve been out of touch for a while. How are things with our guest?”
Lauritz grunted and got up, stiff joints protesting to the movement. His mum would’ve said to exercise more, but fuck it, she wasn’t here to care these days. He walks through the dim hallway and to the door to the kid’s room. He listens for a minute, hand on his knife, before unlocking and opening it.
They looked up at him and the instant terror in their eyes was a little high all of its own. Their eyes flicked to the phone and back, and they licked their lips but didn’t ask. They’d stopped talking so much a few days ago, fucking finally. He was getting tired of kicking them. The only time they talked was when they were fucking begging him over the bathtub, and that was an exception. He was riding high those times, so a bit of whining didn’t bother him. And making them repeat his name? Fucking delicious.
He closed the door again. “Kid’s fine.” He walked back down the hall, ignoring the little cupboard where the bitch was chained up and gagged. The boss didn’t have to know about that shit. He’d be in the fire if anyone found out some meddling fuck had come looking. “I’m keeping them fed and shit. Why, you want me to cut off a finger or something?”
The boss laughed. So fucking hot. “No need for that. A lock of hair, I think. Perhaps a video, next week.”
“Got it. Hey, can you send a guy over with some molly?”
“Of course. Just don’t get merry on the job, Lauritz.”
Fuck, Lauritz liked people saying his name. If only the boss wasn’t married to that nutjob Sinclair.
“You got it.”
-
The video. The video was what had done it. Something in the background, a glimpse of the window, or something Rain had said, coded to give them enough clues to get his house raided. Lauritz had only barely gotten away.
Alfonse had found out. He’d shown up barely two months later, furious, saying something about how the kid’s family were pulling back business. Lauritz hadn’t known why he was there, hadn’t seen why it was his problem that the scare tactics had gone wrong. Alfonse hadn’t bothered explaining. Just punched him out, fists across his face, until everything had gone black. He’d woken up in the empty room.
Lauritz’s eyes were wet. He looked at Rain on the ground, curled up tight and listening without sight. It was his own fucking fault that this had happened. He really knew that now. He’d gone along with so much shit to get money for drugs. So much. And who was it who had given him his first high? Alfonse’s fucking recruiter.
The whole time, he’d assumed that whatever torture he’d done to them, it had been a random act. There hadn’t been a scheme behind it but a quick ransom. But this... The knowledge, from the old Lauritz, was lodged in his head like a bullet. The scum he’d been. The joy he’d taken in an excuse to hurt someone. The... The loneliness.
He was a major fuck-up and Rain had - Kala too, they had both - given him more kindness than he deserved.
He knew that now. Really knew that.
Old Lauritz was filling in the gaps in his head, but the memories didn’t feel like him. Somehow, he’d been handed a fresh start in what had meant to be his end. Somehow, he had a chance to... Do some fucking good in his life, for once. The lunchbox, and the grapes, and his mum, they had all faded for his old self, and yet they were the things that came back first. Selfless, loving gestures.
He blinked the tears from his eyes. Alfonse was still there, watching. Lauritz fought the urge to curl his lip at the man who had ruined his life. “Please,” he said instead, hoarse and quiet. It was obvious that Alfonse wanted him to remember, and that he had was the only advantage to be found in this situation. He kept his voice soft and his head low. Just as he - himself, new Lauritz - just as he always had.
Alfonse sighed. He walked out. Lauritz slumped in the chair, knowing there was nothing else he could do. He couldn’t tell Rain; they would never trust him again. He couldn’t act on the knowledge he had. He just... He was still useless. A useless little rat.
As my writing brain has been taken over by this (admittedly whumpy) project, I thought I'd share some of the story. As it’s NaNo, it is all extremely first-draft and you will likely see typos and awkward phrasing.
It was on the third anniversary of their escape, and there was no way it was a coincidence.
Rain was the one who opened the door. Draped in an oversized woollen cardigan, dyed a faded forest green and hanging over their hands with the sleeves too long, they were the unassuming one of the duo living at the seaside cottage. Their hair was tousled as though they had just woken up, though it was 11am. Hazel eyes gleamed in a round, serene face, with nothing but the slightest purse of the lips to indicate that Rain did not enjoy receiving visitors.
Their tranquillity shattered when the door swung wide and revealed a skinny, pale man with shaggy blond hair around a stubble-smattered face, hugging his elbows in a half-slump on the doorstep.
The door slammed shut again before Rain knew what they were doing, and they stumbled back. The floorboards were dark and slippery under their bed socks as they paced back, back again, and their shoulder bumped into the doorframe to the kitchen.
"Rain?"
Footsteps clumped towards them, and a vision of brown skin and black clothes moved across their blurry sight. Fingers moved to rest on their cheek, tipping their head up gently. A beautiful face with dark, shadowy eyes came into focus.
"Hhh," Rain tried to speak, and realised suddenly that they were barely breathing.
There was another knock on the door. Why was he knocking?
"Breathe, raincloud." A deep, warm voice, the sound of safety. "Breathe, you know how."
Rain's chest stuttered and jerked, and the air poured down their throat. "Hh-he's here," they wheezed. "He's here."
Thick brows pulled down over her eyes. "Are you sure?"
Rain nodded, up-down-down-up, shivering with the effort. "I-I'm sure."
She didn't ask any further questions. She pulled her hand back. "Go to the bathroom upstairs. Lock yourself in. You're going to be okay, I promise."
They nodded, down-up-down, and at her gentle nudge, they hurried upstairs. Their ears were ringing. Uncoordinated limbs managed to climb the staircase until they were on the next floor, and after a brief, panic-induced hesitation where they couldn't remember where the bathroom was – they scurried into it and closed the door, pulling the bolt over.
From downstairs, they heard the patter of another knock on their door.
Then, all there was left to do was sit down on the edge of the bath and try to catch their breath. In and out, they knew how. They can breathe. They can breathe.
-
Kala was doing her morning stretches when the door slammed, sending a bang through the house and reaching her all the way out in the back garden.
She was running inside immediately, abandoning her yoga met and dumbbells to the grass. Through the kitchen, and she found Rain pressed against the wall beside the door, eyes wide and face drained out to sickly tan instead of their usual warm beige.
He's here. Rain was sure. They rarely said things they weren't sure of, but she had to ask anyway. She had to be sure herself. If it wasn't that guy, and she was about to open the door to a stranger, she would probably get in legal trouble, given what she was planning on doing.
She waited until she heard the bathroom door lock. Rain didn't have to be part of this. They wouldn't be able to stand up to this guy gain; that much was clear enough.
Kala stretched her shoulder muscles and glanced around for any likely weapons. Short of an umbrella, there didn't seem to be anything useful. Better to use her own fists.
The bastard knocked again. Why the fuck would he do this? There was nothing to gain.
She sighed, she rolled her neck, and she strode to the door. Five, four, three, two, and she pulled it open.
One split-second pause to check that the face of the visitor was the same face that had haunted their nightmares for years. One momentary hesitation. And then she lashed, knowing she wouldn't get another chance.
To her surprise, when the blow swung out, he looked at it, but didn't crumble. It smacked into his nose and he blinked dazedly.
"Get the fuck out of here!" Kala shouted, hoping someone from the neighbourhood notice that she has a fucking wanted criminal on her doorstep trying to get in.
Two bony hands clutched his face, and Kala noticed bruises across the knuckles. Fuck, what poor bastard had he beaten up recently? She moved forwards again, filling the doorway. "Get the fuck away from us before I call the fucking cops."
Yeah, said the cynical voice in her head, because a trans woman of colour punching a white guy is going to end well for you.
He still didn't move. He lowered his hands slowly, and the look in his eyes was panicked, even confused. She didn't move an inch as he blinked again, blood trickling from one nostril, and after a pause, he spoke in a hoarse voice. "I'm sorry, I..."
Icy wind flew up her spine and she grabbed him by the collar of his ragged flannel shirt. "Shut up and leave!" she barked, over the sudden pounding of her heart at hearing his voice again. "Leave us alone!"
"I need help," he croaked. The panic in his eyes was real. "P-Please." He stepped closer, almost to the threshold, and Kala instinctively stepped back, letting go of the door to raise her arms defensively. "Please, I-I don't remember - I don't know where I am or - or who."
"Bullshit," she spat. "Bullshit, what the fuck are you playing at? Get out of here or I'll fucking tackle you. You're not hurting me again. You're not hurting Rain."
His eyes widen, and fuck, he must be a good actor to be pulling this off. But that's all it is, that's all it can be, an act. It's an act. He's the same fucking monster he always was. "I don't - I don't want to hurt anyone, I... Please." Another step forwards, and he was in the house, stare plaintive, hands - shaking? How was he getting his hands to shake like that? "Please," he said again.
"Rot in hell," she snapped, but her voice was tight. He was too close. The blood was crimson down his face and some buried instinct told her she would pay for that. Or - Rain would.
"Kala?"
Fuck, speak of the devil. She didn't turn. "Stay back, Rain. He's pulling some shit."
"I heard." Their voice was calm, diffident, as their footsteps descended the stairs. "He says he can't remember anything?"
"He says," Kala said, as the weasel man before her nodded, turning his sad grey eyes up to her best friend.
"You don't know your name?"
He shook his head.
"You don't know who we are?"
He shook his head again.
"But you're here."
His gaze dropped. Caught in a fucking lie.
"I... I-I remember the address, I knew it was - somewhere important." He hesitated, fingers coming up to tug through his tangled ponytail. "I don't... I didn't know it was, that I was someone who hurt you."
"Mm." Rain took another step, and Kala felt their hand slip around her elbow, holding her back from lashing out again. "You want us to help you?"
Surely the guy didn't have the fucking nerve.
"Yes, please," he said, staring at the floorboards now. From this angle, she could see there were more bruises under his shirt, clustered around the neckline of the tank top he was wearing under it.
Rain thought. Kala let them. They were the brains of the outfit. "I think we might. But we have to do some things to keep ourselves safe, you know? This house has an attic, Kala, do you think he could have that as his room?"
The attic wasn't a room. It was bare rafters and beams, with a square of floor in the middle that was little more than corkboard. "Yeah, if you... If that's what you want, Rain," she agreed. "Come on. Up the stairs, and don't try anything fucking funny."
"I won't," came the quick reply, and his eyes were slightly wide, disgustingly earnest. "Thank you," he turned to Rain, "thank you."
