#the begging and pleading. turning into almost a manic glee when he seems to get a response | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jasmines-library · 4 months

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batfam with the youngest robin (prob 12-13) who gets kidnapped by the joker during a mission and a year or so later the joker reveals the kid who is now brainwashed to be the joker jr

i was thinking like maybe how they’d react and maybe that they can rescue y/n and un-brainwash them and like comfort them and stuff

if not that’s fine i don’t mind!!! i can also like explain better if needed lol

The Stranger In The Mirror.

Note: You guys literally send in the best requests, I took inspo from Batman Beyond where this happens to Tim but I also added my own little twists as always.

Warnings: Torture (graphic), brainwashing, manipulation, drugging, breakdown basically hurt not comfort (poor reader is going through it all in this one.)

Word count: 2.5k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

“Help! Somebody please!”

You heard the cry before you saw what was happening. A female voice begging desperately for help, pleading for mercy as the two men backed her against the wall of the alley. They stalked towards her menacingly and you could see the way her face contorted with a fear that gripped her so tight as she moved feebly in an attempt to get past the two men. But they were large and between them took up most of the alley so that it was nearly impossible for her to slip past, and even if she did they would be on her in a second.

Using your grappling hook to secure a line on a nearby railing, you propelled yourself down from the rooftop. Before your feet hit the floor, you took the crooks out with a well placed blow that sent them crumpling to the ground like a sack of flour. Resheathing your hook, you turned to the woman.

“Are you alright, Miss?”

She smiled, looking at you from under the brim of her hat with an all too familiar smile “Much better now you’re here.”

A brief flash of recognition crossed over your face, obscured by your mask as you realised who those brown eyes belonged to but you had no time to act on it before she hit you on the back of the head. Hard. With a manic laugh.

“Night night, Birdy.”

When you awoke, you were laying on something cold. A piece of metal that you had been bound to by ropes that burned against your wrists and feet as you struggled to free yourself. The table was tilted at an angle that allowed you to squint against your throbbing head to take in your surroundings. The room you were in was well lit and seemed surprisingly sterile given the situation. Strange concoctions of colours that made you grimace hung on the walls and bubbled away in tubes on one of the many workbenches across the room. The tools made your stomach churn. But then you saw him.

Perched all high and mighty in a chair opposite you the Joker had sprawled himself out across a chair, flashing you one of his sickening, signature grins.

“Hiya, Birdy!” He stood with glee, making his way over to you with a spring in his step-almost like he was skipping.

“Why the hell am I here, Joker?” You spat at him, baring your teeth.

“Can’t a guy just hang out with his favourite vigilante?” He mused, turning away from you as he began organising things on the desk that you couldn’t see, you tugged in the restraints to try and catch a glimpse of them.

“Cut the crap.”

“You all really are no fun.” He rolled his eyes “Not to worry that’ll all change soon when I morph you into the perfect weapon. Me.”

“What?”

“Well, what’s better than one of me? Two of me. And you little bird, know all the ways to destroy your pesky family.”

“I’m not going to tell you shit.”

He shrugged, turning back to you with a pair of jump leads in hand. “We’ll see.”

Walking towards you with a grin he attached them to the table before reaching towards the dial. You thrashed desperate to break free but the ropes securing you in place allowed no leeway for you to move. When his fingers brushed the dial and the voltage came flooding through the wires, you let out a blood curdling scream. The pain was everywhere as your body arched, twitched and writhed against the rope. It burned at your skin, drawing blood and forming blisters against your wrists and your ankles. When the current finally stopped and you fell slack against the restraints your diaphragm jerked and spluttered against each pain filled gasp.

“Are you ready to talk now?”

They realised very quickly that you were missing. You hadn’t returned home after your patrol. They tried not to let the worry get the best of them, but this was Gotham. They waited, watching the seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, but there was no sign of you. You were gone.

Everyone was on high alert. For three, agonising weeks they searched every inch of Gotham, using every possible connection they had but no one found any leads. Tim was growing frustrated, hacking into every database he could find as Bruce and the other boys scoured the city. But you were gone without a trace. That was until one tedious Wednesday morning, the batcave received an urgent call.

Your head was fuzzy. Whatever the Joker had dozed you with this time was really taking a toll on you.

Your head hung low resting against your chest as you breathed slowly, trying to push away the fuzziness in your brain. Your entire body had grown numb; now too used to the pain it had been put through, too weak to hold yourself up as you lay slack against the table and although all dosed up now you may not be able to feel anything, you would never be able to forget the endless torment he had put you through; that would forever be etched into your mind.

The screams still seemed to ricochet off of the walls, burying themselves into each crack just to resurface once it went quiet. The feeling of your skin being torn apart still lingered, the pinch followed by the burn as the Joker slashed you with his weapons, screaming at you to tell him all that you knew about Batman. Of course, you refused at first. Oh how you were so brave trying to hold your tongue. But you couldn’t help the screams that ripped from your mouth and left your throat raw and soon when they layers of your mind had been peeled away by the cruel hallucinations he put you through with his serums and his words, you soon began to crack; your fragile body unable to take anymore of this torture.

Your wrists had been burnt red raw; the trails of blood tracked down your arms and mixed with dirt and blood, showing where it had beaded down your forearms as you struggled. Burned with tears your anguish was clear amongst your struggle and you were pretty sure that you had at least three broken ribs and four missing fingernails. Maybe more.

But you were growing to like the pain somewhat. Because it meant that you were still alive. It meant that your family was on your way…or… had they stopped looking for you.

The Joker's cruel words rang through your hazy mind. He had told you about the video he had sent to them. How there was no response. They didn’t care. None of them did or you would have been home right now. He had injected you with something as he said it, but you swatted off the prick of the needle as though it were a pesky mosquito bite.

“Soon,” He told you as the drug settled into the numbness of your body. “You will realise that I am helping you. That I am the only one that cares for you. Not Batman. Not any of those pesky Birds. Me.” he hovered in the doorway just before he left. “I’ll be back, Junior.” Junior. He had stopped calling you by your name recently.

And as much as you didn’t want to agree with the man who had put you and your family through so much…you were beginning to believe it. The Joker had dragged you away from a life cycle of patrol and ending crimes. He was giving you a place to stay when your family had so clearly given up on you. The Joker had confided so much in you in your time together that you felt like you almost knew him personally. And it had made you think that… he was misunderstood. Lonely. Much more similar to you than-

No.

No. No. No. You shook the thoughts from your head. ‘They’re coming.’ you told yourself. ‘But…’

Your mind was fighting itself now, conflicted between what you knew and what you were being told. Fighting between your family and the man who stood constantly before you. It fought until one side finally inched free and you realised something.

The Joker.

The Joker was right. He was helping you.

When he returned to you that night, you greeted him with a dumb smile. He was glad to see that his plan had worked. That he had broken you down enough to mould you into exactly what he wants.

He grinned manically. He could now move onto phase two: training you to kill The Bat. This stage would be considerably easier. You already knew Batman’s weaknesses; you had admitted that during one of the electroshock sessions. He just had to convince you that Batman was the real enemy. The only thing left to do besides that was lure him over to you. Which should’ve been easy enough.

Tim shot up from his seat the moment your face flashed up on the screen. Somehow, someone had overridden the computer’s controls and he was now staring at your bloodied and beaten face lolling against a metal table.

“Bruce!” Tim cried, scrambling to grab the attention of his father.

Bruce had never moved faster across the cave than he did to reach Tim, his stomach dropping when he saw the screen, with him came the rest of his sons who too were alerted by the shout.

Tim didn’t have to say anything else as they all gathered around to look queasily at the screen. You weren’t moving as the live stream played and this only worried your family more, but then an all too familiar green hair came into frame walking towards you menacingly.

Bruce felt sick when he saw you flinch and try to squirm away from the Joker’s touch.

“Smile for the camera.” He said, gripping your hair so that they could see your face. You blinked slowly permanent tears scarring your face amongst the blood and dirt.

“I hope you’re watching Batsy. You’re about to see the end of your little bird.”

Dick, who bit his lip anxiously as he observed instinctively gripped Damians shoulders and tried to push him away as the Joker reached for the dial again. They saw your body react despite its weakened state; legs kicking and trying as you tried to scramble away. But Damian refused to leave, especially when his little sibling was in this state. It was horrific, but he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from the screen so he watched shell shocked. That was until your first scream cut through all of them and he turned away. Dick pulled him close as he screwed his eyes shut and Jason clenched his fists.

“Tim.” Bruce ordered “Turn it off. Find a signal.”

“I’m trying.” He said “But…there is no signal and something is overriding the controls.”

Bruce ran his hands through his hair until after an agonising few minutes, your screams stopped.

The Joker moved swiftly for a syringe which you didn’t even react to as he injected it into your system. Not good.

“They’re not coming for you, birdy. They don’t care.” The Joker taunted before turning back towards the camera. With one manic laugh he gave a final bow and the signal fizzled out.

The five of them stood there in complete silence. All silent. Most angry. Most heartbroken.

“Suit up. We don’t stop until we find them.”

By the time the vigilantes arrived, you were ready. Poised on the top floor of Arkham’s abandoned asylum cafeteria.

You had seen Batman arrive, sauntering furiously into the open room to where Joker had positioned himself. You had seen the other four sneak in too, wrapping themselves around the room and slinking throughout the asylum in search of you.

Once Joker had riled up the Bat enough to send him on a chase to him around a loop of the asylum, you jumped down from the bannister with a conniving grin.

“I know you’re all in here.” You laughed. And soon, one after the other your brothers appeared from the shadows gawping at the stark contrast of your appearance. You were skinnier and clearly injured from head to toe, but what struck them the most was the purple and green that the Joker had donned you in.

“R…” Red hood warned as he stepped toward you. “We don’t wanna hurt you. We just want to take you home.”’

You raised your weapon. “Liar!”

“No kid. We wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.” Red Robin said.

“You left me. You didn’t come back for me and you left me here to rot!” You gritted your teeth.

“That’s not true. That’s the joker talking.” Damian.

“He is helping me! He is helping me reach my full potential- I am already so much more than I was before.”

You raised the pistol. It was loaded and you knew that it would do damage. That was the intention. And that's what you were going to do. You were going to take them out one by one until they get what they deserve-

“R…” Dick said as you raised the gun your finger inching towards the trigger. “You know us Little Wing. We’re your big brothers.”

You moved swiftly, dodging them as they moved closer in sync. One of them reached out to try and grab you, but you gripped his arm and threw him over your shoulder. The five of you tussled until everything paused when Batman burst back into the room.

Your gun was pointed at him in an instant, locking in on him as you readied your stance and poised your finger on the trigger. no one said anything. No one even dared to breathe. Bruce just looked at you from behind his cowl as you grinned at him, sickeningly mirroring the villain who appeared behind him sending him keeling to the ground. You laughed.

“Do it.” Joker urged.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Your hand trembled as you looked down at him pleading at you. He looked so…vulnerable. And your mind screamed at you. Wrongwrongwrong. You were torn again. This was Bruce…your father. Your family. Your enemy-

“Do it, Junior.” He pressed. Your lip trembled.

Do it. No. Do it- You wanted to scream.

“R.” Batman uttered one single letter.

You pulled the trigger. No one moved. A cry of pain rang out across the room. The Joker dropped to the floor.

You let out a sob and dropped to your knees realisation catching up on you. A pair of arms wrapped around you and pulled you to their chest as you completely broke down.

“It’s okay Y/N. It’s okay. We’ve got you now.”

Everything hurt. Everything was so disgustingly wrong. You had tried to kill Bruce- you had given away your secrets… you let out an unholy sob.

“Shh.” Jason cooed. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean it.”

“Everyone is okay, Little wing.” Damian promised, taking your bloodied hand gently and tracing circles across the back of it. “We can fix this…”

Batfam Taglist:

@aestheticdaisies

@hell-o-kittys

@xxrougefangxx

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aurorarose · 4 years

Text

a true king;;

F E A T U R I N G : stefan capulet (with guest appearances from his parents who don’t have a name (lol) and leah capulet)

T I M E F R A M E : 1991 - 2011

S Y N O P S I S : try as he does to be the king his kingdom needs, stefan forever struggles with what that truly means.

T R I G G E R S : implied verbal abuse

N O T E S : i’m sorry for this but these family trees really got me MESSED UP OVER HERE

According to your father, a true king is one that makes the right decisions even in the most difficult of circumstances.

You’re sixteen at the time. ‘Just a boy,’ as your mother insists whilst scolding him from across the table, and while you’d usually be the the first one to whine and insist that she stop treating you like a child, you feel like a child in that moment. He towers above you, pacing back and forth across the length of the dining hall and clearly incensed after having to witness his son being brought home by the scruff of his neck by the head of his guard and hear the stories of how he’d been found trying to sneak off into the Moors in the early hours of the morning. Every little bit of scolding and shouting and anger hurled your way feels like a new shot of ice right in your veins, and even in spite of your pride you find yourself flinching and wincing each and every time. She’s right - you’re nothing but a child in that moment, reduced to a shivering mass sunk into cushioned back of your seat.

He tells you this sage piece of advice after nearly twenty minutes of verbal barraging have passed, his wide, ring-encrusted hands slamming against the glossy mahogany of the table separating the two of you as he leans menacingly closer. There’s a glint in his eyes that you’ve never seen before - one of an almost manic excitement shrouded by fury - and those very words seem to reverberate in the air in the long silence that follows his statement.

It’s obvious to you then that he knows exactly what you’ve been doing in the Moors. Fraternizing with those beasts - the fairies and pixies and golems and everything that your entire kingdom seemed to despise with such a passion. With Maleficent, foreign and menacing and yet beautiful in a way you’ve never known before. It’s been years that you’ve known her, but even you can’t help but wish you’d never met her while under the weight of your father’s gaze.

It feels like a decade has passed before he speaks again, but when he does, his voice lowers into a near murmur, his weight shifting forward to ensure that the two of you are eye-to-eye. “It’s time for you to make the right decision, son.”

You find yourself alone ten minutes later with the weight of an ultimatum sitting heavy on your shoulders. In theory, it should be an easy decision: Maleficent or the crown. And yet, no matter how you try, you can’t seem to reconcile it. On one hand, you know that choosing to follow the orders laid down by your father would mean hurting the one person who’d always loved you without conditions. She didn’t care about any of it - the fineries, crown, or title - but about you, and you know without a shadow of a doubt that doing such a deed would inevitably turn her from you for the rest of time itself. Then again, you also knew that there was nothing more important to you than your father’s approval, and with the threat of disownment hanging over your head you’ve found your mind thrown into a sort of blind panic to do whatever he wants.

You debate over it for weeks, sick to your stomach with the possibilities juggling around your skull. You’re not sure you’ve made the right decision even after the deed is done and the threat of the Moors is practically made extinct in one swift power move, but your one comfort is that it has won you the ultimate protection - the crown. At the end of the day, you’d long since decided that power was worth any sacrifice, and no matter how much it hurt, you’d continue to chase it for as long as you live.

⚜⚜⚜

According to your wife, a true king is one that knows how to show weakness.

It’s stated at the point of pure exasperation, her face twisted in frustration and illuminated by the dim light shining from the opposite side of the room as she pushes herself off of the bed. The way she glowers at you once she’s whirled around to face you once more from a safe few strides away speaks volumes of her state of mind; she’s mad, and you’re the reason for it.

You’ve not been married for more than a month, and yet your marriage already seems to be in shambles. It’s would be funny were you not on the receiving end of her ire, and even so you can’t help but find it foolish of her to have expected any differently out of you. This was no more than a political union, after all - as most royal marriages had been for centuries - and yet she persisted in a hopeless, endless battle to soften you to the idea of her.

You would be lying if you said you expected any less of her. Leah Montaigne, after all, had quite the reputation of her own before she’d ever been named yours. Beautiful, intelligent, and charming... she was everything expected of a queen and more, but you also knew that there was an undercurrent of cunning that ran under it all and a willingness to use her charms to get ahead. It was smart, even you could admit that. Women, after all, were so often seen as weak and emotionally driven, so for her to play right into that stereotype and act the part of the demure ingenue as an act of manipulation was brilliant. You can’t even say it wouldn’t work on you if you’d not been wise to her ways and unwavered by the prospect of romantic love. That concept had been dead to you for years now, and so try as she did to win you over piece by piece, she’d been met with nothing with resistance just as she had just moments ago. Her games weren’t working, and now here she was espousing the values of weakness as if it would somehow sway you.

Leah stands there for a moment, silent as her figure framed by the dimming light of day shining from the window behind her. Her mouth opens as if she’s ready to say something else only to clamp shut once more, and it happens once again, then twice more before she finally finds her words. “You don’t have to love me,” she deadpans, the usually soft timbre of her voice colored with a new intensity he’d never quite heard from her before, “And honestly? You don’t even have to like me if you don’t want to. But you do have to work with me - whether you like it or not.”

Your first instinct is to brush her words off, even as she whisks herself out of the room in the type of hurry that practically screamed that she was more than unhappy with you. That being said, those very thoughts linger in your mind, playing on a feedback loop as if it were some sort of mantra, and slowly but surely the realization dawns on you that you may know your wife, but you don’t know her - not really, at least. You don’t know her hopes and dreams, nor do you know her intentions. Hell, she could be just as averse to the idea of this marriage as you are, and yet she’d done just as she said you needed to... she worked with you.

The change isn’t instant, but slowly but surely the relationship between the two of you develops. It’s not love, nor will it ever be, but it is a partnership and you couldn’t ask for a better woman to be by your side throughout it all. The very same woman is the one who gives you an heir just a few short years later - a beautiful baby girl who shared her mother’s golden hair and your blue eyes - and it’s only when your daughter is born that you finally find enough inner peace to begin to come around to the idea of allowing yourself a little bit of joy.

And then Maleficent came, all fury and flames and fully determined to tear that joy apart piece by piece.

You would’ve been fine with accepting the consequences. The nightmares of what you’d done to her had haunted you for years, leaving you in a constant state of unrest where guilt threatened to eat you alive at any moment. If anything, you’d expected her to strike you dead as soon as you saw that achingly familiar face emerge from the crowd, and you supposed that you deserved what was coming to you. Ultimately, though, she chose a fate worse than death as her personal form of vengeance; instead of taking you as recompense, her attention was turned to something far, far more precious.

The gasps of despair were audible as Maleficent’s curse became fully actualized. Your child - the innocent little babe fast asleep no more than a few feet away from him - would be the one to pay the price for her father’s actions with her own life. For as long as you’d worn the crown, you’d never felt anything more than invincible, but here and now, staring into the eyes of the woman who was singlehandedly able to take everything you loved from you without so much of an afterthought, you felt truly powerless for the first time. Your wife’s words from years prior echo in your mind as if some sort of belated reminder, and without another thought, you do the only thing you can do in that moment: you beg.

It’s humiliating. Here you are, on your knees before your subjects and contemporaries and before her in particular, pleading with her to spare your daughter’s laugh. And god, the look of joy on her face at the vision before her and her concession to take your thoughts into consideration gives you a sense of false hope for a mere moment... until she begins to speak once more. A loophole of sorts - the one thing that could wake his daughter from that century-long sleep was true love’s kiss. The crowd around you seems relieved, but you’re no more comforted than you were before; looking into the wicked glee gleaming in her eyes, you know that she knows as well as you do that true love doesn’t exist and that all efforts were ultimately for nothing. Aurora was doomed, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Weakness ultimately fails you in that moment. And with that, you vowed you’d never allow yourself to be weak - not again.

⚜⚜⚜

According to your advisors, a true king is one that will go to no ends to win a war, no matter the cost.

They’ve witnessed every single moment of the past hour, from the arrival of one of the three faeries he’d entrusted his daughter with sixteen years prior to the moment she broke the news that transferring the girl over to his care that evening was simply impossible - not when the signs of Maleficent’s handiwork remained so evident and unavoidable. They’d also witnessed the aftermath of that very message, his irrational, intense fury that had reduced you to a screaming, red-faced mess as he stormed about the room and insisted that you refused to let the damned woman win after all these years. She’d kept your daughter from you for sixteen years and was now threatening to keep her from you even longer, and that was simply something you wouldn’t stand for.

The faerie had told you plenty of other inconvenient things. For one, the girl remained apparently devastated by the news of her lineage and had been practically inconsolable for hours. It was indicated to you that most of it had to do with some boy she’d met - a peasant, though there was no other real information that could be provided about him - but that ultimately, the girl was still at the cottage, sick with grief as the other two faeries tried in vain to bring her around to the idea. She allegedly didn’t want to come home, which you still find to be completely egregious, if not weak-minded of the girl. She’s sixteen, after all, and practically a woman at this point - she should know better.

Ultimately, however, you don’t care what she wants, nor what she feels. She can cry and wail and bemoan her royal status as a cruel twist of fate for all you care; so long as you could be victorious in keeping Maleficent from having the final laugh, her mental state is of little to no concern.

It’s cruel of you. One advisor tells you as much after voicing such to the faerie and ordering her off to fetch the girl and bring her back to you. The old you would’ve thought so, too - a twenty year old boy-king with the world at his feet and some fatherly obligation to protect an innocent child from facing undue wrath - but after sixteen years spent tracking and calculating Maleficent’s every move, this is no longer a moral fight for you. It’s a war in the form of a chess game, with each person watching and waiting to make the move that would eventually blow the other off the board. Aurora is nothing more than the final pawn in that game, a trophy for you to seize and wave in Maleficent’s face as if boasting that you got her first, and that is a victory you want more than anything else.

It’s a long, terse few minutes spent pacing circles about the room and muttering angrily to yourself before another advisor dares to speak up. The point he brings up is a good one - what good would having the child here do if she was still at risk with every passing moment? Could they feasibly protect her when Maleficent was only growing stronger with every passing moment? It takes plenty of reasoning before he so much as manages to get through with you, but it finally sticks after he utters that phrase to you. After all, she could win this battle all she wants, but you were in it to win the war.

And so, begrudging at best, you make the call. Aurora wouldn’t be returning home that evening, nor would she be staying within the kingdom; instead, she’d be going elsewhere - far enough away that it would be nearly impossible to find her - until he could figure out a way to get rid of that damned faerie once and for all. Granted, the decision comes with some sticky points between making sure the word got to the faeries before they set out to the castle and arranging something with King Hubert to get an extension on the political arrangement that they’d planned sixteen years prior with their own children right at the center, but at the end of it, you know there’s no other real choice for you to make.

Your plans have been dashed, and in spite of your best efforts, Maleficent has managed to gain the upper hand on you. That being said, you know full and well that you won’t rest until she’s gone for good, and you’re willing to do just about anything to ensure you’re the one to get their revenge in the very end.

#tl;dr: stefan capulet is a Bad Man #also this is me yet again saying i would Die to see a maleficent wandering around here pls and thanks #{ self-para }#[ c: stefan capulet ]

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blueroseblaze · 5 years

Text

Wreck: Chapter 1

It was supposed to be just another mission, something you had handled many times before easily. None of you expected it would turn out the way it did. Or how it would effect everyone.

It had been a simple assignment, take out a horde of demons that were terrorizing a city block down town. They were fast, agile, and strong, but it didn’t matter, you three could take them. Nico was in driver’s seat, with you in the passenger side keeping an eye on everyone and taking out any missed targets, Nero stood in the back, impatient to get out there and start kicking ass.

The deeper they drove into the city the more demons took notice to them, charging and slashing the sides of the van. Their massive sharp claws cutting through the metal like paper. Soon the vehicle was covered in screeching, ravenous hell beasts.

No longer able to stay still, Nero flew the side door open and climbed on top to the roof shooting down and slicing at the monsters with an almost childlike glee. He laughed and taunted the demons, confidently goading them to attack him, all while somehow keeping his feet connected to the speeding van.

In his near manic states, Nero didn’t notice the loan demon that had clung to the opposite side of the van. You barely noticed it either, as it ignored the action up top and instead crawled its gangling limbs to your door.

You had noticed the demon in time to dodge it’s massive sword like claws shooting out through the door and window. It raked its claws down leaving huge gashes of metal and upholstery in their wake. You continued avoiding the claws as you tried getting a good angle to put the creature down for good. You elbowed the window, shattering it and momentarily distracting the beast. Long enough for you to aim and put a bullet right in its head.

The demon went limp and slumped away from the van and fell towards the street. It’s claws were still lodged in the door, but the force of the corpse hitting the road and getting pulled away was enough to dislodge them and send the now forgotten threat back down the asphalt. As the creature’s claws were removed from the door no one had noticed that the damage done to the passenger side had greatly decreased the integrity of your door… and your seat belt.

You chuckled to yourself, relieved and proud of your skills as you turned to Nico who regarded you with a smile before turning her attention back to the road.

Nero had taken out most of the demons on and around the van, deciding to have a little fun with them and prolong the battle just a bit more. He looked out at the road ahead, taking note of the road blocks and debris littering the street. He called down to Nico who had headed the warning and started steering to angle the van for a jump. They had done these many times before, Nico was a pro at it at this point, and Nero was one to land on his feet and take full advantage of his movements.

Nico floored the gas pedal as you reached for the safety handle above the passenger window, gearing yourself up for the oncoming stunt. She signaled to Nero her plans and you heard him bang on the roof of the van in response. The van was speeding through the streets as it approached the road blockers and abandoned cars.

Nico cranked the steering wheel to the side as the van’s tire lifted off the ground sending the entire vehicle rolling through the air.

Every loose item in the van lifted off the floor and floated in the air like the gravity inside had just been switched off. The screech of the tires disappeared as you went airborne leaving the static of the radio and the roar of the engine to mask the sounds of hell beasts and gun fire outside. The pieces of glass from the broken passenger window bounced against your skin but not with enough force to break it. Only leaving a prickling sensation on your flesh.

Like the loose knickknacks and empty aluminum cans you also felt yourself lift up higher in your seat. Your grip on the door handle instinctually tightened as you felt the rush of adrenaline flow through your body. As the van careened midair you felt the forces pulling you towards the broken passenger door. You stole a glance at Nico who had looked to you as well. For only a moment you saw her horrified expression, before the momentum ripped you from the van and sent you flying backwards into the air.

You almost didn’t register what had happened, as you watched Nero continue to terrorize the demons on the van’s roof as it moved further and further away. You reached out your hand almost as if you were expecting someone or something to grab it and pull you back into the van.

Your body began to fold in on itself, bracing you for the impact. If only it did more.

The first hit knocked all the breath out of your lungs as you landed flat on your curved back, a shock wave of force rippling through your body. The force of the impact caused your body to spin to its side midair.

The second hit was when you heard the distinct sound of several bones snapping beneath your flesh. Not even feeling it, as your mind was too overwhelmed to even process the pain. Despite this your body acted on its own, curling up even tighter into its protective ball.

The third hit was when you realized just how bouncy humans were as you felt yourself still rise in the air from the ground for the second time. You felt more bones flex and break, but you couldn’t pin point where. Your ribs? Your arm? Your spine?

You began to lose height as you went, your air time decreasing with each hit your body made to the pavement. Unfortunately, your momentum didn’t as you had learned. With each hit to the street, with each bone that snapped under the pressure, your instinctive armadillo like brace for impact loosened, your body unable to keep the tension with each injury sustained.

First it was your arms as they moved away from your torso, going limp when you felt the break in your elbow. The it was your back as each hit knocked more air from your chest. Then it was your leg when you felt it extend, catching the road as your descended back to the ground. But your body didn’t stop rolling and you heard the sickening crack of your leg snapping in half.

After that all was a blur of adrenaline, confusion, and pain. You think you rolled to a stop. All you could remember was landing on your back for the last time, lying flat in the street with your mangled limbs spread out around you. You tried to move but found the effort to only result in excruciating pain. You wanted to cry out but discovered you could barely breathe let alone scream. You tried to breathe but found it more akin to trying to inhale plastic. A disturbing wheezing noise was all that escaped your mouth.

Your vision blurred around the edges and you wanted desperately to close them. To open them again and have this just be a bad dream. To wake up back in the van with Nico teasing you by saying “sleep is for the weak,” or something like that. But instead all you could see were the burning wrecked cars, the demon corpses littering the street, and the blurry silhouette of Nero sprinting towards you, the Devil May Cry van trailing behind him.

Your fingers twitched like they were still trying to reach out. Your eyes followed Nero’s movements. You saw his lips move but there was an intense ringing in your ears that engulfed all other noise. You saw him draw the Red Queen and slash at something out of your view. A splatter of blood exploded around the edges of your vision as you watched Nero discard his sword to the ground and kneel before you. With the closeness, you were able to pick up on his voice. It was soft from what you could hear, conflicting with the look of worry and horror on his face. The ringing in your ears still persisted muffling all other sounds, like being at the bottom of a deep swimming pool, submerged with the pressure pounding at your ear drums.

“(Y/N)!”

You heard your name, though it sounded like someone trying to call to you through a wall.

You watched Nero’s panicked motions as he contemplated what to do. You saw his eyes roam all over your body, his expression growing more and more desperate and scarred with each pass. You couldn’t move your head to see what he saw and even in your shocked state you were thankful for this.

He looked back into your eyes and you felt his left hand stroke and cup you cheek, trying to keep your attention on him. He leaned his face close to you, probably sensing that you couldn’t understand him when he first regarded you.

Even at this proximity the ringing wouldn’t cease, but you could still make out a few words. One of which tethered your attention to reality.

Move.

With what little strength you could muster you tried to move your head and you felt you had defiantly at least sprained your neck in your fall. You could only manage a few side to side movements yet you wondered if that would be enough. You pleaded with your eyes, begging him not to move you, not to even touch you. Nero seemed to understand you pleas, but you saw his face contort into apologetic despair.

“I’m sorry,” he’s said.

Shock waves of agony shot through your body as Nero slid his hands underneath his form. You could feel the broken bones shift within your muscles, stabbing at nerve endings, poking into your skin from beneath. You felt your chest cavity dip in his arms as the pressure he applied while lifting you cause your fragmented ribs to sink deeper into your chest.

Worst of all you couldn’t scream, you tried to, you wanted to. Whether it was the shock, the trauma no doubt done to your lungs, or your slipping consciousness, all you could muster where more high-pitched wheezes and moans. Your bloodshot eye’s widened with every movement as Nero stood and held you to his chest. His touch was gentle. But even a feather landing you’re your skin would have shattered you at this point. Each step he took was careful yet swift. In the moment he wanted to care about your discomfort, but he knew he couldn’t stall. You needed help fast.

Everything blended together after that. He side-stepped into the van and you could smell the familiar scent of Nico’s work station and cigarettes. It was a comforting scent that managed to penetrate through your scrambled pained senses.

You whined when Nero placed you on the couch right next to the door, trying his best to keep the pressure applied to your injuries to a minimum. He slid hands out from under you and kneeled down beside you. You saw him turn his head and regard Nico. Again, his voice was muddled and groggy, but you could still hear it despite the continuous ringing in your head. You don’t know if it was just your fading consciousness, but you don’t remember hearing Nico reply. Only hearing the flooring of the vans engine and the rumble of its body, sending pulses of pain through your whole form.

You felt Nero’s fingers gently run through your hair trying to give some kind of comfort. He leaned in closer to you his lips right next to you ear.

“Just try to rest, okay?” he said. His voice was weak, and you could have sworn there was a quiver, “We’re going to get you help. You’ll be okay.”

He seemed like he was trying to comfort and reassure himself just as much as you.

It felt as if you were finally given permission to close your eyes, to let the world slip away and the pain fade along with your awareness. You felt a hollowness in your chest as you tried to breathe but still could only produce the weak whines and wheezes, punctuated by a few guttural gasps.

You stilled prayed that this was all a bad dream, wanting to be spared from this pain. As your vision faded all the way to darkness you hoped in the back of your mind that if this bodily torture was real, that you wouldn’t wake up.

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