—Why Is His Pain So Slutty?

Merry Whump of May - Day 2

(Original characters/story)

@themerrywhumpofmay

The blood covering his hands made this impossible. And the broken arm didn’t really help.

Hesperus tried to loosen the wheel on his motorbike once again. But his fingers, slick with rain, and oil and blood, just kept slipping off the wrench.

He sat down hard in a puddle on the pavement, panting. More water soaked into his pants and boots. He curled the arm into his chest and held it there. It didn’t really help with the pain but it made the injury feel more stable. The heavy pack on his back rested on the ground. 

Yeah, he still had to make the delivery.

Guess he was walking the rest of the way.

After a few minutes of panting, eyes closed and teeth gritted, Hesper dragged himself to his feet. Swaying, he edged around the two bodies. Stopped a moment. Eyed the belt one wore.

Minutes later, Hesper peeked out of the alleyway, his left arm now stable with the belt holding it close to his chest. With his other hand, he steered his shattered motorbike.

No one had witnessed the fight. No one would know what he’d done. They’d jumped him. It was their fault. It was their fault they-

“Need a ride?”

Hesper looked up and saw Rafael. He almost started sobbing on the spot. 

Rafael quickly got off his bike. “Hesper?” His hand went towards Hesper’s shoulder. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Hesper glanced back at the entrance to the alley, where the bodies lay hidden. “How did you find me?”

“The wreck alert went off. Biometrics too. I’m on duty tonight. Did you wipe-out?”

Hesper opened his mouth. He wanted to say he’d been attacked. He wanted to say it wasn’t his fault that he’d killed them. He was defending himself. He was defending the delivery on his back.

Hesper swallowed. Blood and dirty rainwater on his tongue. “Y-yeah. Wiped out. Arm’s broken. Bike’s busted.”

Rafel looked over the belt strapping Hesper’s left arm to his chest. Hesper could feel his eyes roving. The other cuts and bruises being taken into account.

Rafael nodded then got back on his motorbike. “Should get you to a doc, I know one in-”

“No, there’s one near here.” Hesper shook his head. 

It wasn’t a memory.

Just a strange feeling. 

He knew that there was a doc around here. A good one. 

Hesper looked up and down the street. No one. Empty.

“I don’t know of one.” Rafael said as Hesper slid gingerly onto the bike behind him. 

“It’s weird.” Hesper murmured. “I think the clinic is in the back of a club. A green door, maybe.”

“You think?” Rafael started the bike. “Did you hit your head?”

“Probably.”

“I’m taking you to my doc, then we’ll finish the delivery together.” Rafael said.

“No!” Hesperus shook his head, making the world swim around him. “No, this one’s in the-...” He searched this feeling. “The Wheel! It’s a block away. The sign, it’s-”

“A neon eight-spoked wheel?” Rafael sighed. “You’re right, that is closer. Okay, let’s see if the doc is in. Hold on tight.”

Hesper wrapped his good arm around Rafael’s waist, blushing. He laid his head against Rafael’s back as they sped off.

MedWhump May - Day 2

Running out of time

Fandom - The Man from UNCLE (2015)

@medwhumpmay

Solo let out a soft: “Oh.”

Illya turned.

For one weightless moment, he saw Solo listing to the side. Head drooping. A flash of eyes, whites, rolled backwards. Illya caught him. He helped lower Solo to the floor while Solo apologized over and over.

He shouldered out of his jacket and folded it. “Here.” He murmured. He reached down and placed his hand under Solo’s head. “For your head.”

Solo lifted his head and let Illya place his jacket under it.

“Thanks.” Solo said. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do.” Illya settled beside Solo. He gently pulled back Solo’s shirt. Blood. A lot of blood. He found the wound on Solo’s side.

Solo hissed in pain. “It’s fine. Don’t-” Solo gasped and jumped as Illya pressed his handkerchief to the weeping wound.

“How long have you had this?” Illya looked away from the wound and leaned over Solo, looking into his eyes. Solo was still sweating from running earlier.

Solo averted his gaze, looking up at the ceiling instead. He smiled, but the lines of pain in his face told a different story. “Not sure.”

Keeping one hand on the wound, Illya placed his other hand on Solo’s cheek. “Solo.”

Solo still didn’t meet his eyes.

Illya stroked Solo’s cheek with his thumb. “Solo.” Illya repeated.

Finally, Solo met his gaze.

“This is a bad wound.” Illya stated, his fingers becoming wet as blood seeped through the handkerchief already.

“It’s not.” Solo panted softly. “It’s not.”

“You should not have hidden it. You just had surgery-”

“We were busy!” Solo ground out. He was paler than before.

“You are taking blood thinners!”

“I was covering you!”

Illya sighed. He got up. “I’m going to see if there’s any medical supplies.” He took Solo's hand and placed it over the wound to keep pressure on it.

Illya didn’t find much, a few band-aids, expired aspirin, and an ancient thermometer. He found some old bedsheets however and carried them back to Solo’s side.

When he returned, Solo was a few shades paler, sweat beading on his forehead. Illya held his hand to Solo’s cheek again.

“You’re cold.”

“No, I’m good. I’m good. I just need a minute to rest.” Solo murmured. His hand had fallen away from his side, no longer putting pressure. There was a small pool of blood on the floor beneath him.

Illya began to rip the bedsheets and press them to the wound. Illya piled more makeshift bandages on top. He looked back at Solo's face. His head was sagging to the side. His eyes were half closed.

“You are running out of time. As soon as you’re out, I’m picking you up and we’re going.”

Solo was deathly white. “M’fine.” He sighed.

Illya bandaged the leaking wound as best as he could with the bedsheets. He tied it as tight as he dared around Solo’s ribs.

“We are getting out of here now.”

No answer.

“Solo?” Illya looked up from his work.

Napoleon’s eyes were closed and he lay very still.

“Napoleon?” Illya reached up and pressed two fingers to the pulse point on Solo’s neck. His heart rate was quick. Much too quick.

Illya grabbed Solo and pulled him into his arms. “We’re going.”

Solo said nothing, limp and clammy against Illya’s body.

Merry Whump of May - Day 8

“Did you read the fine print?”

Circle

Blinded

Field

(original characters/story)

@themerrywhumpofmay

“It’s the only way to know what happened here.” Rex shed his jacket and tossed it on the ground. The sun beat down upon them, searing and merciless. The cicadas sang and sang. With every weak breath of wind, the grass around them sighed and fluttered. The field was empty save for Rex, Stockton, Burden, and the last survivor. 

Rex rolled up his sleeves. “Stay back, all of you, until it’s done.”

“And how will we know when it’s done?” Stockton picked up Rex’s jacket.

Rex didn’t answer and walked towards the last survivor.

Tied to a stake in the middle of the field was a young woman. Was, a young woman. She had died three days ago and laid in the hot sun until now, and it showed. Rex had tracked her down and arrived too late. Always too late. 

The last survivor rasped and stood on unsteady legs as Rex approached. He needed to know what she knew. Tears stung Rex’s eyes as he drew closer. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I’m really sorry. We tried. We tried.”

The last survivor’s skin was bloated and dark with pooled blood. Where there were once eyes, dark, crusted sockets stared out at Rex. Rex looked up and saw the vultures responsible still circling overhead. Every so often, one flew close enough to noonday sun to blot it out. A shadow covering the field. Ragged and brief. 

Rex knelt as close as he dared. 

He had searched the minds of humans before and had become good at it. It was easy to read people, to open up their minds and read their innermost thoughts. But reading the dead? Something about it turned his stomach. It wasn’t the putrid flesh before him, or clicking teeth, but the act of uniting his mind with the dead.

Rex hadn’t told Stockton or Burden, but he wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t kill him. 

But he had promised to try. This last survivor, survivor no more, had known something important to their cause. And he owed it to her to try. He had to try.

Rex took the dead woman’s face in his hands and gently pushed the limp hair away from her sightless eyes. She tried to bite him. The bloody foam that oozed from her mouth and nose ran over his fingers, lukewarm and slimy. The stake and her bound arms held her back. Rex closed his eyes. The sun was harsh above and behind his eyelids he saw only red.

The last survivor rasped and gurgled. 

Rex took a deep breath. He began to read.

A moment. 

He began to scream.

The ground vibrated, shuddering and shaking. Waves in the field. A flock of birds flee, black dots against the pale, hot sky. The grass around Rex and the last survivor begins to die. It shriveled. It turned black. A circle of rotting darkness. Then, nothing. Only death.

Rex felt someone stroking his hair.

“You’re safe.” It was Burden’s voice. And Burden’s hand.

The rotting smell of the corpse still lingered in Rex’s senses, but Burden’s scent was chasing it away. 

Rex shifted a little. His muscles ached and his limbs shook with the effort. His head was resting on someone’s lap. Probably Burden.

“You’re safe?” Rex rasped. His throat was dry and sticky. He coughed.

“Yeah. Stocky’s getting you water. Hang on.”

Rex opened his eyes and saw nothing.

His heart clenched. 

Rex closed his eyes again, braced himself, and opened them. Nothing.

“Uh, Burden?” Rex reached out towards the hand in his hair. He gripped Burden’s rough, calloused fingers. 

“Yeah?”

“I can't see.”

Rex felt Burden become still and tense. Then Burden squeezed Rex’s hand.

A sigh. “Did you not read the fine print on those powers you got?”

Rex’s laugh was shaky. He felt a tear slip from the corner of his eye and trail down his cheek, pooling in his ear. “No, not really. Didn’t come with a manual, you know?”

“It'll come back.”

“Maybe. But I got the information. She saw where they went.” Rex didn’t think too hard about what he had seen when reading the dead woman. He had gotten what they needed and that was that.

Burden pulled Rex a little closer. “You shouldn’t have done this.” Burden spoke into Rex’s hair, his breath warm on Rex’s scalp.

Rex closed his eyes. He didn’t need them open.

Dean with a hoddie in 1x12 “Faith”

Whumpay - Day 9

Main Challenge - Attacks, Mental & Physical - Animal Attack Mini Challenge 9 - Dialogue - “Don’t look.” Original Work - Ghost Walker

“Don’t look, don’t look.” Troy pressed a towel to Tate’s leg.

“Ahh, fuck.” Tate screwed up his eyes and laid back down. “Stop, please.” He begged.

“Gotta stop the bleeding.” Troy muttered. The towel was soaking through. Hot and sticky blood.

“Hurts.” Tate moaned and squirmed under Troy’s tight grip.

“You were a great distraction, kid.” Troy reached for another towel and found none. How had he already used them all? He needed to go get more. Tate’s blood was dripping off the makeshift bandage and pooling on the cold garage floor.

“Yeah?” Tate sighed. “You get the documents?”

“Oh yeah, got them all.” Troy prepared to stand. “I gotta go get more towels. Hold the towel there, okay?”

Tate sat up a little and Troy watched him turn green.

“Oh man, that’s a lot of blood.” Tate’s voice rose an octave. He was focusing on the oozing wound. Zeroing in on it.

“Don’t look.”

“How? How don’t I look at it? It’s everywhere, Troy!”

Troy reached out and grabbed one of Tate’s gloved hands. “Here.” He pressed Tate’s hand to the sodden, bloody towel. “Hold this here, and,” Troy took Tate’s other hand and gently placed it over Tate’s eyes. “Cover your eyes. I’ll be right back.”

And Troy leapt up and jogged out of the garage, looking for more towels.

“I feel sick.” Tate whined distantly.

Troy was only a minute or two. He returned to Tate’s side with an armful of towels and a water bottle. Tate was still putting pressure to the wound.

“Good job, kid.”

“I’m cold.” Tate’s voice was thick and slurred as he shivered. “Can I look yet?”

“Don’t look, keep your eyes closed.” Troy helped lower him to the ground again, putting one of the towels under Tate’s head as he did so.

“That dog was mean.” Tate warbled.

Troy added more towels and pressure to the bite wound on Tate’s calf. “Yeah, he was taught to be mean. It wasn’t his fault.”

Tate sounded on the verge of tears now. “I shouldn’t have kicked him.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

When Troy looked up again, he saw tears leaking out of Tate’s closed eyes.

“It’s okay.” Troy repeated. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” Tate sniffled.

The Official Sicktember 2024 Prompts List

Event FAQ Text Post [Link to Post]

2024 Prompt-Based Resources [Link to Post]

Past Prompts Text Post [Link to Post]

How to Submit Content Post [Link to Post]

Sicktember 2024 AO3 Collection [Link]

Announcements [Link to #Event Notice]

** Text Version of the 2024 Prompts Can be Found Below.

“I’m not hungover, I’m just sick” (Or vise versa)

Too Much of a Good Thing/Overindulgence

Campus/Con Crud

“Great. I Got a Cold for My Birthday.”

Rogue Organ (tonsils, spleen, appendix, gall bladder ect…)

Dizziness/Vertigo

Borrowed Hoodie

“The closest doctor is probably hours away from here!”

Overdramatic Patient/Caretaker 

The Sniffles ™ 

Medieval Treatment

“You’re not fine, you’re throwing up/coughing up a lung”

Mononucleosis

Clean Sheets/Fresh Pajamas

"Who decided __ is ‘sick people food?’"

Toxin/Poison

Brain Fog/Spaced Out 

“My body is one big ache”

Hypochondriac Tendencies 

Medication Bribery

Anaphylactic Response

“You didn’t use my cup, did you?”

Under a Spell

 Tales From the Waiting Room

Summer Flu

Heart Condition/Cardiac Arrest

“This is non-negotiable"

Pulling a ‘Ferris Bueller’

Sick on a Road Trip

Past Prompt of Your Choice! 

Alts

Hospital Bed

“I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

First Aid Kit

Flushed Cheeks

Doctor's Note

Whumpay - Day 6

Main Challenge - Mad Science - Russian Roulette Mini Challenge 6 -Torture - False Execution Original Work - Down in Goldonna

Alana hugged Ziggy tightly. It was over. Thank goodness. They could go home for the night and get some sleep. But she felt something strange; Ziggy’s hand was reaching around her waist. Alana drew back a little. And Ziggy almost skipped away from her embrace.

He waved something at her. In the dim light of the nearby streetlights, Alana saw a soft and supple sheen. She reached to her belt. Her revolver! Ziggy had her revolver.

As he stepped back he stopped in a pool of light. His grin was broad and crooked. And his eyes- Alana’s stomach dropped. She felt the blood drain from her face.

His eyes were black. Ziggy was possessed. But how? And by who?

“Ziggy?” Alana called out to him, hoping she was mistaken, hoping this was some sort of prank.

“Ziggy’s taking a nap right now. He’s so tired.” The Thing said with Ziggy’s voice. It stretched with his body and ran Its hands over Ziggy’s chest and waist. “I’m in the driver’s seat for a little bit.”

Alana fixed her eyes upon the revolver and darted forward. This Thing may be in control of Ziggy, but it also had Ziggy’s weaknesses. Ziggy was underweight. Ziggy was unconditioned.

The Thing danced back, grin growing wider somehow.

“Ah, ah.” It chided.

Instead of pointing the revolver at Alana it pressed the barrel to Ziggy’s temple. “Don’t do anything stupid.” It warned. “Or I will kill him.”

“You wouldn’t.” Alana raised her hands to show she wasn’t going to try anything else.

Alana’s mind raced. How could any being possess Ziggy without his permission? Was this even possible? And then, everything fell into place. “You’re the shadow he talks about. I’ve seen you before, hovering over him. What is your name?”

The Thing opened up the cylinder of the revolver and began removing the rounds. Alana couldn’t see exactly what he was doing in the patchwork darkness.

“A name?” It chuckled. “Why should I have a name?” It tossed a handful of rounds over Ziggy’s shoulder.

“How did you do this? Did he let you in?”

It spun the revolver’s cylinder back into place. It placed the barrel of the gun back to Ziggy’s temple again. “I’m tired of this.” It whined with Ziggy’s voice.

Alana felt her hands begin to shake. “Wait, please don’t-”

“I’ve removed all the rounds except for one.” Using Ziggy’s legs, it walked forward, towards Alana and into another pool of light. Its black eyes glittered in Ziggy’s pale face. “Let’s play a little game.”

Alana tried to keep her voice calm. “We don’t have to do this-”

“Oh, I think we do. You don’t seem to understand who’s in charge here.”

“Ziggy is your vessel! Why kill your vessel?”

“Everytime you answer incorrectly, I pull the trigger. It’s a one-in-six chance, right?”

“Please, don’t-!”

The hammer clicked. Empty chamber.

Alana could not breathe. She could not breathe. She wanted to scream. Her friend was about to die in front of her.

“One-in-six chance, right?” It asked again.

“Y-yes.” Alana grated out, holding back a sob. “One-in-six chance.”

“Good. Now, who is in charge here?”

“What?”

Another click. Another empty chamber.

Alana heard herself wail and bit it back, trying to get her breathing under control.

“Alana,” It came real close to her, so close she could smell the shampoo Ziggy used in his hair. “Who’s in charge right now?” It whispered with Ziggy’s soft voice.

“Y-you.”

“Good. When I need something from you, what will you do?”

“I’ll do it, I’ll do what you want.”

“That’s right. You are so good at this, Alana.”

“Fuck you!” Alana sobbed. Her legs were shaking beneath her.

Another click.

“That wasn’t very nice.” It sighed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“And when Ziggy wakes up, what are you going to tell him happened here?”

Alana hesitated.

Another click. Another chance. Time was slipping through her fingers.

“I’m sorry! Please! Stop! I’ll tell him what you want, whatever you want!”

“You’ll tell him he fainted. You won’t mention me.”

“I’ll tell him he fainted-!”

Another click. Oh god. One left.

“I won’t mention you!”

Ziggy’s body suddenly went limp, and as though in slow motion, he fell backwards to the grassy ground. The revolver bounced out of his hand. Alana rushed up and grabbed the gun then knelt beside Ziggy. She patted his cheek.

“Ziggy!” Alana choked out. “Ziggy, wake up.”

She opened up the cylinder and looked at the six chambers.

His eyes opened slowly. Focused on her. “Alana?”

There were no rounds in the gun at all.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay? You fainted.”

The gun had been empty.

“I fainted? Why are you crying?”

Black Sails | XIV.

Whumpay - Day 7

Main Challenge - Attacks, Mental & Physical - Heart Attack Mini Challenge 7 - Torture - Shock Collar Fandom - BBC Merlin (2008-2012)

“We have a special restraint for your attack dog. If he tries anything, he’ll regret it.”

Arthur scoffed. “My attack dog?” He looked around and noticed that

Merlin had six men surrounding him while Arthur was being held by only two. “You can’t mean Merlin? That’s ridiculous!” Arthur laughed a little but quickly stopped when it became obvious that his captors weren’t joking. No one else was laughing. Least of all Merlin.

Merlin was on his knees, head bowed, blood dripping from his nose.

“You can’t be serious.” Arthur tried again.

No one spoke. They were indeed serious.

Arthur and Merlin had been out hunting when they had been ambushed by these bandits. But something wasn’t normal about all this. The way they were treating Merlin was odd. Arthur felt like an afterthought to them.

“Tie them up.” The obvious leader ordered.

The bandits were all wearing rough cloaks and patched clothing, mud-spattered and travel-worn. The leader looked much the same, except for the strange necklace he wore and the fact that he was the only one who had uttered a word so far. Every other bandit had been absolutely silent.

As Arthur’s and Merlin’s hands were bound behind their backs, Arthur took a moment to examine the necklace that the leader wore. It was a long leather band with a metal charm. The charm was similar to a coin, flat and round, engraved with a honeycomb shape.

Once Merlin’s hands had been tied, the leader brought over a small trunk and knelt beside Merlin. He spoke some words in Merlin’s ear that Arthur could not hear. But Arthur saw Merlin’s eyes widen. He saw Merlin become pale.

The leader then opened the trunk.

“You do not want to do this.” Arthur warned the bandits. “I am the prince! Either I will get myself free and kill all of you, or the king’s men will arrive and do the same.”

From the trunk emerged a strange metal collar. It shone dully in the fading sunlight. The leader of the bandits opened the collar and fastened it about Merlin’s neck. It clicked into place with an ominous grating sound.

Arthur just couldn’t believe this was happening. “Come on, he’s harmless. Merlin, tell them, you’re practically useless!” Merlin did not look up. Merlin just let them collar him.

The leader straightened up again and looked over to Arthur. “Watch now. This is what will happen if either of you make trouble.” He pressed a hand to his chest and spoke a strange word.

Suddenly, Merlin cried out. Arthur squinted against the blinding light. Lightning struck out from the metal collar and ran down Merlin’s body. Merlin seized and twitched and fell to the forest floor where he continued to writhe. His face was twisted in agony.

“Merlin!” Arthur cried out. “Stop!” He ordered the leader. “Stop hurting him! He’s just a servant!”

As soon as it appeared, the lightning disappeared and Merlin lay still on the ground.

The leader looked to Arthur. “Bring them.”

Arthur was marched. Merlin was dragged.

They traveled through the forest until the sun fully disappeared and a thin mist formed on the ground. Arthur only realized they were descending into a cave when the stars above disappeared. They were brought to a small chamber, lit by the torches that the bandits carried. Merlin was dropped on the dirt floor beside Arthur, awake, but shaking and pale.

“Merlin?” Arthur nudged him gently with his foot.

Merlin looked up at Arthur. His bloody nose had coated the lower half of his face in a patchy bloodstain. Merlin grimaced up at Arthur. Something raw and pained.

Somehow, that didn’t comfort him.

“Merlin, are you okay?” Arthur whispered.

“Do I look okay?” Merlin’s voice was cracked and hoarse from screaming.

“You could just say no.” Arthur sighed and looked around. They were still being guarded by a lot of bandits. The leader was nowhere to be seen though.

“Sorry.” Gasping, Merlin worked hard to sit up. “I thought it would be obvious.”

“Now is not the time for sarcasm.”

Merlin was quiet a moment, then spoke again, quieter than before. “I can get you untied. But I can’t get this collar off. You will have to leave me.”

“Nonsense.” Arthur laughed. “I’ll get it off you.”

“You can’t.”

“And how do you know that?”

Merlin turned towards Arthur and met his eyes. “Osgar told me.” Osgar must be the leader’s name.

“Then he was lying.” Arthur did not understand how Merlin was so gullible.

“He wasn’t.” Merlin’s gaze flicked to the entrance. “He told me…” Merlin swallowed hard. “He told me that if anyone else tries to take it off, it’ll kill me.”

Arthur watched as Osgar entered the chamber. It would make sense for a magic object to be so stupidly difficult to take off. But he didn’t feel like admitting that Merlin might be right.

“He was lying, Merlin. Why would it do that? It’s stupid.”

Merlin fell silent.

Osgar walked over and sat down in front of Arthur and Merlin. “I have some questions. If they are answered, then no one will be hurt.” He nodded at Merlin.

“I won’t tell you anything about Camelot.” Arthur snarled.

Osgar froze, then sighed and stood up. “I don’t want to know anything about Camelot.” He nodded at the other bandits in the chamber and they moved over to Arthur. They grabbed hold of him and kept him still. “I want information about Emrys.”

“Who?” Arthur spluttered. “I don’t know an Emrys.”

“I know.” Osgar stood over Merlin and looked down at the servant.

“I’m not talking to you.” Osgar touched his hand to his chest again, to the metal pendant he wore. “Am I?

Merlin slowly looked up at Osgar. “I don’t know anything.” He whispered.

“Liar.” Oskar spoke that strange command again.

Lightning flared. The very air blazed with heat. Merlin screamed. And Arthur, may he be forgiven, closed his eyes.

The questioning went on and on. Over and over, Osgar demanded information about Emrys. And over and over, Merlin denied him.

Arthur could hear his friend’s voice growing weaker. At first, Arthur struggled against his bonds and the bandits holding him. But it was no use. He could not escape. He could only witness.

Finally, there came a point where Merlin did not move anymore. He lay prone upon the dirt floor, still, too still. The metal collar about his neck had formed a shiny burn. Osgar approached, and using the toe of his boot, he flipped Merlin over onto his back.

“Stop.” Arthur begged with a raw voice. “You will kill him.”

Osgar’s eyes flicked over to Arthur for the first time in a while. “How does one kill an immortal?” Then he squatted down beside Merlin, looking down at him. Merlin’s face was slack. He was unconscious. Or dead. Arthur dearly wished he was unconscious.

Osgar stood up again. “Let him rest. We’ll try again later.”

And suddenly, Arthur was alone with Merlin.

Arthur scrambled over to his servant. He tripped and fell, finding it hard to get up again due to his bound hands.

“Merlin.” Arthur whispered and shook Merlin’s limp body.

Nothing. No reaction. The shiny burns on Merlin’s neck were the only color on him; he was so pale.

“Merlin.” Arthur shook him harder. Still nothing. Arthur bent awkwardly down and placed his ear next to Merlin’s lips. He could feel no breath. Merlin wasn’t breathing.

“No, no, no…”

Hoping he was mistaken, Arthur moved lower and placed his ear against Merlin’s chest. He listened hard. He held his breath. Willing that heartbeat into existence.

Silence.

“No.” Arthur sat back and sniffed. “No, I can’t-“ He stifled a sob.

He had to do something.

Arthur scooted down to Merlin’s boots. It took some angling, but he managed to pull Merlin’s knife out of his boot with his bound hands. Not minding the bite of the blade into his own flesh, Arthur got to work on his bonds. Hands free and slippery with blood, he pawed at Merlin’s face. He was cold and damp with sweat.

He had to do something.

Tears in his eyes, Arthur raised his fist and brought it down on Merlin’s chest. Hard.

He pressed his ear to Merlin’s chest. Nothing.

Arthur did it again. And again. Weeping silently so he could listen for a heartbeat.

His fist hurt. He had to do something.

One more time.

Merlin gasped and coughed. His eyes flew open. His limbs shook.

Arthur laughed and gathered Merlin up into his arms and held him tightly.

“Ow.” Merlin rasped. “That hurts.”

“Too bad.” Arthur sighed.