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Whumptober 2019

Chapter Text


Bilbo had shaky hands ever since Thorin held him over the battlements.

So far from the ground.

So close to dropping Bilbo to his death.

He had barely made it down the rope to Gandalf's side. His either had trouble grasping the rope or letting it go.

The battle was terrible. Sting almost sliding out of his hands more than once, or his aim being off.

Now he kneels beside Thorin's body, shaky hands trying to hold in the dwarven idiot's blood.

He can't say anything, the lump in his throat is too great. He can't see from the tears in his eyes. He can't hear Thorin's words because a the hit to the head he took.

He is crying and shaking and he wishes that he could hear Thorin. He wishes he could tell the idiot that everything will be fine. He wishes that he could see Thorin still full of life.

He finally makes a sound, a scream full of anguish and desperation, when large hands pull him away from Thorin. He thrashes and twists, reaching for Thorin as fervently as he can.

He is restrained and a bitter liquid forced down his throat. He fights and fights and his hands shake even as his strength leaves him.

He whimpers when everything starts to go dim. He weakly struggles before he goes limp.

His last thought is of Thorin.

Chapter Text

Ichigo was having a good day for once. It made him twitchy.

No Hollows. No one trying to take over Soul Society. No one kidnapping his friends. No Kenpachi or Mayuri.

The whole day was very suspicious.

He decided to be twitchy at the shoten, since it was something of an information hub. Anything that was wrong would come here first.

Ichigo sits in the dining room (well, he supposes that's its purpose but one can never really know around this place) when the whole building shakes.

Ichigo almost jumped through the ceiling (from being on edge all day and the sudden spike of adrenaline).

The building shakes again and then part of it fucking explodes.

He's running toward the source when some kind of dark gray blob rushes at him and he barely has time to jump back.

He can't move fast enough in his human body and is reaching for his badge (a new one from Kisuke) when Kisuke shouts.


Ichigo dodges again and suddenly the blob is encased in a red barrier. It slams again the sides but doesn't make a dent, just spanning out like water against the barrier before drawing back and doing it again.

"Hello, Kurosaki-san!" Kisuke's faux cheerful voice greets. Kisuke emerges from the dust and debris and Ichigo wonders how the scientist is standing.

He has blood in his eyes from a cut at his hairline, blood completely down his front, the rips and tears in his clothes show deep wounds, there are things sticking out of him that are not part of his body, and his hat and fan are missing.

(This, somehow, strikes Ichigo as the most important part even though Kisuke is probably bleeding out.)

"What the hell?!" Ichigo manages to choke out. He really should get help for Kisuke. "What the fuck is that?"

"Just something I was working on for mod souls." Kisuke doesn't falter as he walks over to Ichigo's side.

Ichigo is very impressed. Also very concerned by the puddles of blood his bare feet are leaving on the floor.

"Right." What else can he say about that? "I'm calling Inoue."

"Probably wise." Ichigo has never seen Kisuke so blasé about something. It's starting to freak Ichigo out. "Call Tessai-san too. I can't hold this much longer."

"Okay." Ichigo pulls out his phone (an improved denreishinki from Kisuke) as Kisuke lowers himself to the floor next to Ichigo.

Ichigo is very freaked out but his voice is steady as he first calls Tessai and then Inoue.

What a fucking day.

Chapter Text

Sarah is very sick.

Jareth knows this because she actually called out to him in a feverish delirium. Any images he sees from her dreams are twisted and nonsensical from the sickness.

He had come expecting for one of them to apologize (he isn't sure if he would have been able to apologize for what happened when she was fifteen, even if it meant being in her life later) but when he appeared in her presense, after the room was clear of other mortals, she was incoherently murmuring.

Jareth had honestly not expected this turn of events. He worried for Sarah, only seeing glimpses of her when magic was strongest Above Ground.

When her family returned to the room (her father, the step-mother, and little Toby) he stood in a corner, invicible.

None of them said anything, the only noise Sarah's murmuring and the machines incessant beeping.

Toby, Jareth noted, had bandages, stitches and a cast. The boy looked to have been in some kind of accident.

As Jareth had more time to observe (and worry for Sarah) he saw the many white and blood stained bandages on her body. Most of it was on the left side of her body, bruises more prominent on the right (faded to a sickly yellow). Her face a ghostly pale with flushed cheeks from the fever, sweat coating her body.

Toby starts to cry after a few minutes of them staring at Sarah (small and injured and so frightfully frail looking) in her hospital bed.

The step-mother carefully brings Toby into her lap, holding and quietly shushing him.

The father places a gentle hand on Toby's head, whispering reassurances to the boy.

Jareth hears the father tell Toby that it's not his fault and Jareth starts to make sense of some of Sarah's current dreams.

He sees the vehicle (bigger and more menacing than any vehicle he's ever seen, twisted in the memory) and Toby in the road. He sees Sarah's fear and her forcefully pushing Toby out of the way right before the car hits her and the memory repeats with even more distortion.

He's sure that if he were not a being of dreams that absolutely none of it would make sense, not even with the context he overheard.

The only thing he can do for Sarah is give her pleasant dreams, although the high fever will twist and mangle what he gives.

"I am glad you're alive, Champion." She is perhaps the bravest mortal Jareth has ever had the pleasure of knowing. "Pleasant dreams, sweet lady."

It is all he can give.

He hopes it is enough.

Chapter Text

Chad grits his teeth at the current situation Ichigo has been pulled into.

A hollow has done something to Ichigo, he's not seeing reality from what Chad can tell. The hollow has also grabbed Ichigo, one head whispering to Ichigo and keeping an eye on Chad and the afro shinigami (what even is that guy's name? Maybe Ichigo will know), while the second frantically looks for an escape as it backs away.

Chad would punch the hollow into oblivion but it has wicked claws at Ichigo's neck and abdomen. Ichigo is too out of it use his hierro or even just concentrate his reiryoku to not be slashed to pieces.

Chad is able to get a call through to Urahara-san, he doesn't say anything, just moves his own reiryoku in a distress signal before ending the call.

Urahara-san is going to be very pissed at this hollow. Chad hopes he isn't too harsh on it.

Maybe this will be the final push for the two of them.

Chapter Text

Tony is eleven the fifth time he is kidnapped.

He's so damn tired of it all. He just wants to go home and spend time in the kitchen with Jarvis and talk to Ana while Jarvis makes hot cocoa, a special kind with cinnamon and marshmellows.

He can hear the kidnappers talking in a different room. He can hear the voices but not the words. Probably because of the sack on his head.

This is so cliché. He bets they have a gun and are going to film themselves threatening Tony with it to send to Howard.

Little do they know that Howard doesn't deal with this sort of thing. Money won't even be considered exchanging hands for Tony's safe return.

He'll have to get himself out. Just like he has the last four times.

Maybe if he had waited for Howard the first time, maybe then Howard would help.

Tony wishes that kind of optimism would die instead of bitterly hanging on. He knows Howard wouldn't give a damn. Not even his mother can do anything if Howard doesn't tell her. If he doesn't let her.

Stark men are made of iron. They don't need help when dealing with third rate kidnappers.

Aunt Peggy would help. If Howard would ever tell her before Tony escapes. Her mouth will twist with frustration, as it always does when she hears about this sort of thing, and she will give him a review on the weakest parts of the human body. How to incapacitate a grown up, how to disarm someone.

She'll be gentle but stern, worry and anger in her every action. Jarvis will support from the side if he's able and Ana will have dranks and snacks while listening carefully.

His hands are a little numb from how they're tied behind him and his wrists a little raw from twisting but he almost has them untied.

The kidnappers come in and hold something hard to his head and they start making demands.

He knew it. Do any of these people come up with original material?

Maybe they'll actually put him out of his misery.

(But that would make Jarvis and Ana and Aunt Peggy and mom sad. He can't do that to them.

Never to them.)

Chapter Text

Thorin sprinted forward, dodging orcs and wargs and who knew what other Fell things.

He had to get to the cliff edge. He needed to support his burglar.

Even though he had cast him away in madness.

Thorin fought his way forward when the amount of enemies became too thick, slicing and stabbing and pushing them into each other.

He had almost reached the top of the cliff when high pitched screaming rang through the air, adding to the cacophony of battle. He saw Bilbo being dragged over the edge by a giant hand around the hobbit's foot and ankle.

Thorin roared and lunged forward, dropping his sword and shield in his desperate need to reach Bilbo.

Chapter Text



Tony wouldn't call himself lonely . . . he had people around him almost constantly, after all.

He just . . . didn't really connect with others. Partly from his own actions, partly from Howard, and partly from other people not being able to keep up with his rapid thoughts.

Of course he had Rhodey, Pepper, the bots and JARVIS. He was never really alone. His friends are busy people. Just a phone call or plane trip away.

DUM-E and U and JARVIS try to comfort him and it's, sadly, not the same as a human.

They have complex emotion and thought, better than most humans, but they can't trigger Tony's biological senses like another human could. He needs contact with skin, to see people he feels safe with.

He misses his friends. He misses them so fucking much. Experiencing isolation like this (unintentional) is . . . it's painful is what it is.

It also makes having them around even more of a treat though, because they get just as happy and clingy as he does.

He misses Happy too. The guy has been on a forced vacation for two months now.

Maybe they can go get a cheesburger when he gets back, it should line up with Rhodey's next leave and Pepper could take the day off from being CEO.

He'll just make plans until he can see them again.

It makes him feel less lonely.

Chapter Text

Percival ached all over. Grindelwald was a fucking bastard and he hoped someone would beat the shit out of him.

Even if the bastard currently looked like Percival.

A muscle in his leg spasmed and he hissed.

Grindelwald had stabbed him and had cauterized the injury, letting Percival enjoy the freedom from the usual treatment.

Grindelwald had not come around for a few days, leaving Percival with almost no water and no food. He hoped the bastard got caught.

It was tiring to stay angry all the time but it was, sincerly, the only thing keeping him warm.

Shackled and tortured in his own home. The irony of his safe place being so thoroughly violated was not lost on him.

Percival gritted his teeth when his leg spasmed and then set off the muscles in his back. He found it amazing that he didn't crack a god damn tooth. Or break his jaw.

He now knew what people with back pain felt like and he sympathized a whole lot more than he ever did.

He wished he didn't.

Fucking Grindelwald.

He accidentally took a deep breath, his dry throat and back screaming at him. He resisted the urge to cough, shaking and making his whole body hurt but none of his muscles spasmed (which counted as a win).

He looked at the, now dirty, water and reluctantly sipped some. His body wanted more but he couldn't stomach to think about what was in it.

Being left here alone for so long gave him plenty of time to think of different scenarios. The one he was dreading most was that Grindelwald had succeded in outing the magical world and that was the reason he hadn't been back in so long.

He liked the one where Grindelwald has been violently arrested (with extreme prejudice) and MACUSA was looking for him.

It gave him a bitter hope that he would be found, but the spite and anger of it kept him going.

Percival heard the door to the basement open and prepared for another round of torture.

Like hell anyone was going to break him.

Especially not Gellert Grindelwald.

It was not Grindelwald though.

Chapter Text

Beorn felt conflicted. Being shackled for so long and with such a bitter, burning rage in him . . . he did not know what to do now that the pale orc and it's spawn are gone for good.

He had known when he chose to keep his chains that it would not bring back his family, his people. It had been more of a reminder to keep him going, to make sure he would not truly rest until the foul creature was dead.

And now he was.

The dwarf king, Thorin, offered to get him free of the shackles but Beorn did not know if he wanted to be free of them.

They almost felt like a part of him now, he had wore them for so long.

It was uncormfortable to be so uncertain. He could not even remember when or if he had ever been uncertain about anything.

The little bunny thought it was a good idea, even telling him that he could keep the shackles after having them removed if he wanted a reminder of those dark times.

Beorn felt young again, in need of his parents to guide him in this matter.

He did not like this at all.

His mother had told him that if he ever came to a problem he could not solve outright that he should think of what she and father would do.

He thought instead of what they would want for him. He thought on this the whole winter.

He decided they would want him to be happy and that, if he wanted the reminder, he should keep the shackles after having them removed.

He would head to the dwarf kingdom in spring, partly to see the little bunny (and make sure the dwarrow were treating him right) and partly to have the shackles removed.

Even without them on him, without their weight, he would still have the scars of where he fought hard against confinement.

He would always remember and now, now with the scurge dead, he could feel free without guilt.

Chapter Text

He looked at the bed, the sheets, the thin blanket. Trying to not look at her unusually pale skin.

He found it hard and heartbreaking to look at her face. Such a strong human, such an inmovable force, should never look so frail and still. It felt like looking at a porcelain doll with hairline cracks running through it.

Like one small touch would shatter her.

He clenched his paperwork in his hands, his fingernails biting into it. (He missed his claws, he missed his natural coloring, he missed his beast form. He missed the freedom he never knew he had until he had lost it.)

(He had missed her and had not realized it for four centuries. He is, reluctantly, thankful that Inuyasha told him about the well.)

He smoothes out the papers with careful hands, something other than her to look at. He picks up his pen and holds his eyes firmly to his lap.

He fills them out and reads over contracts until visiting hours are over. He puts the papers in his briefcase and hesitates.

He carefully places his hand over hers (so small and cold).

"Please wake up." He feels his throat tighten. "Kagome, I will come back. Shippou will come by in three days and your family in two."

Sesshomaru grits his teeth, pulling away his hand.

"I have many things to tell you when you awaken. Please wake up."

He leaves and pulls his compure back into place.

Chapter Text

Peter hissed when the numbing shot pierced his skin. It always burned like fire. Even when he was the one injecting it into himself, like now.


He waited a few moments for it to kick in, tapping his thigh to make sure it had taken affect. It had, thank fuck.

He took the needle and wire thread, hands hardly shaking since the pain was pretty much gone.

"Gotta love low tech shit." Why had he never gotten around to installing a basic med bot on the Milano? At least then he wouldn't be stitching himself back together, it would be the bot instead. "Good thing I know how to do shit myself."

Something to thank Yondu for. Asshole had at least made sure Peter knew how to mend clothes, clean, cook, fight, first aid, and how to scam people for everything they had. Even with all the threats and sneering at sentiment, Yondu had known that someone who couldn't fend for themselves was dead.

Peter clenched his teeth when he sanitized the gash. Ugh. Not nearly as bad as the time he broke his leg and had to set it himself, but still damn painful.

He huffed before he started putting in the stitches. This part never hurt as much for some reason, even though no one else ever agreed with him.

He had just snipped the thread after finishing the last stitch when Rocket came through the door.

"Hey, Quill, what the fu-" the raccoon froze a few steps in. "Are you giving yourself surgury?!"

"Nah, just some stitches," Peter put everything on the table next to him and grabbed a clear bandage. He put it on while Rocket spluttered. "No biggie, man. I do this sort of thing all the time."

He really needed a med bot.

"Quill, what the fuck?!" Rocket screamed, drawing the others. None of them had taken any damage from the fight. It made Peter pout (on the inside), he was the weak one of the team.

His stitches already itched. Ugh.

"Guys, I'm fine! I swear!" Peter tried to calm them down. Not even Yondu and Kraglin had freaked out about this. It was normal, right? "Just a few weeks and I'll be fully healed. Unless I accidentally pull one of them. But, hey, totally fine!"

"Peter, stitches take months to heal! Let alone the wound that needs them!" Gamora said. Well, more like loud statement. "We need to get you to Nova to get a professional to make sure you did not make the wound worse!"

"Friend Quill, why would you mutilate yourself? Why-"

"Okay, okay!" Peter interrupted Drax, kind of through with this whole situation. "We'll go to Nova and get me checked out. Now, I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up when we get there."

"Quill, should you be sleeping so soon after such a severe injury?" Drax asked, worry clear in his tone. Well, that made Peter's chest tight. They actually cared about him.

Weird feeling. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"Sleep helps Terrans heal." Probably. He couldn't really remember. "I'm not going to hibernate or anything. Just a nap. A couple hours tops."

"If you say so, Peter." Gamora was skeptical, and also taking all the medical supplies like it was some kind of contraband. She apparenty didn't trust him with sharp things now.

He hadn't hurt himself on purpose in years, no need for the worry.

"Right," Peter was skeptical right back. "I'm going to sleep. Just sleep. Bye."

So he felt tired and grumpy. He deserved some nice rest after all this.

"We will be checking on you." He waved off Gamora's warning, laying down and covering up with a sheet.

He wanted pants. It was cold. Damn stitches. At least the pain meds were kicking in before the numbness wore off.

He got as comfy as he could currently get and went to sleep.

Chapter Text


It had started as a normal day, well, normal for them. They had stopped at an outpost to gather supplies and take a break from the ship. Not even two hours later they had, somehow, gotten into a fight. With personalities and pasts like theirs it was not the least bit surprising.

They ran back to the ship, supplies in hand and Rocket firing back at the people firing at them. She and Peter would have also been fighting back if it was not for the supplies. Drax carried most of it, plus Rocket, and was slightly behind.

They got to the ship with no problem and were back in space quickly. It was relieving to be back on board, familiarity outweighing cabin fever (as Peter had called it).

"Gamora, where did you put the med supplies?" Peter called from dining area. She turned to see him tugging off his shirt, wincing as he did so.

She still felt suspicious after they had found him stitching himself up. That just was not how healing worked. Even if the Nova Corps had, incredulously, agreed that Peter would be fine in weeks.

"Are you injured again?" Peter got hurt fairly often, mostly bruises, but none of them had realized he could be so easily injured and they may not know since he usually took care of it himself and healed quickly.

"Yeah, I think one of them shot me with something." He gently prodded his side. "Yep. I'm going to need one of you to dig it out. It's too hard for me to do myself."

"Rocket," Gamora called to the cockpit. "We need to go to Nova again, Peter was shot with something!"

"On it!" He grumbled some under his breath but changed course easily. None of them really freaked out at how easily and often Peter was hurt now, but have something inside a person (when it was not supsupposed to be there) was top priority.

"Don't move," Gamora chastised, smacking away his hand. "The less you move, the less likely to make it worse."

"It's just a bullet," Peter whined. The wound was not very bloody and Gamora did not know if that was good or bad. Cauterized? " Dig it out, some stitches, some ointment and a bandage! Why do we need to go to Nova again? It's not a big deal!?

"It is a big deal, Peter! What you just said sounds like surgery and you are not performing it on yourself again!" She smacked his hand away again. Stubborn idiot. "Stop touching it."

"It's my body, I'll do what I want," Peter pouted and crossed his arms, wincing when it pulled at the wound, but kept his hand away.

Gamora sighed. Terrans, or at least this one, did not make sense. She decided to sit with him, watchful of him looking for the med supplies.

Chapter Text


Sarah ran as fast as she could through the labyrinth, her pounding heart almost drowning out the noise of her persures. She gulped for air, her lungs burning while their jeers and shrieking laughter rang in her ears.

The next corner had a sudden drop and she rolled harshly down the steep inline. She landed harshly, scraping her hands and knees on the rough ground.

Sarah looked at where she just came from and found only a dirt wall there. She breathed a shaky sigh of relief, they wouldn't be getting her it seemed.

Looking around, and trying to catch her breath, she saw dirt walls on all sides and a small hole in the ceiling. It was very dark in here, she couldn't see much.

Was she in an oubliette?

"Hello, pet," Sarah jerked in fright, a new jolt of adrenaline hitting her. "Fancy seeing you in my labyrinth again."

"Jareth?" Sarah hadn't meant for that to come out so . . . hopeful, or breathy. She cleared her throat. "I'm here again?"

"Don't worry, love, it's just a dream." The room brightened and Sarah saw the bitter twist of his lips. "You'll wake up from it and be back in your bed soon enough."

"Ah, this wasn't how I thought our next meeting would be." Not at all like how she had hoped it would go.

"Oh?" Jareth shifted his weight, drawing attention to his . . . everything, really. Had he always worn such tight clothing? She had thought she imagined that part. "And how did you think it would go, Sarah?"

Sarah stood up slowly. If she was going to say this then she would do it standing on her own two feet.

"I thought I would call for you and we would have a discussion about some things." Like her long standing attraction to the Goblon King.

"Well, we're here now. I don't see why can't have this discussion now." Jareth made two chairs appear with a dropped crystal, draping himself over his in a very seductive yet natural pose.

"Will I remember it when I wake up?"

"Yes. Any dream you have where you come to my kingdom will be remembered," Jareth flicked his hand and another crystal appeared, he started to roll it along his hands. "And, as I said, you are currently in my labyrith, in my kingdom."

"Okay," Sarah sat in her chair with relief. All that running had been exhausting. "Let's talk then."

Chapter Text

Bifur sat by Bilbo's bedside, his turn to sit with the hobbit while the others went about doing what needed to be done. He passed the time whittling some spare wood, collecting the shavings in a bucket for later use. Being on watch with Bilbo was rather relaxing, even if the circumstances leading up to it were very much not.

Bifur had been the one to take first watch. He had also been the one to was the tear stains from Bilbo's face, the healers just placing him here before rushing to keep Thorin alive. He did not mind, Bilbo was practically family at this point.

He spoke to Bilbo sometimes, reveling in being able to speak Westron again. It had been an instintive move to headbutt the orc that had gotten too close, and he had feared the worst when he saw the axe go flying, but so far there were no ill affects from it.

He can hardly wait to finally have an actual conversation with Bilbo, instead of guessing and gestures or talking to his sedated friend. He'll even be able to tell Bilbo the good news when the healers stop giving him sedatives.

Chapter Text

Percival Graves had never really thought about what mind healers did. How effective they were. How effective they weren't.

He had been passed around by almost all the mind healers. Each of them trying a new, non-working solution. Each time made him feel even more fragile and broken.

It was one thing to know that he would always have problems with certain things (he is human after all), it is quite another for professionals to give up on him. To call him unfixable. Broken beyong repair.

The physical wounds he received from his captivity were completely healed (scarred and constantly reminding him of those horrible months) but the mental ones were still raw and bleeding, made worse by ineffective treatments.

"When I was in Japan, I found that they have a delightful practice!" Newt said to him, another day of feeling more shattered but looking better since Newt came to visit. The first few times Newt visited were because Goldstein dragged him along but Newt usually came around by himself if was in America.

"Must be a really special thing to have you so excited about it." Percival loved when Newt smiled, it made his eyes sparkle lit up his face. Kind of like sunshine.

"Oh yes! They call it 'kintsugi'," Newt pronounced the word slowly and Percival thought that was adorable. "I was told the translation was 'beautiful scars' but I don't know how accurate that actually is. When something is broken, they fix it with something precious to highlight the break. They believe that the break is part of the objects character and is thus not meant to be erased but to be treasured. They usually use gold or silver, I actually think I have a bowl that I can show to you! Let me look in my case."

Percival sat stunned in his chair. That sounded like one hell of a philosophy. The thought of acknowledging his scars and broken parts and accepting that they didn't make him less was . . . it sounded freeing. It wasn't something he had thought to do before. No one had ever made it seem like an option before.

"Here's the bowl and I have some notes about the practice, more in depth than what I told you," Newt carefully handed Percival the bowl. It was a simple white, very ordinary looking except for the veins of gold. If Percival hadn't known about the breaks, that it had once been broken and made better, he would have assumed that the bowl was made as is.

He thought it, and what it represented, looked absolutely beautiful.

Percival did not need to erase his scars, he only needed to accept that they did not mean he was unfixable. He knew he was broken but with time and care he could be greater than he already was.

Chapter Text


Peter just sighed. This whole situation was entirely ridiculous. Mostly ridiculous.

They had gotten a job to do something, drive out a small gang of criminals(? He's not too sure of the details since he's fairly sure he has a concussion) from a small energy colony. Simple job, until one of the thugs had pulled out an unknown blaster. When the idiot had fired it, it had blown everyone back and made the building collaspse. He was fairly sure that the others were fine, they were hardy space people, but he was pinned down and had injuries. Pretty sure his leg was broken, again, and his ribs didn't exactly feel good either. Plus, you know, concussion.

The first thing he did was make sure he had water and the second was realign his leg. His right one because his left was stuck under a support beam. Fucking great, right?

Just the usual of him being injured easily.

He didn't know how long it would take them to dig him out, hopefully before his water ran out, so he just laid there listening to his music. Rocket had fiddled with his Zune and it had a battery life of about two weeks, it had been fully charged before the mission which gave him a bit of the time it would take to be rescued.

He tried to not sleep (concussions, man, were damn awful) and he didn't do a very good job of it. Every other time he woke up he would take a sip of water. He didn't have to use the bathroom, which was kind of bad if he remembered right, so he just stayed there spread out like a starfish.

Peter was listening to Rick Astley when his little cocoon was disturbed. He turned his head and saw Drax dragging away a huge piece of rubble.

"Hey, dude!" Wow, his voice sounded like shit. Drax jolted and almost dropped the chunk he was moving.

"Quill!" Peter saw the relief and surprise on Drax's face right before he passed out again.


Peter woke up in a hospital, which he really hated, and saw the others all around the room. Except Groot, he was nuzzling into Peter's neck. He kind of wanted to coo at that. So he did.

"Peter!" He looked over at Gamora's voice. The others started to stir as well, each giving an exclamation of surprise.

"Hey, guys," Peter still sounded like shit. They all clamored around at his 'miraculous' survival, and one of the hospital staff stuck their head in, likely to tell them to shut up, before quickly ducking back out. A doctor quickly arrived.

Peter would have laughed at how astounded the Xandarian was except his ribs still hurt.

"Terrans can go weeks without food, but only three days without something to drink," Peter informed all of them. Chuckling at their faces and then promptly started coughing. Not fun at all. Someone gave him water. Bless whoever that was.

"It took us almost a week to find you! We thought you had died and were searching for a body."

"Oh, is that why Drax was so surprised when I called out to him?" They cared. It kind of made his eyes tear up, which he did not like. Bunch of a-holes for making him emotional.

"Yes," Gamora practically hissed at him. "At least with your leg broken you'll stay out of trouble for another five months, at least."

"Hate to burst your bubble but my leg'll heal in a few weeks, two months tops." The look on everyone's faces was great and he resisted laughing but he did have a shit eating grin on his face.

Chapter Text

Kagome honestly had been through a lot of bullshit, both metaphorical and literal, but this took the cake.

She had to mediate a dispute between two people in Edo, part of her job as the village priestess. They were both so damn stupid. The argument was dealt with in one hour, after she got there and almost cracked their heads together, and she quickly went out to gather herbs.

She sang a few songs from her time, relaxing since that argument was almost headache inducing amounts of stupid.

"Won't you stay with me, cause you're all I need. Oh, won't you stay with me?" Kagome didn't remember the rest of the song, mostly just repeating those words or humming the melody.

"Interesting choice, miko." Kagome choked on air, her face suddenly red. Why did he have to be here now? When she had been singing a sad love song like some pining fool? 

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Ichigo woke up and knew that today would be bad. He felt it in his ripped up soul.

Of course, none of the days since he defeated Aizen had been good days. Any good was overshadowed by bad. Finding out his sisters were alive and unharmed? His friends were no where to be seen, when he could still see spirits. His human friends being alive? They wouldn't have anything to do with him.

He woke up before his alarm again, hours before he needed to get up. He stared up at the ceiling, knowing that he wouldn't go back to sleep but unwilling to get out of bed. He hates when this happens. Ever since the "Winter War", and everyone pretty much leaving him, he had been doing all that he could to keep his mind occupied.

(So he wouldn't hear the silence in his head, so that he wouldn't notice as much how alone he suddenly was, so he could pretend his shinigami friends were busy.

When did he start running from his problems? When did he become a coward?)

Friday. School, and then to his job. That would take up most of his day. Come home for dinner, do the dishes. Study and homework until his eyes hurt. Then sleep and hope that he wouldn't have a night terror.

His eyes prickled and he turned his head into his pillow to muffle his scream.

(This is what his life has become. Fearing the moments that he actually thinks and muffled screams.

He almost wishes that someone would save him for once.)

He gets up and sits at his desk to study. No need to let his grades drop because he was a fuck up (something to be tossed aside when it no longer served a purpose).

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Tony isn't sure what to feel, detached as he is from reality. Possibly from the hit to the head, possibly from the drugs he's sure someone slipped him.

He's under water in an air pocket and has rubble from his workshop holding down, yet all he can worry about is DUM-E and U. He hopes they survive. He hopes JARVIS can pull them from the wreckage before permanent damage to their code happens.

JARVIS had kept calculating the odds of Tony coming home from Afghanistan, every day without fail. This will hurt him. Tony knows.

He's gasping now, the oxygen in the pocket is running out. His arms try to move but the rubble keeps them stationary. Spots fill his vision.

It all feels very clinical.

Looks like this is how he dies. Not from alcohol poisoning, ODing, one of his own weapons, suicide, palladim poisoning, someone ripping out the arc reactor. Just this. Asphyxiating after someone blew up his home because he's one arrogant asshole.

Hopefully Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, JARVIS and the bots can forgive him.

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He tried to not remember how he Fell. How he dragged himself from the sulfur pit. How he looked up and felt the emptiness. How his wings were so badly burned that they hardly counted as wings. How agonizing it was to have all of it grow back black. How he could no longer pronounce his angelic name, it choked him and burned his throat. He became Crawley and later changed it to Crowley.

It didn't do to brood like some sullen clot head. Although when he did he reported it as sloth or wrath. Wouldn't do to put down envy for something like that.

Hit too close to the truth and demons are beings of lies.

Aziraphale kept hoping that he would be forgiven and, as touching as that was, it hurt to dissapoint the angel. God did not forgive once damned. It's why Hell is a permanent punishment, for humans and former angels.

When these emotions wash over him, pulling him under, he leaves to be alone. They are so strong that his corperal form trembles like his celestial one can't.

He feels weak and weakness is always exploited. He can not take the chance of it, he would rather be on consecrated ground.

Even now his body is trembling, his mind trying to fight off the emotions.

One day this will end. One day he and, hopefully, Aziraphale can be happy.

He just has to watch over Warlock and stop him from becoming a supreme evil. Make him human in all the ways that count.

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Bilbo had been enjoying his afternoon break, by himself, with some lovely tea and tarts. The tea had been a pleasant surprise of hemlock mixed with the regular tea, quite heavy on the hemlock but still very enjoyable. The tarts a nice apricot sprinkled with sugar. He hadn't had such a lovely combination since before he left the Shire.

Of course this relaxing moment came to an end when Fili and Kili came in. And they immediately went for the tea.

Bilbo had been taking a sip of tea and couldn't say anything in time so he threw an empty sugasugar bowl at the duo.

"Why, Master Boggins?" Kili whined, clutching the hand that got hit to his chest. Bilbo knew damn well that did not hurt.

"You leave my hemlock tea alone! It's not meant for dwarrow." Fili suddenly smacked the teacup out of Bilbo's hand while Kili ran to get Oin. "That was rude!"

"You just drank poison!" Fili was pale faced and looked like he was going to cry. "Someone's trying to kill you!"

"Now, Fili, no need to get hysterical. It's just some tea." Surely, after months of being in Erebor he had told them that hobbits could eat and drink most anything? He told Fili as much.

"You've never said anything of the sort!" Fili was calming down a little, very slight, amount. "Even if that's not a problem, someone just tried to murder you! I need to tell Uncle and see who was in the kitchens making your tea."

"Ah, I hadn't thought about that," Bilbo admitted. Why would anyone want to kill him though? He spent most of his time helping in the library.

That is when Kili and Oin and the rest of his friends came into the room, all of them making a huge fuss over each other. Even if Oin had not been partly deaf he would not have heard Bilbo or Fili over the noise the others were making. Bilbo fended off everyone, accidently (but not really) throwing a chair at Gloin, and finally got them to (mostly) calm down when he proved that he was not dying.

"If one of you takes away this tea, I'll take Sting to you," Bilbo threatened. He had to explain that, no, hemlock is not poisonous to hobbits and, yes, he could each and drink almost anything without being harmed. He explained it so many times, with a lot of interruptions.

He loved his friends, but they were idiots. It was something he and Dis agreed on at least.

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Sarah stared out the window of her room, feeling hollow. Everything was dull and lifeless in this place.

"Med time." Sarah took the pills and water, swallowing them before opening her mouth to show she had taken them.

She didn't look away from the window as the orderly left, him commenting about seeing her for the next dose.

It was probably better this way. Her father hadn't really cared about her since he had Toby and Irene hadn't ever liked her. She missed Toby though. But filling his head with 'fairytale nonsense' had been 'bad' for him.

The hospital was nice for the most part, even if they forced medication on her. Kept her docile and from having 'hallucinations.' She kind of doubts herself now, that day when she was fifteen had been so real.

A barn owl landed outside her window, hooting softly and looking around. She didn't feel scared, the steel bars kept him out and her in.

The owl made her think back to that day. The Goblin King had followed her around as an owl, even flying into the house as one before he took on a human appearance.

You remind me of someone, Sarah almost said.

The owl looked directly at her and, for some reason, she thought it looked sad.

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Kagome had so much adrenaline running through her that at first she didn't notice how bad the injury was. It was only when she had purified the last demon that she felt the light headedness and fell over.

Her friends cried her name, rushing to her side.

She looked down at herself and saw her entire front coated in blood with more on the ground and even more quickly pooling beneath her. The energy rush was leaving faster than it had appeared and all she think about was that if she stayed here then she would definitely die.

"Inuyasha, take me home and tell mom." Her mom would be able to get her to a hospital and she would, hopefully, survive.

The feeling of Inuyasha picking her up felt distant, almost like it was happening to someone else. She couldn't feel the wind rushing by her or him jumping down the well.

Bleeding out was strange, it had been described in so many books but to experience it was totally different. The growing numbness was true, the spotty vision was too.

She hoped the ambulance got there in time. She still had so much left to do. She wasn't even done with her first year of highschool yet.

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Newt looked over his creatures carefully, none of them were injured. With a sigh he sat in his desk chair and pulled up his pant leg. Nothing too serious, just a limp for awhile, a few stitches to hold it closed while a potion and salve did their work.

As he gave himself aid, he thought about how people could be so cruel to creatures (both magical and muggle). He knew they didn't understand them, it was why he was writing a book, but to be cruel for no reason? It was just unfathomable to Newt.

With the final bandage in place he stood and stepped forward with a wince. Definitely a limp until it healed.

Just then a knock sounded on the suitcase. He glanced around quickly, no creatures out of place, and went to see what Tina wanted.

"I think a herd of unicorns is in Central Park." Newt didn't even get a word out before Tina rushed out the news.

"Oh dear." Newt quickly got out of the case, closed it securely, and grabbed Tina. "Get us to the border of Central Park."

She apperated them there and Newt could instantly see signs of a small unicorn herd, about seven. He got inside and hurried to follow the tracks, hardly paying attention to Tina running after him. He slowed down when he saw that the tracks lead to a clearing.

He took a calming breath (he had really run here and the injury was taxing as well) before stepping into the clearing. The unicorns immediately tensed, calming as he started talking to them, a baby even coming up to him. He gently coaxed them into his case, following them and letting Tina take them to MACUSA.

Got them settled in a nice pasture like enclosure, a brook runnimg through it and some trees for shade. If they stayed for longer than a few days he would have to make it more suitable for them but this would work for now.

None of them had injuries or were ill. The one baby kept following him around, nudging his leg.

"Now, now. None of that. It'll heal on its own," Newt gently told the baby, petting its neck.

"What'll heal on its own?" He startled at the voice. He turned to see Percival Graves standing not too far away.

"Nothing really, just a scratch." Newt hadn't even noticed Percival, he would be more shocked if this wasn't a common occurance since becoming a consultant.

"Scratches on you are like gashes to others," Percival mused. "If you're done here, I would like to look at this 'scratch' and get your report."

"Right." That wasn't a suggestion and Newt knew it. Percival could be quite the mother hen if he thought someone was injured. It was best to let him get it out now, or else it would get worse.

Newt did one last check before heading to his desk, his limp more pronouced since he had been on his leg so long.

"I'm fine, you know."

"I know you tend to hide injuries worse than a kneazel does."

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Izuku had a bad day. He had many bad days since everyone found out he was quirkless. It didn't matter how good his grades were, how polite he was, nothing stopped bad days.

He hadn't realized that Kacchan was going to this middle school, he had chosen the worst one to get away from his former friend.

Most days he was simply ignored, those were usually good days, but today they had thrown milk on him and tied him to a pole beside the school gates. Teachers, students and staff members walked by without helping him.

He hoped he got loose before they locked the school, his homework and bag were in his gym locker.

He could handle people his own age treating him like this, he was used to it, but the adults? It was a completely different blow to his self-esteem.

It was almost dark when Izuku finally wiggled free, everyone long gone. He still tried to into the school though, not surprised to find it locked.

At least he had learned to keep his metro card in his shoe. He would just have to speed through the homework before class tomorrow, get here earlier just to do it.

Subject himself to more humiliation by the masses.

"At least I can explain this away to mom," he mumbled as he walked to the train station. No need to make his mother worry, there wasn't anything she could really do to help the situation.

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Crowley hadn't wanted to do it. But demons (and angels) should not get attached to mortals, even the Anti-Christ.

He hadn't held a babe in many years, he forgot how addicting the feeling was. The sweet smell, the trusting innocence.

Leaving Warlock hurt more than he could ever admit. That was his child, not the Dowling's or Lucifer's. His.

He watched from afar as often as he could. He watched as his boy turned apathetic and rebellious to his absent parents. Mrs. Dowling tried, but not enough and certainly not soon enough.

He had cried the night he left, tears burning tracks into face, hurting more than he had in decades.

He saw Warlock at his birthday party, waiting and hoping Warlock would turn away the Hellhound. When it didn't come he had a horrible realization.

He had abandoned his boy for nothing. Warlock was the wrong child.

He almost wept from the chaotic emotions he felt. He held it together though, he had an image to maintain and if he broke now . . . if he broke down now then nothing would stop the apocalypse. There would be no going back to Warlock.

He had work to do before he could be back in Warlock's life. He would not make his absense from his boy's life be in vain.

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Tony didn't fully understand what was going on, something he did not like.

He woke up in a dim room, the only light coming from under the door. Whatever he was lying on was very uncomfortable and he felt dizzy. He couldn't remember how he got here.

He wanted Jarvis. Jarvis was very nice to Tony, even when he asked endless questions.

"-pay the money and the kid doesn't get hurt, ya hear?" Tony heard a voice say. Who was that? He never heard that voice before.

"Like I'm going to pay a ransom to low-life scum who thinking stealing a child is easy money." Tony knew that voice, it was fath-Howard.

He had heard about ransoms on television. Aunt Peggy and Jarvis told him what he should do if was ever kidnapped. Ransoms were part of kidnapping, Tony knew that.

In the movies people paid to have people back, why didn't fa-Howard want to pay? Did he have the police helping to find Tony? Did he not want Tony back?

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Sarah Williams was a social worker. She knew that there were jackasses in the world (the kind that called because they had a disagreement with a person or to just break up a family), so she investigated as thoroughly as she could. She did have a little bit of help, her friends could go unseen after all.

She would see the kids in really bad situations, ones where the law couldn't do anything except put them back with their abuser, and she would tell them some very important advice.

"When you go to bed tonight, say the words on the paper. A man will come to get you. Don't worry about what they will hear, just go with him and you'll be safe. He will explain your options after that."

She knew when the children followed her advice, their files and any mention of them vanished. She was the only one to remember them.

She visited the kids when she had the time, each of them running to hug her and excitedly tell her about all the good things that had happened to them since Jareth took them away.

Occasionally the parents would disappear as well, that always made Sarah smile sharply. She would visit them too, watch what punishment the fae chose for a child abuser. Having them beaten and flogged was fairly popular.

Spending so much time in the Underground had the effect of the magic seeping into her. She wasn't quite human anymore, a little too sharp around the edges, a little too sensitive to iron, a little less caring about humans. Her love for children, particularly Toby, endured though.

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Warlock had been numb for a long time after Nanny and Brother Francis left, his emotions so overwhelming that he had shut them down. The firsr spark of emotion had been rage at how the staff talked about Nanny, he knew what a harlot and prude were. He used everything he could of Nanny's lessons to torment them before Warlock's other emotions came flooding back.

He cried and was so down he couldn't get out of bed for two weeks. He wouldn't eat, could hardly sleep and he wanted Nanny and Brother Francis terribly. (Even if Nanny's dog, Rover, had been the second scariest thing Warlock had ever seen.)

When his father actually came to drag him out of the bed, telling him all the while that men didn't act like lazy ingrates, Warlock almost goaded his father into hitting him. When his father left, pale faced like he had seen something terrifying, Warlock clawed at his arms.

He stopped soon enough, thinking Nanny wouldn't want him to do this and Brother Francis had said that loving ones self was just as important as long God's creatures.

He grew up. His heart always had a hole in it, shaped like the two people missing from his life. He was not quite bitter about having the Dowlings as his parents (he had parents, they were just driven off by the Dowlings and the staff), but he certainly didn't like being around them. Particularly Thaddeus Dowling.

(He was many things that both Nanny and Brother Francis warned against. Misogynistic, sexist, racist, homophobic, womanizing, narcissistic and a politician.

The fact that those two agreed on something always meant that it was very important. Not being like Thaddeus was something he liked to do when Thaddeus wasn't around, otherwise he would think that Warlock was trying to help his image.


His mother was . . . fairly tolerable, if trying far too late to be a mother.

He couldn't handle how intense his emotions were after that period of emptiness, he often went numb to avoid how emotional he would get.

At his eleventh birthday party he saw a waiter with hair like Nanny's and almost ran over. He turned away, forcing down the feelings. Later, after that terrible magic act (from a magician with Brother Francis' eyes and hair) he caught sight of the waiter leaving with the magician.

His heart hurt but he let them go, if he didn't think about it he could pretend it had been the people he thought of as his real parents.

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Bilbo frowned at the book in his hands, not really seeing it. He had stayed at Erebor for the winter but he had yet to visit Thorin since just after the battle. He left the dwarf to his rest and recovery, away from traitorous friends.

Thorin had thought he was dying! He had just wanted to make things right before he passed on. Those were the desperate (and possibly delirious) words of a dying person, they . . . they weren't real.

Bilbo focused back to the present, placing down the book and picking up some (ugly) yarn. He started to crochet a blanket. He had already made one for the others of the Company, now he just needed to make one for Thorin. And make Fili or Kili deliver it.

Simple. So simple that the idea was fool proof.

Too bad dwarrow were idiots instead of fools. Fili and Kili were nowhere to be found, and the rest were busy with their new duties. Leaving Bilbo to stand before the doors to Thorin's study and tremble.

Why had he talked himself into this? Thorin would surely not want to see him! He resolved to put the bundle in front of the doors and knock then run away.

He knocked but before he could run the door opened, he had no time to run! Thorin stood stiffly on the otherside, his usual frown in place (and still looking injured). Bilbo felt the blood leave his face and he ran away before Thorin could say anything, cursing himself the whole way.

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Kagome walked slowly around the shrine grounds, lost in thought.

"You have to go back." She didn't startle at the voice nor did she acknowledge him. "If you do not this future will not exist."

She kept walking.

"Kagome, please." She stopped. She had never heard him beg before.

"I don't want to leave you alone, Sesshomaru." Kagome felt tears roll down her face. "I don't want to go knowing that I'll die and leave you hurting!"

"I have our children and grandchildren, I will not be alone. I have not been alone since you decided to be my mate." Sesshomaru drew her to him, not caring of the tears ruining his clothes. "Yes, it hurt deeply when you passed but knew that I would see you again, just as I know I will see you again when I die. Without you I will not know the love and fear of being a father, I will not know the love only you can give to an arrogant daiyoukai. I will not have become the person I am now."

"I know," she conceded. "I know and yet, and yet-!"

"I know." Sesshomaru knew all too well how she currently felt, he felt it now. To have her in his arms once again, after centuries of being bereft, only to urge her to leave him. It cut almost as much as her death had.

They stood like that for a long time before walking hand in hand to the well.

The shared one last embrace being she went back to Edo. He watched the lights fade before he left.