Thank you everyone for participating in Whumpcember! It would greatly help me if you all filled out these forms for the masterlist and feedback! See you all in a year!
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I just wanted to say thank you so much for running this event! Some other these prompts really helped me get through a bad writing slump and I really enjoyed seeing what other people made! Thank you!
Thank you so much! I really appreciate your kind words!
Whumpee laid down gingerly on the hot ground, careful to not jostle their injured leg on the rocks beneath them. Whumpee's assailants were long since gone over the horizon, so they closed their eyes and tried to drift off, even with their leg still throbbing in pain from their attacks.
The entire team are injured, running on fumes, but they cant stop.
Set between the breaking point and the city.
CW: injuries, burns, gunshot wounds, living weapons.
I've never tried a 1st person inner monologue before... it was interesting to do.
Complex 27
On The Run
Sam
The painâs a constant now, a gnawing, relentless reminder that my body is just barely holding together.
Every step hurts.
My leg burns with every move, the makeshift crutch under my arm barely enough to take the weight off it. Charlie said theyâre second and third-degree burns. Lucky to be walking at all. But thereâs no choice. No time to rest. We're alive only by the skin of our teeth, and this cityâwhatever it isâcould be our salvation or the next step toward our grave. I have to keep moving. For Alex. For Charlie. For Ash⊠though God knows whatâs happening with him right now.
I donât know if itâs the fatigue or the fact that weâre still being hunted, but each step feels like more of a struggle. My armâthe one that took the brunt of the explosionâis heavy, the skin charred in places, raw in others. The bandages are soaked through again, and the smell of burnt flesh sticks to me, thick and sour. I donât even feel it anymore, not really. Itâs a numb kind of pain, the kind thatâs almost worse because I know itâs there, just barely out of reach.
I shouldnât be leading us. Not in this state. I feel my body betraying me with every step. Muscles stiff and aching, the dizziness making it harder to focus, but I have to. I canât afford to drop. Not when Alex is barely holding on. Not when Charlieâs struggling to keep it all together. Not now.
Every time I look at Alex, I see how close we are to losing him. His breathingâs shallow, labored. Itâs a reminder that weâre not out of the woods. Weâre not safe. I canât let him die, not while Iâm still standing. I wonât let him slip away. Heâs the one who kept us going all these years, and now, here he is, barely conscious. Still alive, but for how long? I wonât let him go.
Charlieâs beside him, keeping him upright. Sheâs holding it together better than I am, but I know her well enough to see the cracks in her armor. I see the worry in her eyes when she looks at me, when she looks at Alex. Sheâs doing the best she can, but her strengthâs as limited as mine. Itâs not enough. And she knows it.
Then thereâs Ash. Every time I look for him, heâs gone. Slipping out of sight like heâs never really here with us. I canât keep track of him. That fucking assassinâs supposed to be our safety net, the one whoâs indestructible. But if heâs fallen behind⊠if heâs hurt⊠I canât think like this. I have to focus on whatâs in front of me.
Focus, Sam.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. The weight of my leg cramps up again as I shift, sending pain shooting up through my bones. Every stepâs a fight, muscles screaming at me to stop, to rest, to lie down and pretend none of this is happening. But I canât. Not now. Weâre so close. The city-state is just ahead, like a blurry promise on the horizon. A promise of safety. Of something that feels like it could be real. I need it to be real.
âKeep going,â I murmur to myself, though the words feel weak, like they canât even reach my ears. My voice is hoarse. Too far away to be of any help. I glance at Alex again, his face pale, damp with sweat. Guilt gnaws at me every time I look at him. I should be carrying him. I should be the one to bear his weight, but I can barely carry myself.
Charlie doesnât say anything, but I know she sees it. She sees me limping, dragging myself along, and she knows. Sheâs always known. But she doesnât call me out on it. She just keeps going, keeps holding Alex up. Sheâs the one holding it together now, and that thought sends a wave of relief and guilt crashing over me. I should be doing more.
Every step is harder now. My body feels like itâs going to fall apart. But I keep going. I have to.
The barricades are closer now. Just ahead. Not muchâjust a makeshift line of defenseâbut itâs enough. Enough to make me believe, even if itâs just for a moment, that we might actually make it out of this alive. I want to believe it. I need to. But part of me canât shake the fear that itâll crumble when we get there, just like everything else.
But still, I canât stop. Not now.
So, I keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Just a few more steps. Weâre almost there.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Life or death, truth or lies, and an impossible choiceâŠ.
When Amajiki is viciously attacked by an unknown villain, events begin to spiral out that could break the public's trust in heroes permanently. Heroes and students rush to find the ones responsible for the attack and stop the spread of misinformation before it's too late.
Then Todoroki goes missingâŠ
Then Kaminari is attacked by the same villain that attacked AmajikiâŠ
And someone's been watching everything and leaking every move the heroes make to the public. Can Aizawa rescue his students and put a stop to thisâŠor will he be forced to choose between the kids he cares about and the rest of the world?
...
(@whumpcember Day Nineteen: Panic Attack -- Help is on the wayâŠbut will it be too late for Kaminari?)
His chest caught when he tried to breathe, and Denki had to blink rapidly as tears began to fill his eyes. âAm I gonna die?â he managed to whisper.
âNo.â Aizawaâs voice was steady and firm. He left one hand on Denkiâs chest and leaned in to rest the other on top of his head. âThey already have medicines to counteract this. You might be sick for a little while, but youâll make a full recovery.â
âYou canât promise that,â he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek. His arms and legs wouldnât move, and every breath was a struggle.
Aizawa leaned in until his head and shoulders were filling Denkiâs field of vision. âI can, and I will,â he said. âI promise you, Denki Kaminari: you are not going to die.â
Let's hurt Ash some more and have Paul struggle to be in a caretaker role while simultaneously defending the complex 27 system đ€Ł
---
The door to Ashâs quarters slid open with a soft hiss, and Paulâs eyes immediately locked onto the familiar sight of his friend sprawled across the cot. Ash was lying flat on his back, one arm resting across his eyes as if trying to block out the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. His body was tense, as though bracing for something, though there was no immediate threat.
âWhat happened this time?â Paulâs voice was steady, though it carried an edge of frustration that he couldnât entirely suppress. His gaze moved over Ashâs battered form - dark bruises blooming under his skin, some faint cuts along his jaw, and the unmistakable stiffness in his posture. It was the kind of sight Paul had seen countless times before, but it always stirred something deeper within him. Something he didnât want to acknowledge.
Ash didnât move, his breathing slow and shallow. The silence stretched on longer than it should have, the weight of the room pressing down on Paul. Finally, Ash spoke, his voice thin and tired. âIâm fine,â he muttered dismissively, sounding drained. âJust another mission, another complication.â
Paulâs brow furrowed, frustration bubbling under the surface. He took a few steps closer, studying Ash carefully. The bruises on his face were bad, but it was the stiffness in his postureâlike he was holding himself together with sheer willâthat made something twist in Paulâs gut.
Paulâs brow furrowed as he took a few steps closer, his gaze narrowing on Ashâs still form. âIâve seen that look before,â he said, his words clipped. âWhat the hell did you do, Ash?â
Ash exhaled slowly, his arm shifting only enough to rest against his chest, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, distant. â78 pushed me off a fucking roof,â he muttered, as if the words themselves left a bad taste in his mouth.
Paulâs expression immediately darkened. His mind flashed to JohnâAsset 78. A sadistic, merciless bastard. But even for John, this seemed too brazen, too reckless.
"No he didnât," Paul said sharply, his voice harder than he intended. "Johnâs a sadistic bastard, but even he wouldnât have gotten away with tossing you off a roof. What happened, Ash?"
Ashâs arm finally moved away from his face, but his eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. For a long moment, he didnât answer. Paul watched as the faintest of winces twisted Ashâs features, the kind of subtle pain someone tries to hide but canât quite manage.
âMaybe I pissed him off,â Ash finally muttered, his voice thick with something Paul couldnât place. âDoesnât take much for him to take it too far.â His weight shifted slightly, and he grimaced, a sharp inhale escaping him as he shifted again, clearly trying to mask the pain. "Not that I was in the best state before," he added bitterly.
Something had definitely happened, he could see the evidence - bruises, cuts, tye subtle winces. But Ash was an asset, a living weapon. If he got hurt in the process, it was just part of the game, right?
He tried to ignore the tightening in his chest. "Let me see," Paul said, his voice lower now, the authority more firm. He needed to know the extent of the damage - not just for Ashâs sake, but for his own. If Ash wasnât functioning, it reflected badly on them both. At least thatâs what he told himself.
Ash hesitated, the moment stretching long between them. His eyes flicked to Paulâs face, unreadable. Then, with a soft curse under his breath, he slowly pushed himself up. The movement looked agonising, Ashâs breath caught in his chest, as if every inch of him was protesting the motion. But Paul didnât move to help him - he knew better. Ash wouldnât take it. Not unless he had to.
Ashâs gaze dropped to the edge of his shirt, and after a long, shaky breath, he lifted it just enough to reveal his ribs and side. A mottled patterns of purple and black, swollen and angry. Some marks were fresh, others older. The worst of them were along his ribs and side, where something heavy had clearly slammed into him. The sight of it made Paulâs chest tighten, but he quickly masked his reaction.
âKerr know?â Paul asked quietly, as he moved to sit on the edge of the cot and inspected the damage to his friends torso, though the question felt almost pointless. He already knew the answer.
Ash shook his head slightly, not looking at Paul. âDo you really think Kerr would care?â his voice was thick, like he was trying to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. âHeâd just laugh. Might even throw me into A Block for being âweak.ââ His body flinched as Paulâs hand brushed against his side, making him inhale sharply, though he did his best to conceal it.
Paulâs jaw clenched. He wanted to argue, wanted to say somethingâanythingâthat would make Ash feel like there was a chance of this being acknowledged, even by Kerr. But he couldnât. The words felt hollow. He knew better. The Facility didnât care about their well-being unless it interfered with their role.
âYou should report it,â Paul said, the suggestion coming out more like an afterthought than anything else. He knew how pointless it was. Reporting it would only make Ash a bigger target. It would make things worse.
Ash let out a low, bitter laugh, his head sinking back onto the cot. âReport it? Thatâs a joke, Paul. Nothing would change. Kerr wouldnât care, and neither would anyone else. The only time they care is when Iâm no longer 'functional.'â
Paul fell silent, his gaze tracing the bruises, his mind in turmoil. Ash was right, but it still hurt to hear it out loud. The game, the system, it was all just about efficiency and obedience. If Ash couldnât do his job, theyâd throw him away. It was a bitter truth, and Paul hated that it was the reality they both lived in.
Maybe he should report it? John had killed assets beforeâat least, that was the rumor. If John was escalating his violence, targeting Ash⊠surely the handlers would want to know? But... would that be seen as Ash being unable to fight his own battles? The Facility didnât want weak assets. Assets werenât supposed to care about each other. Weren't meant to firm friendships. It was a liability, a risk.
The room fell quiet, the silence stretching until it felt suffocating. Paulâs chest tightened again, anger and helplessness mixing in a bitter knot. Ash had been hurt. Badly. Again. And neither of them could do a damn thing about it.
Finally, Paul spoke, his voice quieter, but firm. âYouâre not just a fucking tool, Ash. I donât care what the Facility thinks.â
Ashâs eyes flicked to him, a spark of something thereâa flicker of gratitude or something more complicatedâbut then it was gone, replaced by that familiar weariness. He turned his gaze back to the ceiling. âThen youâre an idiot,â he muttered, "But... thanks. For what it's worth neither are you."
Paul didnât respond. He couldnât. The words wouldnât fix anything. Nothing would. He knew that. They were trapped in the game, just like everyone else. The only thing left to do was play it and survive.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Life or death, truth or lies, and an impossible choiceâŠ.
When Amajiki is viciously attacked by an unknown villain, events begin to spiral out that could break the public's trust in heroes permanently. Heroes and students rush to find the ones responsible for the attack and stop the spread of misinformation before it's too late.
Then Todoroki goes missingâŠ
Then Kaminari is attacked by the same villain that attacked AmajikiâŠ
And someone's been watching everything and leaking every move the heroes make to the public. Can Aizawa rescue his students and put a stop to thisâŠor will he be forced to choose between the kids he cares about and the rest of the world?
...
(@whumpcember Day Twenty, Alt 5: "You're Allowed to Fall Apart" -- With Dabi's identity revealed, Todoroki fights to keep himself together while Bakugou tries to get them both to safety.)
Bright orange fabric struck Shouto in the face. He pulled it away, eyes going wide as he stared at the bright orange hoodie. âItâs a hoodie.â
âThe hoodâll cover your hair. Patchface might still be looking for ya.â
He frowned, staring at the broad shoulders and long hem. âItâs too big for me.â
âThatâs to disguise your build.â
âThereâs a tiger on the back.â
âSo? Peopleâll remember the tiger. Not you.â
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Fandoms: WiedĆșmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Â
Summary
After weeks of enduring the persistent pain of a burn left untreated, Eskel finally seeks helpâan act that feels foreign and almost wrong to him. Shani's gentle care and unwavering kindness leave him confused and unmoored.
Day 22: Alt 3: Fire
Whumpcember 2024
The entire team are injured, running on fumes, but they cant stop.
Set between the breaking point and the city.
CW: injuries, burns, gunshot wounds, living weapons.
I've never tried a 1st person inner monologue before... it was interesting to do.
Complex 27
On The Run
Sam
The painâs a constant now, a gnawing, relentless reminder that my body is just barely holding together.
Every step hurts.
My leg burns with every move, the makeshift crutch under my arm barely enough to take the weight off it. Charlie said theyâre second and third-degree burns. Lucky to be walking at all. But thereâs no choice. No time to rest. We're alive only by the skin of our teeth, and this cityâwhatever it isâcould be our salvation or the next step toward our grave. I have to keep moving. For Alex. For Charlie. For Ash⊠though God knows whatâs happening with him right now.
I donât know if itâs the fatigue or the fact that weâre still being hunted, but each step feels like more of a struggle. My armâthe one that took the brunt of the explosionâis heavy, the skin charred in places, raw in others. The bandages are soaked through again, and the smell of burnt flesh sticks to me, thick and sour. I donât even feel it anymore, not really. Itâs a numb kind of pain, the kind thatâs almost worse because I know itâs there, just barely out of reach.
I shouldnât be leading us. Not in this state. I feel my body betraying me with every step. Muscles stiff and aching, the dizziness making it harder to focus, but I have to. I canât afford to drop. Not when Alex is barely holding on. Not when Charlieâs struggling to keep it all together. Not now.
Every time I look at Alex, I see how close we are to losing him. His breathingâs shallow, labored. Itâs a reminder that weâre not out of the woods. Weâre not safe. I canât let him die, not while Iâm still standing. I wonât let him slip away. Heâs the one who kept us going all these years, and now, here he is, barely conscious. Still alive, but for how long? I wonât let him go.
Charlieâs beside him, keeping him upright. Sheâs holding it together better than I am, but I know her well enough to see the cracks in her armor. I see the worry in her eyes when she looks at me, when she looks at Alex. Sheâs doing the best she can, but her strengthâs as limited as mine. Itâs not enough. And she knows it.
Then thereâs Ash. Every time I look for him, heâs gone. Slipping out of sight like heâs never really here with us. I canât keep track of him. That fucking assassinâs supposed to be our safety net, the one whoâs indestructible. But if heâs fallen behind⊠if heâs hurt⊠I canât think like this. I have to focus on whatâs in front of me.
Focus, Sam.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. The weight of my leg cramps up again as I shift, sending pain shooting up through my bones. Every stepâs a fight, muscles screaming at me to stop, to rest, to lie down and pretend none of this is happening. But I canât. Not now. Weâre so close. The city-state is just ahead, like a blurry promise on the horizon. A promise of safety. Of something that feels like it could be real. I need it to be real.
âKeep going,â I murmur to myself, though the words feel weak, like they canât even reach my ears. My voice is hoarse. Too far away to be of any help. I glance at Alex again, his face pale, damp with sweat. Guilt gnaws at me every time I look at him. I should be carrying him. I should be the one to bear his weight, but I can barely carry myself.
Charlie doesnât say anything, but I know she sees it. She sees me limping, dragging myself along, and she knows. Sheâs always known. But she doesnât call me out on it. She just keeps going, keeps holding Alex up. Sheâs the one holding it together now, and that thought sends a wave of relief and guilt crashing over me. I should be doing more.
Every step is harder now. My body feels like itâs going to fall apart. But I keep going. I have to.
The barricades are closer now. Just ahead. Not muchâjust a makeshift line of defenseâbut itâs enough. Enough to make me believe, even if itâs just for a moment, that we might actually make it out of this alive. I want to believe it. I need to. But part of me canât shake the fear that itâll crumble when we get there, just like everything else.
But still, I canât stop. Not now.
So, I keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Just a few more steps. Weâre almost there.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Life or death, truth or lies, and an impossible choice....
When Amajiki is viciously attacked by an unknown villain, events begin to spiral out that could break the public's trust in heroes permanently. Heroes and students rush to find the ones responsible for the attack and stop the spread of misinformation before it's too late.
Then Todoroki goes missing...
Then Kaminari is attacked by the same villain that attacked Amajiki...
And someone's been watching everything and leaking every move the heroes make to the public. Can Aizawa rescue his students and put a stop to this...or will he be forced to choose between the kids he cares about and the rest of the world?
...
(@whumpcember Day Twenty-One: Bruises -- Bakugou and Todoroki make their way to the hospital as Amajiki prepares to leave.)
âIâll just get the rest of your paperwork, and youâll be free to go, Mr. Amajiki,â the nurse announced, tidying away the bandages sheâd removed. Tamaki watched her go, letting out a small grunt of surprise when Mirio sat on the bed next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
âReady to go home?â
He nodded. These past few days had been a nightmare, and he just wanted to be in his own bed again. Safe and quiet and away from the rest of the world.
âFat Gum said he can give us a ride, but it might takeâhey!â
The door to Tamakiâs room swung open and a familiar redheaded figure burst into the room.
âAmajiki!â Kirishima launched himself at Tamaki, who barely had time to react before his arms were full of sobbing teenager. âYouâre okay!â he cried, his voice muffled against Tamakiâs shoulder.
âY-yeah?â He awkwardly patted Kirishimaâs back as Mirio snickered next to him. âYou, uh, you donât have to cry. Iâm okay.â
âItâs been a long day.â Fat Gum was in the doorway. His usual high spirits seemed subdued, and he offered an exhausted smile to Tamaki. âGood to see you on your feet, kid.â
Fandoms: WiedĆșmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Â
Summary
As Geralt's recovery progresses, his short temper and constant frustration seem to worsen, driving away even those closest to him. Eskel, observing from the sidelines, recognises the signs of sensory overwhelmâa struggle Geralt faced as a child after his additional Witcher Trials.
Day 23: Overwhelmed
Whumpcember 2024
Fandom - Characters: SPN - Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Gabriel
Rating: Explicit
Warnings and Tags: Major character injury, major character death, pie, hallucinations, poison, no happy ending, hurt no comfort, choking, open ending, whump, background Sabriel because I can't help myself,
Summary: Written for the @spnfanficpond November monthly prompt: Pie and expanded for the @whumpcember prompt: Poisoned
Author's Note: I posted this on Tumblr before, and it was just so short I wasnât gonna cross post it to AO3, but I looked it over and added a bit for whumpcember, so I thought I'd post the updates version here too. I wrote this when I was really struggling to write nice things. While the original is open-ended, this one offers no comfort and no happy ending, everyone dies. For the more open-ended version, check out, my original tumblr post. Happy Reading?
Some Poison Pie - Re-release
âSam?â Dean yelled, standing from the fridge and staring at a pie box on the counter. âThis yours?â
When no reply came, Dean raised his brows, flicking the box open, wondering when Sam had gotten back and why he hadn't told him about the pie. Dean hadn't remembered anyone bringing it home, but it wasn't uncommon for someone to leave pie for him.Â
He should have probably been more suspicious of it.
Dean sniffed at it before deciding not to question it, there were only a few slices left and if Sam had brought the imp of an archangel back with him, the older hunter knew there wouldn't be any left by the time he asked. He loaded up his plate and found a fork along with some whipped cream before taking the plate to his Dean Cave, intending to enjoy the slice properly.
He let out a groan of comfort when he sat back in his chair and found an episode of Star Trek to watch. Even after the first few bites nothing seemed amiss with it, it was good -sweet syrupy strawberry with flaky crust and it tasted homemade.
As the episode continued, Dean scraped his fork through the last bit of crumbs and syrup, and his eyes narrowed at how dark it seemed to be within the Bunker. His eyes rolled to lights above him, watching them blink and flicker. He swallowed but found that his throat had closed. A lump lodged in it.
Something was wrong.
Dean felt his heart beat faster, looking to the hallway at the sound of footsteps. The familiar feeling of adrenaline rushed through Dean's veins at the sound of someone else in the Bunker. His hands clenched as he sat forward, empty plate forgotten and sliding from his lap. The clatter of the breaking plate and fallen fork called his attention away from the odd yet familiar noise echoing around his mind and the bunker.
âSam?â His voice was hoarse, gagged against the lump that had grown wider still within his throat.Â
Pain, like a knife carving out his intestines, twisted in his stomach, the sound getting louder while a groan left his lips. His hand went to his stomach, clawing into his shirt, as he tried to keep his eyes on the doorway, the sound getting closer. Sweat clung to his skin while pain paled his brow, trying to sit up more and only managing to fall forward onto the floor.
A cough rasped from him before his throat closed and slicked with bile, lips foaming as he gagged. Dean's body curled, numb fingertips stumbling for his phone. His ears strained, body collapsing and curled into his chair, the familiar sound haunting his mind as a dial tone rang distantly. Dean tried to keep his eyes from closing against the pain that seized his body but couldn't fight it as it overtook him and forced his eyes closed.
âDean? Hey, we're coming home, thing skipped out on us. Don't eat anything, Gabe thinks it's gonna get angry and mess with us, and it really likes putting its venom in food⊠Dean, can you hear me? Dean!â
Sam tried to drive faster at the silence on the other side of the line. âDean?!âÂ
Gabriel tried to snap, grace sparking within him but not listening to his command. He gritted his teeth, trying to watch the road as Sam drove faster. However, they both knew they were too far, the monster having too much of a head start on them.Â
âSam watch out!â
âWe have to get to him.â Sam shook his head, foot pressing down more while his hands white knuckled the steering wheel. He grunted as the car slid to a stop in front of the bunker doors, nearly hitting the concrete barrier.Â
Gabriel's lips sealed into a thin line, following after the mess of Sam's rushing limbs as the hunter clambered out of the car and into the bunker. He kept his eyes open, keeping up with Sam as the brunette screamed for his brother.Â
The graceless archangel kept his ears open as Sam became too singularly focused on finding his brother. His head snapped to the side at the screech that echoed through the halls that was nearly drowned out by Sam's grief stricken cry.Â
âDean!â Sam collapsed by his brother's fallen form, half lidded eyes hazed with death as an unmoving hand clenched at his throat. âDean⊠Gabriel.â Tears thickened his words, wanting to beg the archangel like he had so long ago to bring him back, but choked on his own words.
Gabriel couldn't bring a candy cane to his mouth, let alone a soul from the afterlife, and they both knew that. The archangel's hand rested on Sam's shaking shoulder as he sobbed, cradling his brother's already stiffening body close to him.Â
âSam, it's still here,â the archangel warned, hand gripping tight to Sam, his worry for his partner consuming him.Â
The brunette was torn, the urge to slaughter the creature that had taken his brother from him was nearly as overwhelming as his desire to never let Dean go.
âI⊠I don't want to leave him,â he whispered, not looking away from Dean's ashen face and foam covered lips, closing his unseeing eyes. âGabrielâŠâ
The archangel didn't look at him as Sam cradled Dean's body, not noticing when the brunette started to droop. The celestial only noticed when Sam's heartbeat slowed. His head snapped to him at the slowing sound.Â
âSam!â He cried, his hand holding tight to him and falling to his knees. âSam?!â His hands pulled Sam's face to look into his glazed eyes. âSam, no, no, no.â His head shook as the sound of slithering filled the air, and foam bubbled past Sam's lips. The archangel desperately tried to summon his grace, needing to heal his dazed and dying partner. âPlease, please,â he whispered, begging his grace to obey him.Â
His grace didn't budge as Sam's jaw hung and his breathing slowed. Gabriel watched as Sam's eyes moved, seeing something that wasn't there as his throat closed. Tears blurred the archangel's eyes, gritting his teeth as he tried to heal the dying man before something wrapped around his throat.Â
âNever ate an archangel before,â a hoarse voice called from the darkness. âYou three will feed me for weeks.âÂ
âI hope you fuckin' choke,â Gabriel hissed, his hand clawing at the tightening slickness that squeezed the rest of his words from him, but his right refused to let go of Sam as the brunette slumped over his brother's body.Â
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@steddieholidaydrabbles day 23 prompt, âhot chocolate;â @steddiemas week 4 prompt, âsurprise,â @whumpcember day 23 prompt, âoverwhelmed.â
WC: 969; Rating: G; CW: None; Tags: fluff, found family, established steddie, mention of health conditions, Eddie lives HEA, soft everyone! Summary: Steve decides to surprise Eddie and Wayne with hot chocolate. He's got no idea of the emotional fireworks heâs going to unleash... (of the good variety!)
đđđđđđ
Steve let himself in through the door, precariously balancing three hot-chocolate drinks. He was ridiculously proud that heâd got home with barely a slop. The cream and marshmallows hadnât sunk totally flat yet.
âHoney!â Eddie rushed at Steve and plastered a wet kiss on his cheek. Steve almost yelpedâokay, still no spillages. His coordination skills werenât totally shot. âMmmmm, mmmmm,â said Eddie. âThat chocolate smells amazing, Babe. You shouldnât have.â
âYeah, I shouldâve,â mumbled Steve. Eddie took the drinks, so he could slip out of his winter jacket. âI wanted to surprise you by doing something, I dunno, nice for a change? Sorry I was cranky this morning before work.â
âHuh? Didnât notice.â
Eddie slipped his arm through Steveâs and led him to the kitchen area. Wayne stirred a big pan of bolognese sauce. He greeted Steve with a quiet âHey,â and a smile that could melt polar ice-caps.
âHey,â smiled Steve, before plonking the drinks on the table and reverting his attention to Eddie. âWhat do you mean, âdidnât notice?â You saying Iâm always grouchy in the morning?â
âWouldnât have my bitchy darling any other way.â Eddie pressed Steve into a chair then headed to help Wayne. âSeriously, though, you were fine.â
Steve inhaled sharply, his chest kinda catchingâpartially on the delicious odours from Wayneâs cooking, overwhelming even the hot chocolate, though mainly on the emotions surging inside him.
He had been cranky this morning. Heâd had a bad headache for days. Eddie and Wayne didnât deserve to be dragged down by him. Hell, post-Vecna-everything, the âpowers-that-beâ might have compensated the Munsons with a nice little house, but they couldnât cure Eddieâs chronic pain and regular panic attacks any more than they could fix Steveâs.
Yet, here Steve was.Â
In the snuggest kitchen on earth, with his loving boyfriend and his kind uncle smiling down at him like he was sunshine itself. Then Wayneâs gaze alighted on the hot chocolate. He turned off the cooktop, his face turning deadly grave.Â
âYou brought that, son? For us?â
âUh, yeah?â Steve was suddenly nervous. He swallowed hard, watching Wayneâs Adamâs apple bob as he apparently mirrored him.
Then Wayne pulled out a chair, sat down opposite Steve. His face crumpled, and he burst into tears.
âShit!â squeaked Steve, glancing up at Eddie, who also looked mildly alarmed. âDid I do something wrong?" On instinct, Steve reached across the table to Wayne, who grabbed Steveâs fingers.
âNo, no.â Wayne sniffed. âItâs just⊠I guess I shouldnât be surprised. Itâs just⊠t-this year, I thought I lost my sweet boy. I thought I lost everything, and now⊠h-here we are⊠all together⊠I got me two sweet boys to love. Two.â
âOh,â said Steve, very softly, still kinda panicking for reasons he wasnât sure of. Fortunately, Eddie had totally got this. He plonked himself at Wayneâs side, threw his arms around him, and joined him in sobbing his heart out.
Wayne had still gotten hold of Steveâs fingers, wringing them to the point of pain. Between hiccupping sobs, Eddie spluttered, âSt-Steve⊠Stevie?â while flailing an arm toward Steve, gesturing wildly that he should join them.
Steve realized he was gawking, snapped his mouth shut. He felt it, he honestly did, his chest burning with love and gratitude. He also felt bad. Harringtons didnât cry, and years of conditioning left their mark. That said, heâd cried a lot this last year, not all of it solo.Â
He wasnât a Harrington anymore. Not really.
He was a Munson, heart and soul. At least, he wanted to beâŠÂ
âBabe?â Eddieâs arm remained outstretched. Wayneâs pleading, watery eyes upon Steve were pretty much the final straw. Steveâs pent-up feelings surged upward⊠into a very slight sniffle.
Ding-dong!
Steve genuinely hated that he thought, Saved by the bell!Â
âIâll get that.â He dabbed his eyes.
It was Dustin and Claudia, who Wayne often invited to dinner. Steve endured an awkward moment, struggling to explain, as the Hendersons entered the kitchen to find the Munsons a bawling mess. Dustin looked up at Steve, utterly aghast, before Wayne rescued him. âSt-Steve bought hot chocolate. What a thoughtful surprise. After everything this year, it was just so⊠so⊠darnâŠâ
Claudia was already breaking. Within seconds, she and Dustin joined Wayne and Eddie in a four-way waterworks cuddle, leaving Steve standing, hands on hips, utterly bewildered.Â
Okay, also grinning his face off through a faint sheen of tears. If the people he cared for were happy, he was. Wasnât his fault they had a crazy way of showing it.
He really wanted âinâ on the hug, though. He felt more and more excluded and squirmy, though everyone entreated him to join them, between sputters and sniffles.
Ding-dong.
Steve dashed to the door.Â
âHey,â said Robin. âYou were in such a mad rush to get hot chocolate before the diner closed, you forgot your pain meds, Dingus. Shit! Oh my God, who died?â
âNobody.â Steve pinched his aching brow. âI think theyâre happy. It was um⊠s-something⊠to do with the⊠d-dumbass hot⊠chocâŠâÂ
Robin didnât cry much easier than Steve did. Once she set off, though, that was that. They piled into the six-way hug, sobbing till they were all pretty much cried out. Apart from Steve, who kept sniffling forever.Â
His face burned. He figured he was embarrassed⊠until he realized he wasnât, not really.
He felt okay.
Yeah, his head hurt, but heâd gotten it leaned lightly on Eddieâs shoulder, which was scarred but healing. Eddie was alive. They were all here, together, and safe, holding each other tightly, if only for this perfect moment.Â
He loved them so much, and accepting so much love was really difficult, dammit. He was learning from the best.
They divided the cold hot chocolate into six mugs and laughed the evening away.
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