#febwhump

Day Five: Survivor

Hunger - If you’d rather read on AO3

Rating: Gen | Word Count: 818

Summary: Jason can’t taste Nectar anymore, but it’s worse than that. And he can’t shake the hunger that’s been dogging him.

—

Jason was hungry when he took his place at the table in the mess hall. Jason was always hungry these days, but eating never seemed to help.

He stared at his empty plate unenthusiastically as the rest of the seven settled around the table beside him. They all seemed eager to eat, as usual. Jason watched surreptitiously as various meals materialised on the plates around the table as they made their selections in turn. His gaze flickered unappetisingly back to his own empty plate. He could not think of anything to summon for himself.

Jason knew that he had to eat, if only to keep up his strength over the quest. He needed it now more than ever with the curse from Michael Varus’ sword gnawing away at his soul. Jason’s fingers brushed faintly against his chest where his bandaged wound remained. The curse seemed to be as ravenous as himself.

Jason made sure to eat when he was supposed to, or at least once a day. As long as he wasn’t too tired, or if there was somebody around watching closely enough to remind him. But nothing had any taste anymore.

He wasn’t quite sure when it had happened. It had been a shock to him after his run in with the suitors to find that Nectar no longer had any discernible flavour to him. It tasted like sawdust in his mouth. Jason had been left with the startling realisation over the following days that he hadn’t been able to taste much of anything anymore. These days, he ate mechanically; only for sustenance. There was no joy in it.

Jason didn’t remember much about his life, but he had remembered brownies from his favourite bakery back home in New Rome. He remembered that that was what Nectar had used to taste like for him. He could still vaguely remember their flavour, but even the memory of their taste was dull and fading. They used to make him happy. And now he couldn’t taste them anymore. The realisation had initially made him want to cry, but now he just felt dull and heavy. Why didn’t it make him happy anymore?

Around him, the others had begun to eat cheerfully, trying, as ever, to keep their spirits up. Jason kept his eyes downcast, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. He stared at his plate some more. He couldn’t think of anything he might like, so nothing appeared. That had been happening more often lately.

The hollow pit in his chest widened another fraction, and swallowed a little more of what was left of him. It had started with the holes in his head that Juno had so carelessly punched into him. They had allowed a void to open up inside of him and now he was collapsing in on himself slowly like a dying star. Jason wasn’t sure how long he had left before he’d crumple in on himself completely.

The wound in his chest twinged again and he grimaced quietly at the discomfort. He remembered Michael goading him to choose, Greek or Roman. He remembered the nightmares Gaia fed him each night, Greek or Roman. Jason didn’t know why they were so worried abut him choosing a camp. He was more worried about if he were still alive, still a person, still Jason Grace. He felt numb and disconnected.

Beside him, Leo’s elbow connected gently with his ribs. Jason turned dull blue eyes to him distantly.

“Come on, man, you eating?” Leo prompted cheerfully.

Jason blinked slowly, trying to rouse himself from his introspection. Leo frowned at him, scanning his weary expression.

“Are you alright?”

Jason’s lips curved up slightly into a tired smile. The effort exhausted him. “I’m fine.”

The faint crease in Leo’s brow remained. “You sure? You look like something’s on your mind…”

Jason maintained his weighted smile. “It’s nothing.”

He felt it was an honest enough answer, conscious of the void in his head continuing to gnaw away quietly at his memories, and the sensations of taste, comfort, and happiness.

Leo did not look fully convinced. He motioned quietly towards Jason’s empty plate. “You should eat something. You’ll feel better.”

Jason’s gaze flickered briefly to Leo’s plate and then to his own as the same meal appeared. He was hungry as ever, but he knew eating would not help. It was the flavour he craved. He missed the taste of food, and that continued to elude him. He was starving for something to make him feel something other than hollow.

He picked up his fork and began to pick idly at his meal. Satisfied, Leo let him be, and tuned instead to pick up his previous conversation with Piper. Each mouthful Jason managed settled heavily in his stomach and only served to accentuate the empty feeling he had been carrying around for days now.

Day 1: I Like You Better Broken

Then you’ll love me! I don’t know how much longer I can put on this facade. The mask is chipping off and the broken monster behind is emerging.

You like me better broken? That me will break you.

@stars-hide-our-fires

@rooksshinies

@sweetcreatures-world

And here we are, the final prompt! For @febuwhump day 28: recovery

-x-

Virgil cursed as he tried to reach the cushion. It had slipped from under his propped up leg, but negotiating retrieving it was too much effort. Instead, his upper body just sort of flopped, leaving him more stuck than before, and still with no cushion. 

“Interesting,” an amused voice said from the doorway.  

Virgil looked up and found himself sagging in relief that Scott had at least still got the sling on. With his left leg in a cast, Virgil wasn’t exactly up to chasing his brother around the house to try and make him support his fractured wrist. 

“You gonna help or not?” 

“More curious to see how you’re going to get out of this.” 

“Come on,” Virgil wheedled. “Give me a hand.” 

Scott’s eyes narrowed. “Starting with the jokes already?” 

A/N: When she finally locates Julian after days of searching, Jadzia is horrified by a sudden change. Set in early season 2.

She couldn't believe she hadn't realised it straight away.

In her defence, she had been focused on getting herself and Julian out of the Telodinian camp alive. There hadn't been enough time to assess for any secondary injuries when she'd first discovered him; secretly, she'd expected him to be dead. It had been four days since he first went missing, after all.

Jadzia couldn't say anything at first; part of her was too stunned by the young man's condition. The other part of her was heartbroken that he'd been subjected to such torture when they had originally come to this part of the planet on a humanitarian mission. He came to help, and this is what his reward is…

The barren tent housing him had been left open just enough for the overnight storm to blow through, leaving clumps of melting blue snow scattered around his feet. The rims of his uniform were covered in ice, dried blood decorating sporadic parts of the rest of the fabric. His arms were bound so far above his head that despite being tall for a male human, his toes were unable to touch the floor. How his shoulders hadn't been dislocated, Jadzia had no idea.

"Julian?" She whispered in his ear, delicately touching the skin above his lacerated eyebrow. The lack of warmth beneath her fingertips alarmed her, and she gently clasped Julian's face in her hands. "Julian, wake up."

The young man's eyes fluttered open, glazed over with dehydration and pain. His bruised lips moved weakly, but no sound emerged.

Oh thank goodness, he's alive. "It's Jadzia. We're getting out of here, Julian."

Julian's eyelids spasmed as he fought for consciousness, but he managed to give a blink of acknowledgement before his head slumped forward into Jadzia's hands. She gently released him before

Realising instantly that there was no hope of her reaching above him to untie the rope herself, Jadzia immediately pulled out her phaser and carefully aimed it just above Julian's hands. She couldn't stop herself cringing at the phaser's loud whine as it sliced through the restraint, disturbing their eerily silent surroundings. Come on, come on-

She reacted just in time to stop Julian from crashing to the floor, cradling his limp (and scarily thin) form in her arms. I'll have to speak to him about putting on some weight after all of this…he's far too light for his age.

A loud crash from outside the tent, and she swore quietly. "Time to go, Julian." She ducked underneath his bound hands and pulled them forward enough to keep his shoulders on top of hers - she decided she'd just have to pray that he didn't fall backwards and strangle her - before tucking each leg under her arms.

Without looking back, Jadzia charged out of the tent and headed for freedom.

****

She wasn't sure how long she'd been running through the planet's frozen forests before she felt Julian beginning to stir on her back. It was still at least another eight kilometres to where she had stashed the runabout, but given that she hadn't seen any Telodinians following them from the camp, it was worth the risk to have a few minutes of rest.

They took shelter in an overgrown clearing that hadn't experienced as much snowfall overnight as other areas, which was an unexpected blessing as Julian had recovered enough after a few sips of water to begin shivering.

"I'll trade places if you want," Jadzia had laughed, wiping the sweat from her brow. "I could go for a dip in the snow right now."

She removed the lid from the last bottle of water, tipping it delicately into Julian's mouth, who drank so quickly that most of it ended up washing the dirt and blood away from his chin rather than rushing down his throat. He gaze Jadzia a pleading look as she pulled the bottle away, and she had to fight the guilt building in her stomach. "I don't want you throwing it up before we get back to the runabout. There's no supplies in this kit for an IV line."

Deciding that distraction would help with Julian's dehydration, she turned her attention to releasing his bonds. "I apologise for the unceremonious rescue," Jadzia confessed, putting her fingers to work at the knots around Julian's wrists. "I know it wasn't exactly graceful, but I assure you, no one has to know about being the 'damsel in distress'."

The remark elicited a small smile from Julian, watching tiredly as Jadzia finished untying his hands. As the rope fell away to reveal chafed and raw skin around his wrists, his eyes narrowed slightly, but otherwise made no comment. Even as tiny pricks of blood began to appear from beneath his skin, he remained silent.

"Oh, Julian…" Jadzia inspected the damaged flesh, knowing from experience that this sort of damage only occurred when the person had been struggling against them for an extended period. "I'm so sorry, I-I came as fast as I could-"

She was interrupted with Julian placing a hand on hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. It was then that she finally realised something was horribly wrong.

Julian is a talkative man. Half the station complains about it…so why hasn't he said anything yet?

Jadzia inspected his face carefully. She couldn't see any signs of strangulation, and he hadn't been gagged when she found him, but she realised she'd have to ask the question. "Julian?"

The young man looked up from his injuries, his eyes widening as he finally seemed to catch on to Jadzia's concerns. He slowly lifted his hand and pointed to his throat, giving a small shake of his head.

The Trill's heart sunk; she was so hoping to have been proved wrong. "Can you speak at all?"

He hesitated before he shook his head sadly. The despondent look in his eyes told her the rest of his answer: Believe me, I tried.

Before Jadzia could ask any questions, he tilted his head back and mimed something dropping into his mouth.

Despite his attempts at clarifying the situation, all it did for Jadzia was raise more questions. "They made you eat something?"

He shook his head and mimed the action again.

"…They gagged you with something?"

His hand made an unsure gesture; Jadzia guessed he meant it was close enough. She watched as he resumed his pantomime, repeating the first gesture before placing one hand over his mouth while he wriggled the second's fingers in front of his throat. After moving his hands away, he made the action of attempting to speak before slouching in defeat.

I should get Benjamin to teach me more about human body language after this.

"While it's wonderful acting, Julian, I'm sorry but I don't fully understand what's happened to you," Jadzia admitted quietly.

She watched intently as he stretched out a trembling and bloodstained hand, frowning as he attempted to scratch some letters into the dirt in front of them. The soil was stiff and unmoving with the early morning frost, but the doctor persisted despite the pain it was causing to his hands.

When he'd finished, Julian collapsed against the tree behind him, the effort having taken its toll. It took Jadzia a second to interpret the scrawled letters: ORGANIC MATERIAL? VOCAL CORD PARALYSIS?

"Was it a once-only treatment?" Jadzia asked tenderly. "Or did-"

Julian shook his head mutely, holding up three fingers.

The Trill wasn't sure how much further her heart could sink for this poor man. Her voice was gentle but soft as she spoke. "They did that to you three times?"

Julian's eyes were uncharacteristically wet as he nodded. His eyes widened as he leaned forward and grabbed the bottle of water, swallowing so fast that he couldn't stop until Jadzia had to physically rip the ration pack away from him. "Not too fast, Julian. I'm sure you're aware what happens when you rehydrate too quickly."

The doctor's cheeks reddened with embarrassment. He tucked the blanket tighter around himself

"Let's get you home, first. Then we'll worry about everything else," Jadzia rose to her feet, scrambling to close the ration kits. "And don't argue with me about walking, because you're in no state to be doing either."

Jadzia deliberated ignored his mouthed protests as she lifted him onto her back, pulling his arms around her neck. "Can you hold on, Julian?"

DAY 27: POST-VICTORY COLLAPSE

Fandom: Star Wars

Rating: T

Warnings: mention of death, character death, panik attack, war

Pong Krell is dead.

Pong Krell is dead and Rex's instincts kick in. He begins to think about the procedure: he would have to write a report, the Council would probably want him to testify, (surely a lot of paperwork was ahead of him), he would have to tell Anakin and Ahsoka about what happened…

It is this what makes his train of thoughts stop.

He hadn’t thought about his General and his padawan since that moment. What would he tell them? Anakin would be furious of course, and Ahsoka will be too, but also worried about them. Anakin had only been away for a few days, and this happened. It was not his fault, obviously, but to Rex’s surprise, he finds himself blaming his general nevertheless.

He had abandoned them, left them in Krell’s hands. He went away and this happened.

“There was no way he could have known”, the rational part of him tells him.

“He is a Jedi, he should have known” the impossibly hurt and damaged part of him tries to justify. And it’s a part of him he knows it will never heal, not completely, so Rex listens to it because it is louder. Pain is always louder.

He knows it is not Anakin’s fault, but he is their general and he wasn’t there when they were being massacred. When they were being used as toys in an imaginary war. “Maybe it was the will of the Force” the voice says, ironically, and Rex hates that it sounds like Anakin’s.

“Maybe you deserved this” and now he can’t tell if it is his general’s voice or his own.

All the memories he had been trying to keep away are right there, ready to haunt him, and he can’t run away because the voice is too loud.

He stops feeling the ground under his feets, or his surroundings, or even his body.

He sees them, all of his fallen brothers. He is familiar with death but they didn’t deserve this,, dying for a mere game, for Krell’s amusement. He sees Waxer. He had died by the hands of one of his brothers. Damn it, he could have died by his hands even, he could never know.

“He told us they were wearing our armour”

The pain in his eyes will be forever carved in his soul, his pain was his pain too.

“You have killed your brothers” the voice says.

He hates autocompassion, but the voice is too loud.

He hears gunshots, and he knows each one means one more of his men, his brothers, is dead. He yelled to stop firing, he shouts it now once again, or so he thinks, because the voice is telling him it is not enough, Krell’s plan has worked, he has fooled you, it’s your fault.

The voice is too loud.

- Capitain?

“You have killed your brothers. It’s your fault”

He blames Krell, Anakin, the Jedi, this war, and yet there's nothing it can be done about it, and that thought is even worse than all his hate and loss.

“Capitain”

Someone or something touches him, and he snaps back to reality. With his anger making his blood boil, he reached for his guns. No one will ever hurt him or his brothers again. They will have to go through him.

Before shooting, he looked at who was before him, with his hands up, palms facing him, showing there was nothing on them.

“Kix”

Terrified, he puts the pistols down. All he could think of was his brother, kneeled down next to the wounded men, healing them, talking to them, comforting them.

-I’m… I’m sorry… I- I don’t know w- what…- he made himself say, even though he still doesn’t feel his body and all he can see are dead bodies.

-It´s okay- he cut him, which Rex thanked, because he had no word to explain what had happened.

Apparently, Kix had.

-A panic attack. It’s quite common after traumatic events, just as the one we all just lived. Don’t worry about it, just listen to me, focus on what is real, it will soon be over I promise…

Rex did focused on his voice, because it was nicer than the one on his head, and started to sense his body aging. It felt uncomfortable at first.

-Just… don’t blame yourself, don’t listen to your guilt, okay?- Kix continued.

Rex wondered how many times Kix had felt guilty when one of his patients died, or how many times he had had a panic attack. He guesses far too many. His advice had described what he had felt too accurately for it to be casual.

Rex began acknowledging his surroundings past Kix and himself, hearing more than just his pain and anger, and feeling his body completely.

The wounds were still there, the part of him that was forever destroyed.

So he just collapses. He falls to his knees and he is crying, begging, and falling apart.

Kix touches him again, hugging him, but this time it doesn’t matter.

He has failed his men because too many are dead, and he is failing them again by not being strong, by crying his eyes out for what he has lived, for what he has to remember forever.

But he can’t stop because it is his fault, he knows it, and nothing could ever make him change his mind.

link to my ao3 work

DAY 24: "i'm doing this because i care about you" ALT 10: last man standing

[from Who am I (to disappear))]

Maybe he didn't think it through.

Possibly.

Just, you know, the tiniest bit.

Drugging all the baby heroes to sleep, using aerosol, was a brilliant idea. He'll give it to himself.

Also using his old codes.

Which, honestly? He didn't really think it would work.

Still: great execution. Pun might be intended.

Anyway.

Kid obviously still up in the kitchen, probably working on the post-mission report or some other bullshit.

( The best thing about being dead? No. Fucking. PAPERWORK .)

Sitting with a mug of coffee and

(Is that Zesty? The kid really mixes those poisons together? 

Nuh, of course he would. Like the sleepless workaholic bird he really is.)

They talk, and he already prepared some FUCKING AWESOME monolouge. Vicios and snob and all that. And he beats the kid. Bat won’t take it seriously otherwise. Kid fight as good as he gets.

And then there’s something—

( the worst part? he doesn’t even remember what )

and the Green is all he sees, and–

(No. The worst part is when he sees a bleeding head full of black hair. The worst part is seeing a body, lay down in the bottom of the staircase, as the blood spread around. The worst part is knowing that he did it. That he's just like that fucking clown.)

His alarm beeps. Someone’s trying to enter via Zeta-tube.

(He can’t help tha kid. 

Because it’s a goddamn kid, Jason. 

What’s wrong with you?)

He can’t help the kid, but maybe someone else could?

He release the block he put on the Tubes, and head to the transport room through the secret passage in the walls.

He can't even remember how he got back to Gotham. How he made it to the safehouse. 

All he knows is washing his hands in the rusted sink and staring at a shattered mirror he still sees the abyss and the monsters is inside, now, and his fist–

And everything is red, red, red round him.