Hero’s Pet: Reunion- Part 2

(Hero’s Pet Masterlist | Reunion- Part 1)

“Vigilante, this is… my pet. Pet, say hello.” 

Vigilante’s eyes were glued to the poor thing that had crawled out of the chest, their thin body curled against his former mentor’s leg.

“H-hello,s-sir,” they whispered faintly, hands clenched tightly in their lap. Their head was down, gaunt face half-hidden by a blindfold wrapped tightly around their eyes, but there was no mistaking, it was Villain’s Sidekick. He remembered when they had been laughing and hurling insults as they ran from him. Now, the kid was a shell of their former self. Vigilante swallowed and looked back to Hero, starting slightly when he noticed they were watching him closely. 

“This is…” Vigilante trailed off. Hero nodded, answering the unasked question. “And its how… you stopped Vi-” 

“Don’t say their name,” Hero cut them off. Villain’s Sidekick flinched as Hero set their hand over their ear, as if to block the name from reaching them. “That name upsets them so. All the terrible things they’ve done…” Hero patted their shoulder, a whimper muffled by their thigh as Sidekick turned their face into their leg. 

Vigilante breathed out, trying to come to terms with the fact it was all true. Everything they had said. Hero really had gone off the deep end. 

“Can I?” he asked, extending a hand towards Sidekick. Hero nodded, giving Sidekick a slight push in his direction. 

“Come ‘ere kid,” he said, snapping his fingers in the space between them to guide them. They flinched at the noise, then crawled unsteadily across the rug towards him. Shaking fingers reached out to find their way, brushing his shoe, and yanked back with a stuttering “s-sorry,sir,” as they knelt on their legs in front of him. He could see the tension in their shoulders as they waited. Maybe expecting to be hit, that he would hurt them. Did they even remember him? 

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Whumptober #23 & #26

The antagonist is ripped from sleep by their own stupid ringtone, it’s loud and being woken up after their fight with hero, victorious as it was exhausting, made them irrationally irate. 

They didn’t bother turning on the lights–thinking that they were going to ignore it, trying to fight down that little bit of worry that nibbled at them, who calls at–shit!–three in the morning?! It was the abnormal hour that made them pick up the phone, squinting at the screen in the dark. When they saw the name on the screen concern struck, cold and immediate, it was their good friend calling them, their good friend who never was awake after eleven, choosing to study instead of party, choosing work in the morning over enjoying life. If the antagonist had to choose one word to describe them, other than kind, generous, or loyal, they would have picked stable. 

Stable people don’t call at three in the morning on a day before they had to work. 

The Antagonist doesn’t waste time, they flick on the bedside lamp and answer the phone. “Hello? Friend?” They don;t bother disguising the concern in their voice. 

Ragged breathing comes from the other end, a pained groan, and then a voice, weak, but still recognizable, “H-hey, b-buddy,” Another groan accompanying the sounds of shifting, “I-I ne-eeda f-favor.” 

“Sure, anything, what’s going on?” They are already out of bed, pulling on pants and a dirty T-shirt, their heart beating a fluttery rhythm in the base of their throat. 

“M’pretty m-messed up,” their friend groans, S-some guy j-jumped me, I-I need y-you t-to take me t-to…” there was more shifting, a cry of pain, “s-six, five, n-nine wal-walnut st-street.” 

The antagonist scrambles for keys, already cursing hero, wasn’t preventing things like this what he was supposed to do? They freeze, stopping in the dark, keys in hand as a wave of self loathing and realization washes over them, they’d hurt hero tonight, far too badly for them to stop a mugging. They’d been waiting for a call from their henchman that they’d either captured hero or found them dead. This was their own fault. 

“I’m coming right now,” The antagonist is jolted from their horror by their friend’s gurgling coughs over the phone, “Stay awake! Alright? Where are you?” 

“The p-park on wess–on westside, M’under a l-light by the p-pond,” they pant, their slurring getting worse. 

The antagonist starts their car, only realizing that they are still wearing their slippers, they listen to the gasping breathing on the other end of the line, the groans that are rapidly becoming weaker, they don’t bother parking when they reach the lot, they leave it idling, throwing the door open. 

“I’m here,” they relate softer than they’d planned, already straining to hear the soft intakes of wheezing breath from their friend, their eyes frantically scanning the ground looking under all of the lights as they race through the park towards the pond. 

“N’thing,” their friend’s voice comes through the phone line so weakly that they have to stop running to hear it, “M’dres–dressed kinda we-weird.” 

“It’s okay,” they breathe, “I’m going to find you, it’s okay.” 

But when they come across their friend it is certainly not okay, the shock of the sight makes them stop, their phone tumbling from panic numbed fingers into the wet grass. 

The mask was off, but they would recognize hero anywhere, even if their costume was in tatters, even if they were bleeding out from the myriad of wounds they’d just given them, even if it was their friend’s bruised and bloody face behind the mask. 

No, no, NO! is all the antagonist’s mind is capable of thinking, as they stare wide eyed at their friend, horror already knocking at their bones at the state of them, at what they had unwittingly done to them. 

Their friend was pale, but humor flashed in their glassy eyes at seeing the shocked reaction of the antagonist, they fought to make the words, “S-sorry,” they breathed, their voice was not much more than a raspy whisper, “I-I was gonna t-tell y-you, bu-but t-the antagonist–h-he’s d-dangerous, didn’ wan’ y-you h-hurt,” they grimaced, looking back at the antagonist with hope in their tired eyes. 

They didn’t know either. The antagonist wanted to run forward, to run away,  to apologize, to scream, but their throat refused to make a sound, their feet refused to move. 

“You? You’re the hero?” The finally manage, more angry than they mean it to be, but they are angry, both because of the betrayal and because they think that it’s very likely that their friend, the one who helped them through the loss of their parents, the one who showed up every Friday to watch the next episode of their favorite show together–was probably going to die, and it was going to be at their bidding. 

They recalled all of the blows that they’d administered during the battle, as they watched the hero–their friend take wheezing panting breathes, a pale hand curled protectively around the still bleeding bullet wound in their side, the antagonist could see from here that they didn’t have the strength to put any real pressure on it anymore, that bullet wound had made them high with the certainty of victory not even an hour ago, they’d cackled when the hero had cried out at the pain, angry that they’d managed to get away. 

But this was different–wasn’t it? 

“Bud?” The hero croaked, the antagonist could see blood on their lips from their damaged lungs, see the twisted way that their chest moved on every burning inhale, the way that their shoulder bled a growing dark stain on their uniform…They had done that, they were responsible for the swollen wrist, the long terrible gash on the hero’s thigh….They were responsible for all of it. 

They took a tentative step back, almost, but not quite against their will. 

The hero’s eyes widened, “W-what’re y-you..? “ They can’t finish the sentence before they lose themselves in rough coughing, wincing and squeezing their eyes shut against the pain, when they pry them open again, there is desperation and confusion glimmering there, a little fear too, “P-please? Fr-friend?” they raise a trembling hand towards them, fighting to keep their eyes from sinking closed. 

The antagonist bolts, if only to keep from looking at the scene they’d caused, something in the back of their head is screaming at them to get back there, to save them, but they don’t listen to it. They can’t. If they go back the hero will know what they are, they’ll hate them like everyone else does, they can’t let that happen, they can’t! They reach the car before their knees buckle under them, their body itself rebelling against the traitorous act of leaving their friend to die. 

A soft calm voice that almost doesn’t feel like it’s coming from their own mind at all asks in the terrible silence, how can they live with themselves if they leave them? 

The antagonist dissolves, not knowing the answer to their own question. 

A few moments later their phone rings in their pocket, they didn’t remember picking it up off of the ground, but they realize that it’s their other phone–their business phone from when they are parading around as the antagonist….their stomach flips in knots when they see that the number is one that they recognize–it’s the hero’s number.  

Phoebe has been told to never be horrified at the state of people she rescues. Angered, yes; indignant, absolutely; saddened, always, at the cruelty achievable by humanity and the world. But Phoebe is horrified when she finds a fellow Paladin, one that, according to her Siblings, has been missing for five years.

Not dead. They would know if he was dead. But death would almost be a kindness to Prasanna in this state.

The lost Paladin is chained, suspended by his thin wrists, his ankles fastened to the floor, leaving him spread-eagle and on display. He is nearly bare, clothed in sparse, glittering golden silks, to expose the black runes tattooed across his emaciated, nearly skeletal body. A muzzle of gold is fastened to his face, keeping his jaw shut tight. His head hangs forward, dull eyes unseeing, even as Phoebe stands below him.

Paladins cannot die like this. They can go forever without food and water, but maybe that should change.

Phoebe is silent as she gets to work, picking open the locks with hands she forces into steadiness. The muzzle has no lock, and she can see where it was welded closed; she heats the gold and pulls it apart with her bare hands, throwing it into the corner. Prasanna feels too light, like an underfed child as she carries him up and out of the deep underground vault she’d sensed him in. She passes by his keepers; dead, for how they tried to fight back. It seems they knew a Paladin coming to save their captive would be the end of them anyway.

Out in the sun, Prasanna finally stirs slightly, his weak head tilting back to gaze up at the bright spot in the sky. He must be too dehydraded to weep, too frail to go through the motions of sobbing, but she feels his unending grief and loneliness change, giving way to hope.

He either thinks he’s finally dying, or he knows he’s finally free. “Your ordeal is over, Brother,” Phoebe whispers, setting him down in the soft grass, letting him feel something besides emotionless metal on his wrists and ankles. “I’m sorry it took us this long to find you.”

She needs to get him to a Paladin base. She’s already communing with the others, telling them that the lost one is found. But for now, he needs fresh air, and grass, and the sun.

“Not. Real.”

Back and forth.

Her eyes glazed over. Knees hugged close to her chest. Her teeth chewed on dry, cracked, and bleeding lips. This wasn’t the sunshine he remembered. Everything looked the same. Her little fairy kisses were in the same place, splashed across her nose and cheeks in haphazard fashion. Her curls were still the wild, bouncy curls he loved to wrap around his fingers.

“All in my imagination, right? Don’t need to sleep. Don’t need medicine. Not real.” 

But Zizi was gone. The light that had guided him out of so many dark places, was gone. Where was it? Where had it gone?

“Zizi.”

She flinched, giving him the first reaction to he’d seen from her since they’d entered this room ten minutes ago. 

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. She rocked, eyes on the wall. And he couldn’t help but look to where she was staring but he saw nothing. He wasn’t surprised. 

“Zizi,” he tried again. Stepped closer. This time she flinched. Scrambled backward,chest heaving, her eyes wide. Hands spread out in front of her face.

Defensive.

Terrified.

Expecting punishment. Expecting him to…hit… her.

“Zizi. No,” he whispered. She was expecting him to hit her. When had he ever hit her? She shook her head, hugging herself again.

Tighter. Back and forth.

Then, a whimper, “Not. Real.”

She squeezed her eyes closed. Sobbed. Opened them again. Looked at him. Through him. 

He took another step forward. She moved up against the wall, feet kicking the blankets, the pillows, all of the bedding towards him. There wasn’t anywhere she could run. 

“He’sgoingtobesomadifhethinksimtalkingtoyouI’mnottalkingtoyoubecaseyou’renotreal,” she choked out a half-sob, half-laugh, “Not real, Zeria. Not real. How can you love someone that doesn’t exist, Zeria? Are you crazy?” 

He’s close to the bed now. Mikara and Lee stay by the door, glancing over every so often. Uneasy. Lee held the sedative but none of them wanted to use it. It was a last resort. 

She stands on the bed. Jumps off. Starts to pace, hands clenching and unclenching in the folds of her shirt. 

“Notcrazynotcrazynotcrazynotcrazy,” she shook her head, lips quivering, “Not crazy. Not supposed to talk to you anymore. Not real.”

“Zizi. Majesty.” Mikara stepped forward. Closer. Zeria backed away. Dropped down to the floor. Hands over her head.

Shaking.

“Guys,” Lee snapped, “We don’t have time for this. We’ve gotta go.”

Taron takes a deep breath, pushes past Mikara. Bends down and meets her eyes.

“Zizi,” he tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. The heartache. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t his girl. His queen. She didn’t act like this. 

She was fearless.

He grabbed her arm.

She screamed. 

And screamed.

And screamed.

It was raw. Primal. Desperate and gut wrenching. Taron felt his blood run cold, heart thudding, adrenaline coursing through him. Fight or flight. Stand or run. Hero or coward. NO.He threw his hands over his ears. Mikara jumped back, hands up, curled into fists.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, Princess,” Lee shouted over the screams as best as she could. She shoved the needle into Zeria’s arm. Caught her before she hit the ground, scooping her up and glared at Mikara and Taron, “Let’s go.”

This place is drenched worse in pain than Block A back home. And not just pain. Terror and despair and futile, hopeless desperation. Sadism and submission and raw, bleeding need. He can See it from hundreds of paces away, almost smell it on the air.

He wishes fervently that he weren’t on his own, that he could call the Interrogator and tell her what he’s stumbled upon. She would bring soldiers and fire and cleanse this place. If he knew how to contact her, he would. This is nightmare. Several someones’ nightmares, being lived through right this moment. Ending it would be worth whatever punishment he incurred for his truancy. Worth going back to her and breaking and screaming until he is obedient and compliant again. But he doesn’t have that option.

(Cut for length and content: torture, dark ritual, self-inflicted injury including blood-letting, fingore)

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This place is drenched worse in pain than Block A back home. And not just pain. Terror and despair and futile, hopeless desperation. Sadism and submission and raw, bleeding need. He can See it from hundreds of paces away, almost smell it on the air.

He wishes fervently that he weren’t on his own, that he could call the Interrogator and tell her what he’s stumbled upon. She would bring soldiers and fire and cleanse this place. If he knew how to contact her, he would. This is nightmare. Several someones’ nightmares, being lived through right this moment. Ending it would be worth whatever punishment he incurred for his truancy. Worth going back to her and breaking and screaming until he is obedient and compliant again. But he doesn’t have that option.

(Cut for length and content: torture, dark ritual, self-inflicted injury including blood-letting, fingore)

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(This prompt spooked around in my head for a really long time. 🤣 I know the season does not quite fit, but compassion and the spirit of Christmas are always valid, no matter the time of the year! 🌲 Please enjoy! 🖤)

#7 - Cold

[Hero] walked through the snowy streets, trying to take in everything that their eyes registered. The change in weather had been so sudden that no one in the city had taken precautions against the surprising winter. Only one week ago, the news had reported about “A surpassingly long term of really mild temperatures” for this autumn.

…How far that was away right now.

They looked down to the ground. It must have been already five inches. And it continued steadily. No busses, trains or taxis would drive this evening, maybe not even tomorrow. The whole city was astonied.

Rationally, [Hero] had every reason to be pessimistic about that. Everything was chaotic, locomotion was limited and their flat was isolated like shit eversince, allowing the freezing air to creep directly inside of their home.

Still, it felt peaceful. It seemed like everything was set into slow motion. The usual stress was muted by the tons of frozen water that sailed down the sky, making everything quiet.

[Hero] wondered when they had seen snow the last time. It must’ve been years. They didn’t know they had missed it so much.

Maybe, [Hero] mused in their thoughts, they would even go to one of the Christmas markets tomorrow, just for the feeling of it.

Their eyes glid over the white alleys and a silent smile appeared on their features. Yes, they would go. They would go and enjoy themself. Take a break from their busy job and let their soul rest for some time.

They took a few more turns and just decided to go home, when they noticed something strange.

A shadow, only a few feet ahead of them. [Hero] approached with slow steps and frowned.

Their eyes widened when they recognized what the bulky umbrage in the white snow was: A person. Not moving and in a curled up position.

“Hey!”, [Hero] called, hastily making their way towards them, “Hey, are you alright?” They kneeled next to the figure and gently shook them by the shoulder.

“Are you conscious? It’s far too cold here to-”

The words got stuck in their throat, when they turned the stranger around and the shadows revealed who was laying in front of them:

[Villain]. Bloody and bruised.

[Hero] took in a sharp breath, instantly jerking away from the criminal. Their hand glid automatically to the place where their weapon would normally be, but there was nothing. They must have left it at home. Shit.

They looked around frantically.

Was this a trap?

Were [Villains] henchmen still here?

“D-Don’t worry…I-I’m alone…”, a faint voice murmured. It belonged to [Villain].

[Hero] looked down. Their actual nemesis had turned their head around, hazy eyes looking at them in a disoriented manner.

“A-Are you.. M-my guardian Angel…?”

Now that the lights shone onto them, [Hero] noticed the bruises that were covering [Villains] pale face. Their nose was broken too. All around were footprints and crimson splatters in the shuffled snow.

Paying closer attention, [Hero] also saw the little shudders that ran through [Villains] maltreated body.

How long had they lain here?

“[Villain], what-…What has happened to you…?”, [Hero] asked hesistantly, still scanning the street for unwelcome attackers.

The criminal simpered blearily. [Hero] had never seen them smile, only grinning and sneering. Like this, [Villain] nearly looked like a decent human being. “I-I… didn’t t-take care… of m-myself…”, they murmured. They looked up to [Hero] with misty eyes. “..w-was s-so..stupid…”

[Hero] was astonished. Did [Villain] even know who was kneeling in front of them?

They looked around once again. It could be such a perfect way to lure them into their enemies claws. No one was approaching the streets and the snow would silence any kind of fight or action. They would be gone within a second.

[Villain] just had to make them feel pitiful enough to forget their cover.

But what if it was not a trap?

[Hero] was at loss. They could not just flee and let [Villain] be perished by the cold. They would never forgive themself, if there was even the slightest chance that their enemy was actually in danger.

All the time, [Villain] kept their mellow gaze on them, their fluttering eyelids already sprencled with frost.

“Goddamnit.”, [Hero] chuntered. Their voice filled with frustration. “Why didn’t I go home one alley ealier?”

They were caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. But they had to do something.

Swallowing their fear (and probably all of their common sense), [Hero] decided to take a closer look at [Villains] state. They cautiously approached their nemesis and gently pushed a hand into the collar of their shirt, still looking out for any attacks.

[Villains] skin was terribly cold. [Hero] gulped when they found the pulse: Far too low. “Can this be true..?”, [Hero] questioned themself before removing their fingers carefully.

Was [Villain] really howering between life and death?

“T-they.. attacked m-me..”, [Heros] nemesis breathed suddenly. Their gaze told [Hero] that they were only moments away from falling unconscious. “I c-can’t m-mo..ve.. m-my legs… i-i’m..s-so col…d..” [Villains] eyes flickered and finally, their head sank down onto the pavement.

Oh god… This really wasn’t staged.

What the hell should they do now? Nobody would be able to take [Villain] prisoner in this snowstorm. Nobody-

Suddenly, [Hero] froze. No one knew that they were here. No one knew that [Villain] was here.

The realization of the perfidious plan slowly perlocated through [Heros] mind: Someone had attacked and purposely dumped [Villain] here to let them die a slow and lonely death. The weather was perfect to avoid unwanted spectators and killed everyone who stayed too long within only a few hours. [Villain] had been made immobile and was left without any chance for rescue.

There was only one unforeseeable factor that could still cross that plan: [Hero].

What were the odds that someone else would find [Villain] in time? All the way through the streets, [Hero] hadn’t seen a soul. It was a tight time slot, exclusively open for them. [Hero] shuddered.

The choice about their enemies’ life laid in their hands.

Looking down, they noticed that [Villain] had stopped shivering. Their skin was slowly starting to turn blue.

One more hour and they were dead.

[Hero] had to make a decision. Now.

…Rationally, [Hero] knew that they should just leave them.

No one would suspect a thing. Hell, authorities would even be glad, if [Villain] was gone. There wouldn’t be any further investigations that could damage [Heros] reputation and mark them as a criminal. They would be save and sound.

Also, if [Hero] saved them, everything [Villain] did in the future would automatically redound upon them. No matter if other people knew it or not, [Hero] would be at least partially responsible for [Villains] crimes.

They had to think about leaving them here.

But [Villain] was a human being. They were a person. A fucking criminal, a pain in the ass and an arrogant slug, but still: A person.

[Villain] was just as human as [Hero] and their team were.

God, what should they do? Wasn’t [Hero] on the good side? Shouldn’t they help others whenever it was possible? Even when the person in misery was [Villain]?

“[Villain]. Who robs, blackmails and threatens other people. Who brings nothing but trouble. You really think they are worth saving?”, a sharp voice in [Heros] head asked. It sounded just like the one of their boss. “They are trash, nothing more.”

“Trash…”, [Hero] echoed silently.

Yes, that’s what [Villain] was for their company. Not a person: Trash. A disruptive factor.

Taking a decision, [Hero] turned away and took a few steps.

It was true. They had to leave them. Everyone would be better off without [Villain]. Everyone would be safer.

…This was the right thing to do.

…But…

“Goddamn it!”, [Hero] cursed and shook their head, hastily walking back to [Villain].

No. They couldn’t do it.

They couldn’t fucking do it.

Never would they forgive themself, if they extradited someone to death. Maybe their bosses were like that, but [Hero] wasn’t. They couldn’t just let someone die because it was easier. Or because that person was in the way. Because they didn’t conform [Heros] moral standards.

They didn’t care if it was weakness, but [Hero] was not like this.

They couldn’t let [Villain] die.

They just couldn’t.

Crouching down again, [Hero] moved closer towards their enemy and tried to sit them up. [Hero] took off their own coat and wrapped it tightly around [Villains] chilled body.

They would help them.

[Hero] wouldn’t let their enemy die in the snow.

When they lifted them up, [Villain] murmured something inaudible before their head fell down onto their saviors chest. Half-dried blood smeared into [Heros] shirt.

They gulped nervously. Doubts, anxiety and guilt were rising up in their chest.

This was insane… This was so fucking insane.

“Don’t make me regret this!”, [Hero] hissed to their foe before struggling up their feet.

“Don’t make me fucking regret this!”

They barely even notice it when their hands are tied in front of them and they're hoisted up by the rope. Their gaze is fixed on their friend - their most important, most beloved person, the one that really matters - the one standing at the railing of the other ship, moving away fast.

They're safe.

That's what matters.

They're safe. Even though they were being threatened with death only minutes ago, they're safe now.

And they smile softly at the certainty of that as the whip comes down hard on their back, and the spray of the sea hits their face, and they're content, they're so relieved and happy as they look out across the ocean, the lashes merging into a continuous warmth, far away somewhere behind them, little more than background noise as they lean forward, toward what is really important, and they smile because everything is alright and the sun is setting and the waves have golden crowns and their friend is safe and there's a gentle breeze and everything is alright and they're safe and it's alright it's alright it's alright

Yet more continuation of the Iesin shot down & auctioned series

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Talvos left. 

Talvos left him. Talvos found him, Talvos saw him, and he left. 

The words tumble over and over through Iesin’s mind, taking up the space where the mysteries used to sing, filling it with a dreadful cacophony of agony and despair instead. 

Talvos left.

The first touch to the wires below Iesin drags a hoarse, exhausted moan from him. Every vibration of movement sets off others, in a rippling chain-reaction that tears at each tiny hole in his flesh. He’s lost track of how long he’s been up here, suspended in fine, delicate balance and supported by his own weight used against him, each limb a counter-weight to another, each wire that pierces him a structural necessity to the finely-woven display running above and below and through him. Now, at the prospect of unthreading all of it, he shakes with helpless, bone-weary fear, and voices that fear in trembling huffs of air that only occasionally graze the edges of sound.

The flash of hope that scorched through him when he looked up to see Talvos, realized that against all odds, beyond Iesin’s wildest imaginings, his beloved had found him - that’s gone now, turned to an anguish that is sharp and dark and hungry by the stone-still distance in Talvos’ eyes, by the disregard in his tone as he discussed Iesin like every other human who has come in to gawk at him, and then by the straight, confident set of his back as he walked away.

Talvos left.

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Discovery

Without his captors presence to ground him Nico floundered. Unconsciousness pulled at him only to be ripped away forcefully by every bird call, every cricket, every crack of a branch.

The blind fold that had pulled terrifying visions from his eyes mere hours after being placed continued to bombard him and Nico flinched in fear when visions of gleeful devils flashed in his vision, flames entrenching them. Was he dead, had he actually died in the vehicle and this was just his own hell?

He tugged weakly at his restraints, trying desperately to hide beneath the blanket that wrapped around his broken frame. A child hiding from a nightmare.

Fire burned at his shoulders and Nico only succeeded in making the slatted frame he lay on sway, igniting the low grade nausea that was his constant companion. Bloody saliva pooled in his throat and he stopped his pitiful struggles. Breathing as deeply as he could Nico tried to relax. The earth around him wavered, and fever consumed him.

The crunch of a vehicle over gravel trapped his attention and Nico felt his heart flutter in fear. Was this his new tormenter. Goawaygoawaygoaway-

The adrenaline pumped through him giving him a clarity he hadn’t had for what felt like hours.

“No, I don’t know why he would have texted me. Especially to come to the pack house. I mean it’s in the middle of nowhere.”

The voice was distorted by distance but it still made Nicos heart lurch, recognition flooding him. Bri-Brian? Delirium making him forgetful and he drew a bubbling breath to cry out. A rasp fell from his lips and he was grateful it wasn’t enough to set of the collar.

“Loo- look. Stop. I know you think he’s a shitty person!” Brian’s voice hissed, raising in anger. ”He’s fucking ghosted us for six months and he wasn’t a good friend before but I don’t think Nico would have messaged for me to come out here if he didn’t have a reason.”

Nico drew a ragged breath and felt his heart shatter. Was this why he’d been left there? In the recesses of his mind he’d hidden a small hope that just maybe his captor has been lying. That his friends just hadn’t been able to find him.

But this confirmed it. They just didn’t care. They didn’t even consider him a friend. Hadn’t ever looked for him.

Nico struggled to breathe as he felt what little was left of his will to fight collapse. He knew-knew- that he shouldn’t have tried to make friends. Nobody had ever wanted him.

The crunch of gravel drew closer but the sound barely registered over the thoughts that raced through him.

“I know you don’t trust him but I can’t not check this out, okay? If you’re so adamant about that why didn’t you come with me? Kristy, Kristy-no, I don’t think he’d do anything to hurt me, just cause he proved you right by ghosting doesn’t mean I think he wants to hurt us.”

Brian. It’s not like he deserved a friend like him anyway. He hated him and still defended him. Loyalty. Brian had always gone out of his way to invite him to hang out when his anxiety and depression had kept in locked inside for weeks. Had reached out when no one else had ever bothered.

He knew he was bad at keeping in touch. But he’d never had anyone to keep in touch with before. Foster home after foster home had driven home the idea that he wasn’t good enough. Then college had cast him as an outcast for being a loner due to his inability to relate and make friends.

He’d desperately wanted to connect. But he was broken. His tormenter was right. He belonged with him.

Even with that certainty he couldn’t make himself whimper to set of the collar. To break the rules and bring him back. Brian may hate him but maybe he wouldn’t hurt him. Or he’d end it quickly.

Brian’s friends had always been a little guarded with him, especially when he’d discovered that they were magic. Convinced that he’d sell them out. But he’d just wanted to belong.

The footsteps stopped before they reached the wooden steps he’d been carried up. Brian’s voice quieted but picked up an edge and he tried to focus on it.

“-the fuck kind of sick game is this Nico?” Brian’s voice whispered, his over sensitive hearing picking it up. “No, there’s some sort of weird BDSM pictures all over the ground here.”

Nico couldn’t hear the response but felt horror in every cell of his being. No. No, not like this-please, please they already hated him they didn’t need to know what happened too. Please…

Nico knew it was already too late, Brian would find him eventually, strapped down like a sick offering. He wished viscerally that he’d taken his captors offer, that no one would ever know what he’d done, what he’d allowed to happen.

This is exactly what he’d wanted him to hear, Nico realized. His captor knew. Knew that he’d be just enough to make his friends realize that his tormenter knew what they were, that he was watching. But his tormenter had also known he wouldn’t be missed, the group didn’t really care, that he was fundamentally worthless. He wished he’d have died with his family when he was six and their car had rolled on the interstate. What’d he done, why did he deserve this. Please God just make it stop. Make it stop make it stop make it stop please please please……

“I may need you guys to come up here, I’m getting a weird feeling….” Brian’s tenor trailed off as his quiet foot steps came closer. Nico felt a weak sob gathered behind his muzzle and he prayed that this was a fever dream.

The thump of footsteps on wood made Nico turn his head, injuries screaming.

“Hang on Kristy, stay on the phone, I’m just going to check the door and see if the wards have been triggered, maybe look in the windows. Yes, yes I’ll wait for you guys to— oh. Oh my god. HOLY SHIIIT!!”

There was a clatter and the scrambling of footsteps. “What the… what the fuck.” Brian’s voice held an edge of hysteria. Nico’s sensitive ears heard the squeak of a voice on the phone and he wanted to hide. “There’s a fucking body here Kristy.”

“Of course I’m not going to fucking touch it! You think I’m some sort of idiot?! Get everyone up here! Now!” Brians voice was so close. He was sure he could touch him if his hands were free. Nico didn’t feel anything with the realization. Glassy numbness encroaching on his reality.

This was what happened to his wishes. Reality twisted them cruelly and gave him the end result. He wanted his mom, to wake up as a six year old again and know who he could trust. Nothing was right. His friends had warped into cruel tormenters and his tormenter into someone who whispered loving things into his skin as he stripped him to his core and played.

It was too much. He was done. He ignored Brian’s voice and felt the dull throb of his heart. He wished it would stop.

He didn’t know how long he lay in limbo. Reality started and stopped intermittently and everything that did register came to him through a thick fog. “I knew you’d see it my way pet.” His tormenters voice whispered to him. “No one will ever care for you like I do. All you’ll have to do is behave for me, I’ll make sure no one else ever hurts you again. I might even make you feel good if you ask nicely.”

Nico felt as if his tormenter placed a heavy weight on his chest and he gasped brokenly. The collar at his throat jolted and Nico sobbed as he felt like his heart had been crushed in a vice.

He gasped for air, the vice on his heart clamping down on his lungs, the high pitched scream from Brian barely registering over the pain in his chest. I’ll be good, I’ll be good, just make the pain stop, please. He begged his tormenter and felt his cold fingers at his throat, probing at the collar. “I don’t think it’s up to you what you get anymore is it pet? In fact, I don’t think you quite remember your rules.” There was a faint click of the collar and Nico sobbed silently. No, please, please don’t turn it up-

Brian’s voice halted his tumbling mind, “Kristy, what the fuck do I do?! It’s not a god damn body- what do you mean what do I mean?! It’s fucking gasping for air, there’s a fucking shock collar on it that just went off!” Fingers started ripping at the collar on his neck and his perch tilted dangerously. “Of course I turned it off! How far away are you?!?!”

Nico gasped weakly behind the muzzle, Brian’s voice fading as his heart thrummed in his chest. Slender fingers replaced the thick ones at his throat and a warm hand pushed into his chest. Soothing energy raced through him, pushing away the pressure on his chest, calming the fire that had built in his broken bones. The absence of pain made him want to rest, to not simply slip into unconsciousness but to fall peacefully asleep.

The energy pulled him away from the peacefulness, and he fought weakly against it. “I need you to stay with me” the voice was feminine and familiar, he wanted to trust it but he couldn’t. “I know, just a little longer.”

Nico shivered at the reminder of the words his tormenter has used to comfort him. There were hands groping at his battered body and Nico wanted it to stop. I don’t, I can’t-

“Shhhhh, its all right. It’s ok, we’re going to take care of you now.” There was a feeling of tearing at his face and Nico winced as cold air touched his face.

“Oh my….. Nico?”

Raw

I’m here to make them sufferrrr, though I couldn’t resist giving them some good at the end of this.

TW: gore, death 

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i would like your whumpee to be found slumped against a wall, so thoroughly bloody and bruised and broken that the caregiver doesn’t even know where to start

i would like the gasps of horror at the state of the whumpee, gasps badly concealed because the caregiver knows the whumpee wouldn’t want to be gasped over

i would also like some stifled moans of pain at every touch, please