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quietlyimplode · 2 years

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leave everything but your bones behind

Whumptober 2022: day 29 - better me than you

Warnings: therapy talk (a lot of it) / confrontation of intrusive thoughts / discussion of suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 2.6k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha becomes unwell and only the Red Room can fix her. The choice is die or go back to the very place that made her.

A/N: long one. Heed warnings. Apologies for the delay. Not sure when the 30th will come. Almost there.

Main Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

———

They take the car back to his apartment.

He contemplates whether it should be her apartment or the tower but in the end he decides that he’d like some home comforts too.

Clint likes his apartment, his couch and bed. He likes the way it opens up to the balcony that he can reach the roof with and all the little intricacies of home.

It’s his own space.

The tower is great and it’s served so many purposes to keep all of them safe but now; he thinks they just need quiet.

Home is quiet.

She’s silent, apart from the audible breathing through her mouth. Her nose likely blocked from the tears shed.

He reaches across and grabs her hand, driving like they always do with one hand in each other’s.

“Will you talk to someone?” he ventures as he rounds the corner into the car park.

“I suppose.”

Natasha’s voice is quiet, far away.

He offers his phone and the text from their psychiatrist with a link to a secure video call.

“Now?” he asks, knowing he’s put her on the spot.

He could kiss Tony for his skills at making people do what he wants with money. Sometimes money doesn’t solve things but it does make access to resources a hell of a lot easier.

“How’d you manage that?” she asks, handing back the phone.

“Tony.”

“Of course.”

Natasha grasps her hands together, thumb touching her nails, that she rubs over and over unconsciously.

They walk up the stairs in unison, as they have so many times before. He opens the door and lets himself in, closing it behind her.

He offers her water that she takes with a nod.

“She’s ready whenever you are to call.”

Natasha takes the phone and stares at it. Puts it down and then picks it up.

She sighs.

“I can’t.”

Clint can’t stop thinking.

“I saw you standing by the water, I thought you were going to jump.”

He needs her to make the call.

“I was,” she admits.

“I felt like I was drowning without the water.”

Clint offers her the phone again.

“And now?”

She takes it.

“The feeling comes and goes.”

“Do you think you can?” if not, Clint thinks he’s going to make the call, not for her but for him, to help him process what he’s seen; what he’s done.

“Ten minutes?”

It’s a reprieve whilst she gets a hold of herself; it’s something he can give her. Setting a timer on the phone, shows her.

Sad eyes look at him for some sort of direction.

“Can we patch your thigh whilst we wait?”

Leaving the room, he keeps an eye on her grabbing a pair of clean pants and then rummages in the kitchen for his first aid kit.

“It’s not that bad,” Natasha tells him, taking off her pants, the blood dried.

“Your stomach?” he asks.

She looks to him in confusion.

“The burns?” He clarifies.

Natasha lifts her top, the healing blisters just now white with a thin red line around them. She gives half a smile.

Reaching up gently, she touches the cut on his nose, and the bruises that litter his face and chin.

“How’s your face?” she asks, grimacing.

“Better than yours,” he grins. Her bruises are healing already but still the dark marks stay.

“I’m sorry,” she says pulling her hand away.

“Don’t be,” he placates.

Gently, he wipes the dried blood away, the skin peeled back, almost flayed as he wonders what she was thinking when she did it. The scar tissue still seems thick underneath.

“God you did a good job,” he mutters.

Natasha watches him carefully, not pulling away and holding her leg down as he dresses the wound.

“I don’t remember doing it,” she admits.

He finishes with a bandage and sits back on his heels helping her pull her pants on over her feet.

“How worried should I be?” he asks, glancing at the timer.

Five minutes.

“How bad do you think it is?” he asks.

Met with silence, she doesn’t answer straight away.

“I don’t know. Some minutes are better than others, and then, I’m drowning again. It feels like I can’t breathe or like I’m so dizzy I can’t stay upright.”

She sighs as the timer goes off.

Holding his phone, she clicks on the link.

The therapists face appears almost straight away. Natasha’s hand reaches for Clint’s and squeezes hard.

“Hello Natasha. Hello Clint,” she says, her hair in a high bun, artificial light alighting her face.

“I’m sorry,” Clint begins, feeling bad that it’s likely some ungodly hour where she is.

“Don’t be sorry,” she dismisses, waving her hand.

She’s just as Clint remembers, kind but serious and no nonsense.

“It’s urgent,” he tries to justify, still feeling bad that he’s put her out and made this happen.

“So I heard. I’m sorry, I only have half an hour before I need to go, but we can talk more tomorrow. I think it’s good that we start, okay?”

Natasha body is fixed but even she nods with Clint, leaning slightly forward.

“There’s ugh… there’s a lot that’s happened.”

Clint starts, looking to Natasha.

The therapist looks to Natasha to continue,

“To you?” she invites,

Natasha nods minutely.

“She was telling me that she’s living minute to minute,” Clint breathes, unsure how much of the conversation to divulge.

Biting her lips, Natasha gives a half shrug.

“Sometimes it feels like that.”

The therapist takes it as an opening, and seems to know just what question to ask.

“What happens when you’re not feeling right?”

“She was standing by the water, ready to jump,” Clint can’t stop the words tumbling out of his mouth, much to the surprise of the two women.

“No I wasn’t,” Natasha rebukes.

“Yes you were,” he argues.

There’s an uncomfortable silence.

“There’s been some intrusive thoughts,” Natasha clarifies, but keeps it to herself the extent of the damage they’ve been causing.

“Are they sticking with you?”

Clint’s leg starts to bounce, his anxiety spiking.

“Now? No. They’ve stopped for now.”

He hopes it’s the truth. He hope she remembers the rules of therapy.

“Can you pin point what made them come?”

Natasha opens her mouth but Clint can’t help the words that cut her off, they tumble out of his mouth like vomit.

“She cut her leg,” he tells the therapist.

“What is this telling on me?”

He almost laughs at Natasha’s indignation, it’s the first time in a while she’s been angry or derisive at him.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

Natasha takes a deep breath, knowing this is the start of something hard.

“How much do you know of what’s happened in the last eight weeks?” she asks.

The therapist nods at them both.

“Some, but I’ll need to hear it from you. You know how this works.”

They do.

Natasha almost snarls at the thought.

The therapist seems to sense it.

“What’s been the worst bit for you? What part of the day is the hardest?”

She knows what she’s doing; breaking it down. It’s an old trick they used to do when healing felt to big, the enormity of it too much.

“Everything,” she says, honestly.

Then.

“No that’s a lie,” and it is. Natasha knows that she can separate it. She thinks of the times when she’s been okay, and the times that seem harder.

“I think at night, when I’m alone with my thoughts,” she clarifies.

The therapist shakes her head.

“You’re always alone in your thoughts,” she rebukes.

“What makes the night time different? What is it that makes the night harder?”

Silence.

She doesn’t know. Or can’t answer.

“Does it make it harder to sort through them?” she prompts, “or is it that they seem more harsh when you’re trying to rest?”

Natasha can’t think. Can’t formulate a sentence to save herself.

“When they’re trying to do battle,” she tries, looking to Clint to help her.

“Can you talk back to them?” he asks quietly.

It’s not a new thought.

“I did, I think.”

She turns to the therapist.

“What do you tell them?” The woman asks.

“I thanked them for keeping me safe,” Natasha says honestly.

“They wanted.. There was something they wanted to do, and I didn’t want to…” she tapers off. She doesn’t want to tell Clint that she wanted to kill him and run. All she ever wanted was to make sure he was safe.

Fear and embarrassment make her face burn.

She must see it.

“Our thoughts aren’t all of us,” the therapist clarifies kindly. This is not the first time they’ve had this conversation.

“Do you think you can keep pushing it away?”

“Sometimes.”

“If you can’t, what can you do?”

Natasha freezes.

Oh god, what if she can’t? What if she had killed Clint? What if in her impulsivity, she had done something that was irreversible?

Her breathing quickens as all the possibilities of what could have happened start running through her head.

“I don’t…” she starts, “I don’t..”

Clint squeezes her hand hard.

“Tell Clint?” She offers.

“And?”

She bites on her lip.

“Write it down?”

They’re the right answers, she’s sure.

“Do you still have the cat?”

Liho. Liho’s with Tony, she thinks.

“Yeah.. Yes,” she says, a vague memory of this conversation.

“Tell the cat?” The therapist prompts.

“Liho?”

She feels aghast.

“I couldn’t tell her those things.”

She could never tell the Cat.

“So why do you think it’s okay for them to sit with you?”

Natasha knows why.

“I don’t…” she starts.

“Because it’s me.”

“It’s hard.”

Everything feels hard.

“I know,” the therapist tells her.

“Do you feel suicidal?”

The question shocks Natasha.

She’s fought so so hard to be here.

She doesn’t want to die. She feels it’s not the same as not wanting to live though.

Not wanting to struggle through each day.

“No. No.”

It’s true, she doesn’t. Even if the voices prompt it.

“You don’t have a plan?”

The therapist looks at her intently through the screen.

“No,” the words are confident. She doesn’t.

“You would tell me?”

Would she?

“Yes,” she supposed, the words not confident.

The therapist looks at her until she looks down.

“I don’t, I would.”

The words more confident this time.

She nods.

“Clint, how are you?”

His eyes widen, the question unexpected.

He can feel the shaking of his hands start and overwhelm threaten.

“I’m fine,” he squeezes out.

“You’re worried?”

She can read his mind, he’s sure.

“Yes.”

He can’t look at Natasha.

“That she’ll get lost… that she won’t come back.”

The therapist is silent, waiting. Clint hates it. He knows she does it on purpose.

“That she’ll leave, and I won’t be able to find her.”

The therapist nods.

Clint sniffs, biting down hard on his lip, holding back the onslaught of emotions that threaten.

Natasha reaches under the table and grabs his hand, holds it as tight as she can.

He hangs his head unsure what to say, his greatest fear unveiled.

The silence in the room feels big.

“Natasha?”

The therapist says her name and she takes her eyes off Clint to look at the screen.

“I need to go soon, but I need you to know some things.”

She likes the therapist, likes how clear she is with her communication.

“You’re still figuring out how to live given all the heaviness you’ve faced recently. So many things have changed. There is more to life than pain, than the hurt you’ve been through, but I fear it’s not over yet. Is there anything you want to talk about right now?”

Natasha is so tired. So over talking. Her answer is slow, but one she can sit with.

“I’m not ready to talk about it yet. “

It seems to be the right answer for everyone.

The therapist smiles.

“That’s okay. We have time.”

She glances at the time.

“I’m going to call through tomorrow at ten.”

She nods.

“Homework,” the therapist laughs, “there’s always something right?”

Both Clint and Natasha grimace. Although used to the way this woman works, they haven’t had to do this in a while. They haven’t stopped holding hands.

“Stay in your comfort zones, for now, it’s important. Recalibrating yourselves and your needs, is where we need to start. Your comfort zone is where you’re going to find something that makes you smile, genuinely, conversations with each other, with friends, and those close to you, getting absorbed into something so you forget your struggles, and the heaviness and pain of what you’ve been through.”

“Those thoughts? Let them pass through. You too, Clint. You’re so worried about Natasha that you’re on tender hooks, and eggshells. Say them out loud, tell each other, make it ridiculous, tell the cat, write it down.”

She takes an audible breath.

“I’m sending through a prescription for sleeping tablets, the same ones you’ve used before. Take a quarter tonight, half tomorrow and then a full tablet the day after. You can taper back down but we’ll talk more about that over the next couple of days.”

He can feel Natasha flinch at the mention of medication.

“If you don’t want to or can’t take it, then you need to set aside time for the meditation exercises we’ve discussed before, but Natasha? You need sleep, and this will be easier than the control that takes for the mediation to work. It’s important, you hear me? You too Clint.”

She glances at her watch.

“I’m sorry I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow. Think about what I’ve said, okay? One day we’ll talk on not so serious circumstances.”

She smiles, “talk later,” she says, and hangs up.

Clint collapses against the couch, thankful he’s in his own apartment and the comfort of it.

He’s exhausted.

It’s clear Natasha is too.

“You okay?” he asks, knowing the answer.

“No,” she says to his surprise.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry my darkness keeps leaking into your life, I’m sorry I got so lost and you had to find me and save me, again and again. They hurt you and it’s my fault. I didn’t mean to get so lost, I don’t feel like me.”

She starts sobbing into his arms, her body cold as he pulls her towards him.

“He’s dead,” Clint starts, his emotions overflowing too, “he’s dead and I couldn’t save you. I would take it all for you.”

Natasha looks sharply at him.

“No,” she says, voice clear and steady. “Better me than you. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, I would never want you to endure…”

Finally, she feels more in control and clear, the sessions, the burst of tears, his words, all helping her with clarity.

“No.”

She takes a shaking breath.

“They did terrible things to me, then; now. But it’s real and it did happen. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so lost. I am here, I’m not leaving, I’m fighting I swear.”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

Clint nods, exhaustion peaking.

“Can we stay here tonight?” he asks, looking to the promise of his own unmade bed.

Natasha stands and leads him there, pulling out some clothes for her and throwing his pyjama shorts at him.

“It’s like 7pm,” he says aghast. “We haven’t even eaten dinner.”

Natasha looks to the kitchen.

“Do you feel like cooking?”

Clint finishes changing and nods, “I feel like eating. Come on.”

He sticks the Mac and cheese packet into the pan and on the stove top, adding the butter and milk, and stirring it.

“Better than a peanut butter sandwich,” he goads, his voice more steady now, his actions sure.

#whumptober2022 #no.29 #better me than you #intrusive thoughts #therapy discussions #heed warnings #natasha romanoff #clintasha #black widow #clint barton #my fic #hawkeye #natasha romanoff fic #tony stark #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic #marvel fic #clintasha fic #avengers fic

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ace-trainguys · 2 years

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Whumptober day 29 - prompt is “Better me than you.”

Writing with bonus art for today! First paragraph is above the cut, the rest and art is below.

---

He lands roughly on a snowy slope, and smashes his head on something on his way tumbling down. Once he's slowed to a stop, the cold pierces through the meager layers he has on. Pain pulses on his temple, and he blearily watches red seep into the white pillowing his head. He feels his thoughts slip out with the blood, but he desperately clings to a single sentence. "Better me than you."

How long does he spend laid up in the unfamiliar bed? It could be hours or years. Time blurs meaninglessly in his feverish haze. He shivers and sweats, unable to do anything but wait for the pain to recede. Strange hands poke and prod, changing bandages and forcing bitter mixtures down his throat. Voices float above him, and shapes that might be faces fade in and out. Even the comforting smile that he knows better than himself doesn't seem real, but still he tells it, better me than you.

Ingo is more than happy to accept the job as Lady Sneasler’s warden - finally, a way to repay the clan and the noble that saved him. Even if it means moving to the Highlands, where the only other resident is a member of the opposing clan. The wary looks and whispers in the settlement had been getting to him, but even that is better than the emptiness of the mountain. Ingo spends much of his time with Lady Sneasler, and the rest with a gligar he has befriended. No matter how sweet their company, there's a hole next to him that never seems filled. The loneliness is a burden he's willing to bear to prevent another from carrying it, but when the thought better me than you crosses his mind, he feels as though he is referring to someone other than the Pearl Clan.

The rock under his right hand crumbles as soon as Ingo shifts his weight. He scrambles to regain purchase on the wall, to no avail. A yell rips from his throat as he falls parallel to the sheer cliff face. There's no time to think before he hits the ground, where sharp, bright pain radiates from his left leg.

Ingo lies still, taking deep breaths through clenched teeth. In a minute, he will have to assess the damage and see whether it's broken, create a splint if needed and call his Lady. But first, Ingo stares up into the blue, blue sky and says to the phantom haunting his memories, "Better me than you."

It becomes a prayer of sorts. When his arms and legs hurt from the strain of traversing the Highlands, when he is first poisoned by young sneasels, when it is too quiet to sleep, when he must deal with his frustrating neighbor, when rockslides affect the landscape, when he's attacked by raging alphas, when the temperature dips below freezing, when he is unable to get enough to eat, when the rain falls so hard he's worried his tent will wash away, when his heart aches over absent memories --

Ingo does not plead to the Almighty Sinnoh. Instead he murmurs to the figure in white that lurks in the corner of his eye, “Better me than you.”

By the time he meets the young Galaxy surveyor who fell from the sky, Ingo has been able to feel out the shape of the absence beside him. He found clues everywhere. Ingo's face in the mirror looking wrong with a frown. A zoroark trying to trick him with a white coat and a smile. Dreams of holding on, that turn into nightmares of being separated violently. So when the surveyor asks if Ingo remembers anything, he is able to tell them about the man who looks like him.

The surveyor is quiet for a moment, before asking, "Do you miss him?"

"Dearly," Ingo replies without missing a beat.

"I hope you can reunite soon," the young surveyor says.

Ingo hums in agreement, but when he imagines that man in Hisui, his stomach turns. Broken bones - head wounds - fevers - hypothermia - cuts requiring stitches. A white coat stained with red. A hollow pit where memories should reside, a loneliness too deep for words. Every trial Ingo endures is one that man does not have to face. His mantra, his constant refrain, the words engraved in his heart- it has always been directed towards the man in white.

Better me than you.

#whumptober2022 #no.29 #better me than you #submas #writing #art #blood #nongraphic descriptions of injury #pokemon legends arceus #ingo #qed's art #qed writes #if you would prefer to read this on ao3 I will be posting it there shortly #for a fun bonus imagine this takes place after 'take me instead'#where Arceus plans on sending Emmet to Hisui but Ingo insists on being the one to go instead

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 2 years

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Whumptober #29: What Doesn’t Kill Me...

Option: “Better me than you.”

“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.

#whumptober #whumptober2022 #no.29 #ideas #writing #prompts #angst #torture #self sacrifice #better me than you #protective #awaiting rescue #what doesn't kill me...

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ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing · 2 years

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No One Notices When the First Leaf Falls (#29 Whumptober 2022)

Prompt: Sleep Deprivation | Defiance | “Better me than you”

Fandom: Star Wars- All Media Types, Star Wars - The Clone Wars (2008)

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/CC-2224 | Cody

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Turned Sith Obi-Wan

Summary: “Love can be dangerously selfish,” Obi-Wan whispered, “And my love for you was the most selfish thing I’d ever done. The idea that you wouldn’t be with me on the other side of the war, it helped me decide. I’ve had a long enough life, forty-six years is a long time. You hadn’t. Now you’ll have a very long time.”

“We could have had a long time,” Cody whispered.

“No,” Obi-Wan shook his head, “We couldn’t have. I used the last of the light left in me to save you, Cody. I’m sorry. It’s not anything that you could have helped me with. It’s why I didn’t tell you. Take care of Anakin and Ahsoka for me. They’re going to need you.”

--- Fic Under the Cut ---

“Was it worth it?”

Obi-Wan refused to look up, eyes trained on the suppression cuffs around his wrists. They were glowing with a faint blue light and at one point, Obi-Wan might have thought that fitting. These days, he just felt that it was a shame.

“You really aren’t going to say anything, General?”

“Well, I don’t think I’m your general anymore,” Obi-Wan pointed out, trying to ignore the whispers in his head.

They were impossible to ignore completely but Obi-Wan thought that there were times when he could hear things over the roar of voices in his head, things that almost reminded him of another life.

This was one of those very rare days.

“Please, Obi-Wan.”

He looked up at the desperation in Cody’s voice.

The man hadn’t changed much at all.

From the moment he’d been made Obi-Wan’s commander, he’d stood unchanging by his side—not even the passing of time able to mare his face—and Obi-Wan knew it was partly because of the way he’d been created but also because Cody had remained unflappable in a galaxy that was everchanging, evergrowing, evercrumbling.

Ever failing him.

Ever failing them.

Cody and his brothers had seen so much.

The galaxy had used them in a bid to save themselves while not sacrificing anything and they’d believed that it would work. They hadn’t realized that in a war, no one walks away unscathed, hadn’t realized that someone would have to pay, hadn’t realized that everyone would pay.

They’d sent children to war.

They’d turn peacekeepers into Generals.

They’d been so surprised that they hadn’t liked the changes.

“How do we decide what something’s worth is?” Obi-Wan asked, instead of answering the question he knew Cody was really asking.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cody asked, looking exhausted.

“Well we assign worth to everything,” Obi-Wan told him, “We decide that gold is worth more than silver. A peggat is worth more than a Republic credit. A planet is worth saving, more so than another. We decide that the people we’ve created are worth less than the people who’ve caused the problems that we are fighting against. Who gets to decide that? How do we decide they are correct?”

“Obi-Wan please,” Cody pleaded, “You’ve been talking in riddles for days. No one knows what you mean. No one understands what happened. How did this happen? Why?”

“I know more than you,” Obi-Wan told him, “I knew how things were going to end. Someone was going to have to pay. Better me than you, Cody. Better me than your brothers.”

“That doesn’t explain why you did it,” Cody argued, “How did this-what happened, Obi-Wan? I was with you the whole time. How did I not see this?”

“Mmm on Stewjon we have lots of trees,” Obi-Wan said, ignoring the scoff that Cody gave him, clearly frustrated by the lack of direct response from Obi-Wan.

Unfortunately, the whispers in Obi-Wan’s head were getting louder again and he didn’t have time to try to answer all of Cody’s questions. Not when he knew the answers wouldn’t be what Cody needed.

“They lose their leaves in the fall time,” Obi-Wan continued, “But…no one ever notices when the first leaf falls. It isn’t until there is hundreds on the ground that everyone looks up and realizes that the things around them are dying.”

“What does that mean?” Cody asked voice frustrated, “What does that mean, Obi-Wan? What does that have to do with Palpatine’s death? Why did you do it? What were you thinking? What- When did you fall? Why are-?”

Cody stopped as their eyes met, swallowing thickly before looking away.

“Mhm that’s what I thought,” Obi-Wan said with a snort, “You can’t even look me in the eye anymore, Cody. I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t know what answers I can give you that will possibly make you feel better.”

“I do,” Cody snapped at him, “Had you already fallen when I first met you? How long did it take if you hadn’t? Did you- did you know that you’d- the first time that we’d…?”

“Had I fallen the first time we’d had sex?” Obi-Wan mused, blinking a few times as the voices started to get louder, “No. I don’t think so. But, then again, how fallen does one have to be to fall?”

“When your eyes weren’t blue anymore! That’s how you know!” Cody bit back. “You fell, Obi-Wan! You fell and you- you killed the Chancellor and sent the- you sent the galaxy into turmoil! Why- why would you do that?”

“I didn’t do that,” Obi-Wan said, “It was already in turmoil. I was just shortening the amount of time the galaxy suffered. And as long as I was with you, my eyes were blue, Cody. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Not if you were hiding something!” Cody shot back, “Not if you were lying the whole time!”

Obi-Wan laughed, the sound devoid of humor, “I never lied to you Cody. Even now…I love you. I will always love you. The only thing that’s changed is that you don’t love me.”

“You’re- you’re a Sith. The thing that you swore to destroy. The thing that almost destroyed the galaxy thousands of years ago. How could I- I love you?”

“Mmm you’re only lying to yourself,” Obi-Wan shook his head, “You loved me. You didn’t stop loving me because I’m a Sith. You stopped because you believe I lied to you.”

Obi-Wan gave him a soft smile, something that felt more lucid than anything he’d given to anyone in nearly two weeks.

“Please keep believing that, darling,” Obi-Wan told him, “Please believe that I lied to you. I killed the Chancellor. I have no regrets. You won’t find his body, it disappeared, through not fault of my own. You may have the video but you won’t find the body. Please have the council think about that. Why would a body dissolve after death? You might find it important. You’ll find it just as important as the information that you’ll find after my trial.”

“You-your trial!” Cody scoffed, falling to his knees in front of the transparisteel, “There is no trial. The Senate has demanded your death and there’s nothing the Jedi can do. They’ve fought it as much as they can but a- a Sith, Obi-Wan? A Sith is too dangerous to be allowed to live! That’s-that’s what they say.”

“Ah, yes,” Obi-Wan agreed, “They’re right. Much too dangerous. You must get rid of all of them. I recommend going after Dooku next.”

“Dooku is a- were you working together?” Cody asked, putting his hands against the barrier between them, “Please don’t leave things like this Obi-Wan. I want to understand.”

“I fell like the leaves,” Obi-Wan said softly, “One cell at a time until so many had fallen that one day I realized how far I was gone. It was too late by then but they sensed it. The Sith always sense these kinds of things. I didn’t have much light left in me.”

He lifted his hands so that they were covering Cody’s, “I used the last of that light to save you, dear. You didn’t deserve the life that you were given. I figured out the plot and I knew that I couldn’t let you be stuck in the middle of it. The Jedi were right about one thing.”

“Obi-Wan?” Cody asked, voice weak.

“Love can be dangerously selfish,” Obi-Wan whispered, “And my love for you was the most selfish thing I’d ever done. The idea that you wouldn’t be with me on the other side of the war, it helped me decide. I’ve had a long enough life, forty-six years is a long time. You hadn’t. Now you’ll have a very long time.”

“We could have had a long time,” Cody whispered.

“Obi-Wan-,” Cody started to say.

But the voices were roaring again, and Obi-Wan couldn’t hear anything over the screaming inside of his head.

#better me than you #whumptober2022 #no.29 #star wars #fic #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #codywan fanfic #star wars fanfiction #Turned Sith Obi-Wan #musicsoul1982 whumps

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whumpwizard · 2 years

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Whumptober2022 Day 29: What Doesn't Kill Me...

Sleep, at this point, was the enemy. Alucard had to do everything he could to stay awake, or he would risk losing Trevor. Trevor, the idiot, who had switched their poisoned glasses to prevent a priest from killing Alucard, not knowing that the vampire was immune to poison anyways. By God, he was an idiot most days. Still, idiot or no, Alucard had to make sure he lived to see tomorrow. If he didn’t Sypha would make sure he joined him the grave.

Alucard could feel himself nodding off, it had been over 24 hours since he had managed a bit of sleep, and his body was starting to shut down. Many people didn’t think that he even needed sleep, but his mother’s human blood still ran through his veins, and that gave him certain weaknesses. Weaknesses like the floaty feeling attempting to drag him under, pull him into the comforting current of dreams that would feel so, so nice right now. So nice….

“No!” Alucard shouted aloud, startling out of his near doze. Trevor started alongside him, jumping from his own nap.

“Jesus, you scared me.” he said, before delving into another coughing fit. He tried to hide it, but Alucard could see the blood that came up when Trevor retched into his cloth. He wasn’t getting any better.

Sypha had gone to the next town over to get medicines, but it was a day’s ride on horseback and she wouldn’t return until tomorrow night. Trevor had to stay alive until then.

“Apologies, Belmont.” Alucard said, pouring himself another drink and resettling in his chair. “Just a bit drowsy is all. You should go back to your rest.” He looked over Trevor’s body, shivering and pale despite the summer heat. He had truly never seen the man look worse. The muscles in his limbs were deteriorating by the minute, it seemed, and every breath was gasping and raspy. His eyes were glassy, distant, as though Trevor could see something far away that Alucard couldn’t.

He was sure he didn’t look much better. The bags under his eyes and the sallowness of his skin were almost certainly enhanced by his lack of sleep, and he could only imagine how disheveled and distraught he must look. He had yanked at his hair and paced for hours the first night, all to keep himself awake, and he had gotten to the point where slapping himself in the face was the only thing that helped. Now, he had turned to drink, taking hits of spicy, peppery infused whiskey from the cupboard in an effort to shock his system. Nothing, really, was helping. Trevor, it seemed, would die whether Alucard was awake or not, and there wasn’t much he could do about it. Still he refused to let Trevor die alone, and so he stayed awake.

“You look a mess, you know.” Trevor said, his voice weak. Alucard laughed.

“And you look like death. Why did you have to take the damn drink, Belmont? I knew the cup was poisoned, and I knew it would barely make me sick.”

“Meh. It was a spur of the moment decision. Better me than you I figured.” He said, trying to sit up. As he did, he wheezed, and Alucard laid him back down.

“Sypha will be back soon.” he lied. “Just…just go to sleep. You’ll be just fine.” Trevor nodded, and did as he was told, laying back down in the plush bed. Alucard sighed, and leaned back. He took another swig of the spiced booze, but it did nothing. All he could do was pray that God didn’t hate him enough to take Trevor away from him, too.

#whumptober2022 #no.29 #better me than you #sleep deprivation #castlevania netflix #fic #poison #medical whump #caretaker #whumpee #whump tag #whump prompts #whump #whump drabble #alucard tepes #trevor belmont #trevor is an idiot but that's why we love him

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clintbartonruinedmylife · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 - Day 29

What doesn’t kill me... - “Better me than you.”

“The heck are you doing?” Tony hissed when the kidnappers had left them alone. They had locked him and Clint, his new bodyguard, into a dark chamber somewhere in a basement.

“What do you mean?” Clint asked and glared at his boss. His hands were tied behind his back, just like Tony’s.

“You are provoking them, that’s what I mean!” Tony snapped.

It was awful. Pepper had said he needed a new bodyguard because… Happy was good, but Happy was Happy. She said he needed someone more professional and so she had hired Clint, an ex-soldier, to be his new bodyguard.

And that they were in this situation now, well, Tony hated to admit it, but it was entirely his fault. He had tried to get away from him when they were at a gala, just out of spite and to get one over on Pepper. The end result was that some guys had used this chance to kidnap him but Clint had noticed it, had tried to rescue him and now they both were captured, bound and locked in a basement.

“You do know they wanted to beat you up, right?” Clint said and glared at him. “If you’d’ve listened to me we wouldn’t be here, but now that…”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Tony huffed. “I was an asshole. But why do you try to provoke them? They are going to beat you up if you don’t shut your mouth!”

“Well, better me than you,” Clint sighed. “And I can take it!”

Something inside of Tony twisted because - if he was honest with himself - he didn't want the kidnappers to beat Clint up.

“But I don’t want to…” he burst out before his brain could catch up with his mouth. He didn’t want Clint to be hurt because… because… because he liked him maybe a little bit too much.

“Tony,” Clint said and cast his eyes down for a moment. “It’s my job to keep you safe.”

Tony nodded slowly. Of course it was his job. After all, he was a professional, right?

He didn’t see the pained expression on Clint’s face when he nodded. And the blush.

#whumptober2022 #no.29 #better me than you #marvel #fic #clint barton #hawkeye #tony stark #iron man #ironhawk

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darkthingshappen · 2 years

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No. 29 WHAT DOESN'T KILL ME…

@whumptober

This is a Poster Child story. It takes place in the VERY near future of Connor's story. Connor Lightfoot first made his appearance during The Merry Whump of May in this piece. Chapter 1 of the full story can be found here. The rest can be found on my Masterlist.

Content Warnings for blood and gore and implied violence.

Tags List: @oddsconvert @sparrowsage @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @darlingwhump Let me know if you would like to be tagged or if I forgot to tag you.

Thanks to my whumperful crew that have been cheering me on: @whumpcereal, @oddsconvert, @sparrowsage, and @quietly-by-myself

Sleep Deprivation | Defiance | “Better me than you.”

Connor had hardly slept in the past twenty-four hours with all they’d put him through. But as he marveled at the aftermath of his defiant actions, at the blood on the floor, at the taste in his mouth, at the chaos erupting all around him. He started to giggle - a defiant, hysterical, maniacal laughter that bubbled up from deep within him.

He stared at the Handler Sawyer, curled up on the floor and screaming. Glee and fear mingled in Connor’s mind. Connor knew he was a fucking dead man. But at least he will have died as himself and not some shell of a man, not as a fucking number.

“Hahahahaha. You sick bastard! Better me that you, you fucking asshole. You racist bastard. It’s still better than you deserve you redneck fucker. Ha! Haha! Haaahahahahaaaaa!”

He never saw the blow to the back of his head that cut off his laughter. But as he hit the ground and his shock collar went off, he had zero regrets about how he’d chosen to reclaim himself. He was Connor Lightfoot. No matter what his damn tattoo said. He was Connor fucking Lightfoot, proud member of the Navajo Nation. And he would never let them take that from him.

#whumptober2022 #no.29 #sleep deprivation #defiance #better me than you #OC #original fiction #fic #blood #gore #implied violence #poster child #connor lightfoot #handler sawyer #kidnapping #captivity #BBU #WRU #box boy universe

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much-obliged-timothy · 2 years

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Whumptober #29

Borderlands - #29 - “Better me than you”

“Woohoo!” Gaige cheered as she took out another loader bot. “That puts me in the lead.”

Axton scowled over at her. “Hey, we ain’t done yet.”

“Pshhh,” she said. “You get all hyped dude-bro whenever you take the lead.”

“I do not!” he said defensively, tossing down his turret. “Nah, my girlfriend is gonna help me catch back up.”

“Hear that, DT? The mean, dumb man thinks you’re not as good as his turret,” Gaige said.

DT faced Axton and let out a sad trill. Axton rolled his eyes.

“Yea, yea, sorry,” he said.

He focused on shooting, determined to catch back up to Gaige. They’d offered to clear out a Hyperion facility that was giving a local camp of Crimson Raiders problems. Turning it into a bet made it more exciting, and also meant the potential for one of them to win free drinks when they got back to Sanctuary.

“Hey, hey, do you think Tina will let us play Bunkers and Badasses with her this time?” Gaige said.

“You’re just tryin’ to distract me,” he said. “And no, she never invites me anymore. I pissed her off that one time and that kid holds a damn grudge.”

“I keep waiting for her to put explosives in your bed,” she said.

“Wouldn’t put it past her.” Axton took down another loader, opened his mouth to brag, and reluctantly shut it when Gaige and DT took down another.

An alarm suddenly started blaring overhead, making Axton wince and miss his next shot. He and Gaige shared a look.

“Guess they finally realized we’re here?” he said.

“I think they knew. We probably missed someone and they got away and sounded the alarm.” She grinned and raised her gun. “Bonus round. You’re going down, Ax.”

“Like hell!” Axton threw himself over the cover he’d been behind and charged forward as a wave of reinforcements swarmed into the room.

Gaige cursed at him but followed. The two whirled around the room, a deadly combination of firepower, yelling out their scores as they took down loader bot after loader bot.

It was nice to be able to just let loose. Axton only had to bother keeping track of Gaige instead of all the others, making it much easier to just fire wildly and deploy his turret as he pleased. They’d been so busy lately trying to stop Jack that they hadn’t had much downtime, and it was starting to drag their motivation down.

But he could hear Gaige’s laughter as she got to let loose as well, and it made him grin to himself. They needed this. Mindless violence with no stakes, a competition to keep them going, a promise of drinks tonight.

And things were going well, right up until they weren’t.

The EXP loaders rushed out at them, having been hidden in the back of the swarm. They went off before Gaige or Axton could react fast enough, blowing their shields and sending both of them flying across the room with the force of the explosions.

Axton landed hard, wincing. He tried to get up, his arm aching and burned. He fumbled for a health kit, looking over at Gaige. She was rubbing her ankle, expression scrunched up in pain. Shit, she must’ve landed wrong.

Axton hadn’t even had a chance to inject the health kit he’d found when he realized there was another EXP loader stuck in a corner. It broke free just as Axton spotted it, charging at Gaige.

Axton got to his feet, running for her, his heart slamming as the EXP loader got closer and closer. He had to make it to her. She wouldn’t be able to run on her own, and her shield was still out.

He dove to cover her just as the EXP loader reached them, dropping his turret in the hopes its shield might absorb some of the blow. The explosion tore through the area, sending a wave of agony through Axton as he was caught in it, his turret only shielding him from a bit of the blow.

Gaige sucked in a breath when the room quieted down. She pushed Axton off herself, wincing at the movement.

“You idiot. Are you- Axton!” Her eyes widened in horror.

Oh, no, no. He was bad. He was so bad.

He was covered in burns, skin shredded away on the right side of his body where the explosion had caught him the worst. His breathing was strained and harsh, his whole body trembling with pain.

“Axton,” she said helplessly, yanking her bag off to dig through it for health kits, unsure if it would be enough given his current condition. “Axton, why? You…you…Fuck, Ax, I thought your shield was okay when you jumped on top of me! Why?!”

“Better me than you,” he wheezed out, giving a weak grin. “Knew you’d…bitch about…losing your w-winning streak.”

“Shhh.” She pulled him so he was lying across her lap, injecting the first of the health kits into him. “Just hang in there. Hang in there, Axton. I’m calling the others for help. We’ll get you to Zed and you’ll be fine.”

He had already fallen unconscious, expression pained even when he was out. Gaige grabbed her ECHO.

“Hey, get to me, now,” she practically begged. “Please, Axton is bad and I don’t…He needs help!”

“On our way,” Maya replied back. “ETA eight minutes. Keep him safe until we get there.”

Eight minutes? Gaige frantically looked at Axton’s damaged body. She didn’t know if he could wait that long for help.

But there was nothing else she could do. He was too injured to risk trying to move him on her own. She would just have to give him the health kits she had and protect him from any loaders that came in the room.

“You better hang in there,” she whispered, gripping at a part of his arm that miraculously hadn’t been torn to bits in the explosion. “You owe me a drink, you bastard.”

She gave him another health kit, checked the time, and grabbed her gun as she heard the sound of more loaders approaching. She looked down at Axton, fought off her panic, and stood. She would protect him for the next few minutes while help came. She just had to hope he could stay alive that long.

#whumptober2022 #no.29 #better me than you #borderlands #fic writing #Axton the Commando #Gaige the Mechromancer #jtdoeswhumptober

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lady-wallace · 2 years

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Little Lion Man Part 2: Whumptober Day 29 (JJBA)

The final part of this fic is now here for today’s @whumptober prompt! More Abbacchio and Bucciarati angst ahead.

This one’s too long to post here, so you’ll have to read it through the links, but enjoy the snippet and the art I did for it here. :)

Prompt: “What Doesn’t Kill Me” (defiance, ‘better me than you’)

Fandom: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 5

Character(s): Bucciarati and Abbacchio

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Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

Whumptober Masterpost

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"You should not have done that, Abbacchio," Bucciarati said firmly. "If the others hadn't showed up when they did…" He trailed off and shook his head, jaw so tight, Abbacchio thought he could hear his bones creaking. "You could have died."

"It was better me than you," Abbacchio told him sincerely.

"No, it wasn't!" Bucciarati snapped, voice rising as anger flared up over his face. "Don't say that!"

"Why not?" Abbacchio sighed tiredly. "It's true."

"No one's life is worth more than another—especially mine," Bucciarati added before looking away, clenching his hands in his lap.

That pissed Abbacchio off more than he thought it would. "Why the hell do you value your life so little?" he demanded. "You're the one who insisted that life was worth living when I was at my lowest, can't you take your own fucking advice once in a while?"

"It's not like that, it's my job to see to the well-being of my team first," Bucciarati gritted out. "My own life doesn't come into the equation."

"That's not how the rest of us see it, don't you get it?" Abbacchio's lungs tightened, the pain flaring up again and he had to stop to take a several shallow breaths to try and calm himself down. "Why the hell are you so bent of self-destruction?"

"I'm not. I told you it wasn't like that."

"Then why the hell are we not allowed to protect you, Bucciarati?"

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yourlunarspice · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 29: A Better Hero (Hopefully)

What doesn't kill me makes me a better hero.

What doesn't kill me makes me a better hero, Hitoshi repeated the mantra to himself.

It had been a rough couple of days.

Tags Contain Spoilers