#aitcm

A hand roughly grabbed his hair, forcing him to look up into his eyes, cold and empty with that lovesick smile on his face. That face he'd once admired, counted every freckle as the morning sun illuminated the bedroom, loved the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. Wishing so dearly that he could see it all the time, those moments of affection, almost seeming genuine-

A sharp sting across his cheek disrupted his thoughts. "Some fucking acknowledgement would be nice. What, am I not worth your attention?" Lukas' face now was twisted, lips curled into a sneer, staring down at him with something akin to hatred. Kieran blinked, a pitiful whine escaping his throat. He couldn't do much else. But it was enough. Lukas' gaze softened. "You are beautiful like this," he murmured, trailing his thumb down Kieran's face where tear tracks used to be. "We need to find something that makes you cry again. Then you'd be perfect." His fingers traced his jawline, deceptively gentle, almost tender in their touch. But when Kieran averted his eyes, shame crawling up his flesh their grip tightened, not by much but enough, a warning. Kieran looked back, and the monster smiled once more. Ran his touch across the ball gag like it was a marvel, and Kieran didn't need to know Lukas to know what he was thinking.

"Are you tired of it, angel?" Lukas murmured, in that voice that always struck fear into his heart. "I think it's been long enough. Clean up and come upstairs; I've prepared something nice for you."

It should have been a relief when the gag was removed, but the pain flared stronger as Kieran worked his stiff jaw, wincing as the rope scratched his raw wrists before it fell to the floor. The flimsy plastic cup of water had been sitting on the stand for a couple of days but Kieran drank it greedily, and it tasted of dust and the damp in the warm air, and in that moment he didn't care. He didn't care often these days.

"Twenty minutes," Lukas said from where he stood on the stairs. "While I finish up. Don't be late."

Fuck you, Kieran wanted to say. Fuck you and fuck your stupid fantasy and your stupid act and your fucking face and-

He bowed his head, trembling all over. Carefully placed the empty cup back on the stand, clenched his fists tightly at his sides. Breathed in. Breathed out. Don't do anything stupid. He can always make it worse.

That was motivation enough. He had no survive this, no matter what.

  Superhero mulled this over for a second, then, suddenly—

  CRACK

  The sound of the slap hit her before she felt it; then the stinging pain caught up to her face as her head snapped to the side. Her hand whipped up to cup her cheek, shocked tears springing to her eyes. Superhero’s ring had cut her skin, right above the cheekbone, drops of fresh blood slipping under her fingers like rain on a window over the dried flakes Villain had left. 

  “Do you realise what you’ve done?” he hissed at her. 

  “W-what?”

  “Villain is top of every wanted list in the city. They’ve evaded capture for over a decade. And you think you can waltz in, surprise them and neutralise them forever? Criminals like Villain can’t be kept in a cage. They need to be put. Down.”

  Hero stared at him. “But… we’re not… we don’t…”

  “But it doesn’t matter now,” Superhero interrupted, pinching his brow in exasperation. “Villain’s been processed, there’s no reversing that now. But you,” he gripped her by the collar of her suit, “should have come to me. I am your superior, not the Agency. Understand?”

  Hero quailed under his gaze despite the voice in her head telling her this was wrong, wrong, wrong. “Y-yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever. It’s done now. Dismissed.”

Taglist:

@iwouldmakeherflowercrowns

@labtrauma

@bitten-angel-wings

@aprilisthecruelestmonth

When he came to, he found his wrists tied behind the chair he sat on, and the bright beam of a desk lamp in his face. One minute, he had been huddling in front of the TV in the dark, the next, he was here. What happened in the time that had lapsed in between? His memory was failing him again, ever since that night they had—

From his peripheral view, he noticed a flicker of a shadow, but couldn’t make out the details due to the harsh glare of the light. However, it didn’t take long for him to connect the dots. There was only one reason for him to have an uninvited guest in this stage of his life. He swallowed nervously, but remained resolute. 

“You don’t have to hide,” he began. “I’ve been expectin’ you. I know what’s comin’ for me, lil’ miss.”

“Officer Calhoun… Long time no see.”

Wynter came into focus before him, her tone even and cold. His eyes adjusted to her features, hardly changed since the last time he’d seen her. She’d cut her hair short, and had a jaded grittiness to her that he wondered what she’d been through over the past decades. Yet her icy gaze was the same one she’d given him the night he’d pulled over by her uncle’s car, now coupled with a whetted knife in her hand. 

In turn, she scrutinized his wizened appearance, and the scraggly white strands hanging limply from the crown of his head. He had a sickly pallor, and his skin was mottled with liver spots and deep wrinkles. In him, she recognized a body that was rapidly deteriorating, even more so than a man of his age.

“Jus’ call me Bernard.” There was a tremor in his voice as he spoke. It was hoarse and raspy, as if his throat had been scratched. “Have you been to the house?”

There was an ugly laugh. “This ain’t a courtesy visit. The minute I got into this goddamn town, I could tell you were involved. Your traces are everywhere.”

“Look, I know it’s hard, but you really should head up there.”

The cool bevel of the blade was pressed flat against his neck. He could feel its edge nicking his papery skin, and the trickle of sanguine adding another blot to his grimy undershirt. “You’re gonna make me bleed, ain’t ya, girlie?”

“I’m gonna make you talk,” she countered, her expression hardening as she brought her face close to his level. “And I know plenty of ways to do so.”

“You’re a lot like him, ya know that? The perfect imprint of a coin.” Wynter watched as the man dropped his head and sighed. There was a weariness to him, as if resigned to his fate. “An’ stubborn. So goddamn stubborn,” he added, emphasizing each syllable.

“Now, I dunno what you lot truly are, but I have my guesses. There were men, all mafia-like, comin’ into the picture. I warned him, your uncle, but he said he had it under control. Then, these fellas… They made me work for them, to keep an eye on your family. I dunno how. Jus’ felt like I had to, like my whole life depended on it. An’ there are things I keep forgettin’. Black holes in my memory. Gone. Whoosh.” Bernard coughed and wheezed, his chest heaving, exhausted by his retelling.

Lowering the knife, Wynter stared at him intensely, trying to get a read on his intentions, to find any hint of insincerity, but he had nothing to hide. Mafia-like. The word echoed in her ears. That could only mean one thing: An inside job. Her Family. The Giovanni.

After catching his breath, Bernard continued, “That night, they dragged him kickin’ and screamin’ into the back of a trunk. I jus’ remember your name being thrown around an’ he went batshit crazy. Completely lost his mind, before they took him. The next thing I knew, I was standin’ outside the Chartres Mansion lit up in flames.”

“My parents…” Wynter trailed off as the image of three body bags flashed across her eyes. 

Three. But Bernard mentioned that Lucien hadn’t died there. So, who was the third? His broken apologies snapped her out of her reverie.

“I’m so sorry, girlie, I really am. I—”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” she hissed, pointing the knife at him. “You started the goddamn fire!”

At this, tears breached past his waterline, falling softly into his lap. “I think so. If only I could— I dunno how—” he faltered, unable to finish his sentence.

“Why did they leave you behind? You’re nothing but a loose end. Why didn’t they kill you instead?” she shot in rapid spitfire.

He shook his head in confusion. “I dunno, maybe they didn’t care no more. Maybe they left me as a message for you. Or this is jus’ my punishment, ’cause they figured you’d finish the job. I’ve racked my brains over it, and it still baffles me.”

As Wynter looked on at the frail and haggard shell of a man that Bernard had become, she both pitied and hated him. He was no saint, but she knew what it was like to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and to pick up the pieces without ever understanding what you had turned into. This was no way to live.

“Wynter, please, tell me why am I like this?” he pleaded, lost as a lamb.

When she didn’t respond, he chuckled sardonically at his rotten luck. “Don’t matter, I know I hafta go. I’ve made my peace with it. ’Bout time, to be honest. Jus’ if I may… please, make it quick.”

Did he deserve that? she pondered. Cutting the rope that bound him, she brought over a glass of what appeared unsuspectingly like water. It had been laced with fentanyl, his imminent death made to look like a suicidal overdose. Bernard took it unwaveringly from her into his hands.

“Their blood did this to you,” she offered, and at the same time, internally questioned what possessed her to say it. “They must’ve forced you to drink it at some point, and had the power to make you forget. It changes you, both when you receive it, and when it leaves.”

Bernard nodded somberly, letting the realization sink in. Then, he spoke. “Even after you skipped town, your uncle always talked about how proud he was of you. At every opportunity. He loved you, Wynter, I’m sure you know that. He loved you, and only you.”

There was a twitch in her jaw. Her eyes burned. She was choking and drowning against the weight of it all. Yet she remained silent, observing him like a hawk.

“An’ I meant what I said earlier. Go back to the house if you can. Maybe you’ll find what you’re lookin’ for there.” 

Without further ado, Bernard raised his glass and toasted, “Bottoms up!”

Giving Wynter a wry smile, he downed its contents in one gulp. 

And darkness claimed him.

Now that he’s put some distance in between himself and the cause for such a gash, Alan takes the time to lean himself against the wall and rest for a bit. Is this a bad idea? Probably, since he’ll be losing his momentum, but he can’t afford to keep running around with a bleeding wound either.

And bleed it has, Alan’s suit now sporting a secondary shade of red that isn’t his baldric. He sucks in a breath at the sight. Alan isn’t squeamish, no, being in this line of work doesn’t afford for such a thing. However, most of, if not all the injuries he attends to are those of strangers, and never for long. Emergency responders are usually there to take those in need of medical attention once he’s brought them to safety, and his brothers never let him tend to their own injuries.

But it’s different when he’s the one who is hurt, feeling the way his hand becomes slick and shiny with his own blood, feels the wetness of his gloves against the raw edges of his injury as he presses down to maintain pressure against it. He rolls his head back as a shuddering breath of pain escapes him, followed by a scrunching of his face.

It doesn’t feel good, duh, but even more than that, it’s uncomfortable. Foreign. It reminds him that no matter how much he insists to his brothers that he can take on missions, no matter how many incredible feats he achieves for someone his age, he’s still fragile. A fragile person made of soft skin and flesh.

Okay, wow. Really slipping into dangerous mental territory now. He doesn’t have the energy to reprimand himself for it, though, especially when he knows part of the reason he’s thinking this way is because of the pain making him slightly delirious. Delirious and strangely introspective, he guesses. Oh no, is he dying? Don’t people get all introspective and philosophical when they die slow deaths?

Scott is seriously going to kill him.

A loud bang followed by various other noises echoing through the abandoned halls of the moon base has Alan jolting in place, pushing off of the wall he was slipping down. Right, evil space pirates chasing him. He should get a move on.

Except he barely makes it to the end of the hall when he hears a door slide opened, followed by a voice.

“Alan?”

He freezes. For a moment, he worries his probably slowly dying brain is playing tricks on him, that the sound of John calling his name is nothing more than a hallucination. However, a slow turn reveals to him no such thing.

John’s here. He’s here, the orange of his uniform interrupted by the yellow of his repaired and improved Exosuit. The others’ face tightens at the sight of Alan’s midsection, his bright aquamarine eyes flashing with worry.

Alan doesn’t care about any of that, though. How can he when, all of a sudden, he feels an immense weight come off of his shoulders? Without warning, a small sob escapes him.

“John!...”

He does his best to run to the other. It’s not a very good attempt, about as much as a hobble as his walking has been, but thankfully John is there to meet him halfway. The other throws his arms around Alan the second he’s close enough, to which Alan does the same. However, unlike John, he does not loosen his hold when John begins moving him to lay down on the floor.

“Alan, you’re hurt, lay down and don’t–”

“H-How’d you find me?” He asks, unable to keep the waver out of his voice.

John’s frown is light in return, silent for only a second as he debates answering.

“You weren’t exactly hard to track,” John answers quietly, glancing to the ground. Alan’s eyes follow his gaze.

Oh, huh. Yeah, he supposes it’d be pretty hard to miss the path of red droplets he’s been leaving behind.

“Heh… Heheh…”

Alan chuckles at the absurdity of it all. Of leaving behind a breadcrumb trail of his own blood for his rescuer to follow, of having encountered good space pirates before bad ones in his lifetime, of being here on the moon.

So when the switch landed again, across his lower back, it shot like lightning igniting every nerve and he grit his teeth so as it not make a sound. They'd drag it out of him later, to be sure. But right now, he had that little bit of control. He had to hold on to that.

"Easy, Briallen," Vivruh's smooth voice did nothing to conceal his amusement. He wasn't even trying. "We don't want to wear him down too soon, do we?"

Briallen spun around to fling her arms around Vivruh's neck. "No, we don't." She pressed her lips onto his, and Eldwin swallowed a noise of disgust and averted his eyes but not before he made contact with Vivruh's, who did not break the kiss but Eldwin could see the smirk dancing in his eyes, as he ran his hands across her body, groping her ass. The switch clattered to the floor, a breathy moan escaping Briallen. They did not separate as she led Vivruh to the huge bed, easily the size of three kings and directly in front of Eldwin, and Vivruh turned Briallen around so he was pushing her onto her back, his hands sliding up her skirt. Eldwin closed his eyes and turned his head, trying to block out the noise-

"Don't look away," Vivruh quietly commanded, even as his attention was on Briallen, slowly untying her corset, deliberately drawing it out. "I want you to watch. Take it all in."

There was a warning in there. There always was. Eldwin dragged his gaze back up toward them, revulsion crawling up his flesh leaving deep marks as it clawed its way through, revulsion for them, for himself. He involuntarily jerked, his body recoiling of its own accord and the chains were muffled in the background but they held him back. He stumbled to maintain his balance, his shoulders nearly pulling from their sockets, he wouldn't be able to support himself when he's let down and he regained his fragile stance, forcing himself to look at them, to watch them, not that there's anywhere better to look, can't block it out entirely.

"Is it okay to leave him like that?" Briallen said with a gasp, her back arching off the mattress.

"He'll be fine," Vivruh murmured, his lips roaming her flesh. "He'll have his turn later. For now, it's all about you."

It wasn't really, was it? Otherwise Eldwin wouldn't be strung up and made to watch them, made to listen to every sound that he's certain they're exaggerating just to make him squirm, aching and exhausted before anything really happened to him. He clenched his jaw, held back the biting remarks, tried to focus on the pain running through him.

You're overreacting. It's not a big deal. Eldwin glared at a spot above the bed, so it hopefully looked like he was watching, and he was, they just weren't the main focus. It was a lot harder to ignore the sounds. Be good, play along, and it will be over faster.

The Riders all flew silently, tension running high as the night dragged on.

After Astrid had calmed down, they had focus on planning how to best rescue Hiccup. Most of it ended up being simply to go dragon blazing this very night as none of those present in the initial mission had liked Ryker's look when Hiccup was taken. The only other detail they had agreed on had been to take with them as much as healing supplies they could carry with them in case their friend needed urgent care before being brought back to Dragon's Edge.

Soon the island came into view and they all got into position with Astrid rubbing Toothless' head when the dragon growled slightly.

It quickly became apparent however that something was wrong.

There was no lights, no boats or any signs of activity of any form. It was as if the place had been deserted.

"Um ? I think I see something in that clearing over there." Tuffnut said hesitantly and Astrid instantly felt Toothless moved beneath her at top speed.

Before long, the group of friends and their dragons landed on said clearing only to stare in helpless horror at the vision in front of them.

Hiccup was on his knees, his head bowed and his arms chained above him on two separate poles though his left one was in a weird angle. They couldn't see his back from where they were but, from the red skin on his arms and shoulders, they doubted it was any better.

But the worst was how he had been stripped of any sort of clothing and they had left his body entirely bare for everyone to see.

Astrid clenched her fists in fury.

She was going to kill Ryker and chopped his body in pieces for what he did to Hiccup.

A whine came from Toothless and they watched mutely as the dragon came closer and licked Hiccup's face.

At first nothing happened but then, the Night Fury's ears perked up as a barely audible moan came out of Hiccup's lips.

And just like that that, the group of friends sprang into action.

"Snotlout and Tuffnut ! I want the two of you to detach the chains and to slowly lower Hiccup's arms back to the ground. Fishlegs ! I want you to take a good look at his back and tell us exactly what we are going to need to treat it." Astrid was under no illusion that it had be spared. "Heather and Ruffnut, once his arms are lowered, I want the two of you to carefully reset his left shoulder. It's most likely dislocated."

Everyone nodded and went to their assigned spot while Astrid kneeled next to Toothless and was about to cup his head in her hands when she heard Fishlegs gasped.

"Oh Thor !"

"What it is Fishlegs ?" Astrid asked, worry creeping up in her tone and she saw the others paused what they were doing to look at the husky young man too.

"His whole back had basically turned into one massive and really bad sunburn. And if it wasn't enough, they whipped him over it !"

Everyone was quiet as they digested the news until Snotlout spoke up.

"There is a jar of ointment for burns in my saddlebag that you can use." The young stocky viking noticed the blanks looks his friends were giving him. "What ? I ride a dragon who can set itself on fire. Of course I keep something for burns close if I ever needed it !"

Fishlegs just sighed before going to get said ointment along with a salve to treat the wounds from the whip while the others went back to their task and Astrid return her focus on Hiccup.

"Hiccup ? Can you hear me ?" Astrid only got another indistinct moan. "Don't worry. We're here. And we are going to take care of you." There was a small sob and Astrid positioned herself so Hiccup could lie on her chest with the top of his head resting against the crook of her neck only to flinch when she felt how warm his skin was.

"Oh crap ! We need to hurry with the first aid and bring him back home. He most likely has a really bad infection." The young woman looked at Tuffnut who, along with Snotlout, had finished lowering Hiccup's arms. "Tuff, you are taking Heather's place and will help your sister with Hiccup's shoulder. Heather and Snotlout, since you two have the fastest dragons after me and Hiccup, you are going to fly back to the Edge as fast as you can and prepare the Clubhouse for our arrival."

Heather nodded while Snotlout went as far as saluting her before running to their dragons and taking flight.

Astrid then turned to look at the Twins and nodded at them. The young woman hold her closest friend while the Twins put back his shoulder in place. To their distress, Hiccup scarcely reacted when he should have screamed in pain.

"So... what else can we do ?" Ruffnut asked in a small voice which was very unlike her. From the way her and Tuffnut were fidgeting, it was obvious they wanted something to do to distract them from the state Hiccup was in.

Astrid unfortunately was drawing a blank but, luckily, Fishlegs came to her rescue.

"Why don't the two of you build a stretcher big enough for Hiccup and another to stay with him during the flight back. With the current condition of his back, it will better if he stays lying down for it."

"Ask and you will receive my dear friend. Soon you will have the best stretcher one could ever ask for !" Following Tuffnut's declaration, him and Ruffnut went to work the other dragons (minus Toothless who stuck by Hiccup's side) helping them.

"Astrid ?" The young woman turned to look at Fishlegs who was kneeling behind Hiccup, ready to apply Snotlout's ointment on their friend's back. "Maybe you should pat his head and his lips with a wet cloth. The chances of Hiccup being badly dehydrated are pretty high."

"Okay." Astrid answered simply in a small voice.

"And Astrid..."

"I know Fishlegs. I know." She said cutting him and sharing a disheartened look with him.

As she got to work, Astrid thought back as how surprised they had been that the hunters had deserted the place before they arrived and now, she knew why.

They had left Hiccup to die expecting him not to survive before they found him. Or for him to be in a too much bad state to make it.

Which, sadly, seemed to be likely the case but...

Hiccup had defied the odds more than once before.

(Even his birth and first months of life had been such a situation.)

She knew he was stubborn enough to make it again.

And they will do everything to make sure he does.

Because he wasn't just their leader or their friend.

He was family.