Dive Deep into Creativity: Discover, Share, Inspire
Again, mention/implication of SA. Nothing graphic, as usual. Last episode! Hope you like it.
The day he was brought in, he made the whole block go silent for a minute. A murderer– that was what he was in for. Which he quietly but sternly denied every time someone questioned him. It was hard to believe him though, as he looked built to kill. Six feet tall, at least, a mountain of muscle, and a look that silenced even the worst convicts. He never needed to use his fists to gain respect from all. And fear.
For Lull, it was the latter. A dull, resigned fear. It was just another shoe in his ribs, another hand fisting his hair, another voice laughing at him.
His name was Garrett. Not that it mattered. But the name stuck with the dreamwalker, after one particular day.
Lull was limping back from to the cellblock, his hair damp from the shower. Cold water, as always, since he had found that inmates would leave him alone if he was late enough. The water left was freezing, but the situation was still much better than the alternative. He was struggling to keep his eyes open, desperately staggering forward. He had to reach his bunk before the lockdown bell, or else the guards would kill him. Not literally, that would be too merciful. But he could feel his muscles turning to cotton, his head pounding with the overwhelming need to sleep. Before he knew it, he was falling.
Hands grabbed his shoulders, his head hitting a soft surface instead of the floor. Lull flinched away, his movements sluggish, but someone held him back. He froze, meeting the other man's eyes, and immediately abandoned the fight. It was that new inmate, Garrett, towering three feet over him.
Lull sagged in his grip, going limp in anticipation. He knew how to be away, when it would happen. Hurt less this way.
But this time, the man held him up instead of letting him crumple. The former villain risked an eye contact, and met a frowning face. Bad. Bad. It was always worse when they were in a bad mood.
"Hey. You can't stand or what ?"
Lull's face did something complicated, before settling on confusion. What ? His knees were weak, but he managed to stay on his feet. Garrett's hands were still tight on his arms.
"Are you gonna collapse again? Coz the late shift guards are gonna kill you if you don't make it to the block."
As if he didn't already knew that. Still trying to catch his breath, and to keep his eyes from closing, he reluctantly accepted Garrett's help, leaning on his shoulder for balance. The corridor seemed to be moving, even though he was the one swaying unsteadily on his feet. It was only after a few steps, when the bigger man's hands stayed where they were supposed to be, that Lull started to relax. For some reason, it seemed that the other inmate was genuinely helping. However, the dreamwalker knew better than to hope. Eventually, everything always had a price.
With Garrett's help, he stumbled and collapsed on his bunk bed. The other man didn't comment, taking a few steps away, toward his own cell. Through the bars, Lull could see a group of familiar faces, hovering nearby. Their gazes were aimed right at him, their smiles sharp. Full of unwanted promises. But he was already slipping, unable to resist the tug of sleep. Once again, he would be helpless. Once again, he would wake up covered in bruises. Humiliated, broken.
The mattress bent under someone else's weight. Garrett, still there. He had noticed the other inmates too.
"Hope you don't mind, I think I'll sit here for a little while. The mattress is comfortable."
It took a few seconds for the words to register in Lull's sleep deprived brain. But when it did, his eyes widened slightly in surprise –and wariness. But in his state, there wasn't much he could do but pray, and he quickly fell into oblivion.
It was his first peaceful night in months.
When he woke up, he was alone. As usual, he checked himself up, his surprise growing. No new bruises, no sore points or body aches. Garrett had... Had actually protected him. But why ?
Throughout the day, Lull noticed that Garrett was watching him. Not the creepy kind, when someone would follow him until he couldn't stay awake anymore. Just... Watching. The others must've noticed as well, since no one made a move to approach him. That man was not someone you'd want to cross.
Lull fell asleep during unlock time, in the courtyard. One second he was awake, swaying on his feet, and the second, he was collapsing to the concrete floor. Before anyone could take advantage of it, Garrett sat down on the bench nearby. The others took the hint. Although a lot of them glared at him, muttering curses. Hovering. Waiting. They wouldn't let go of their favourite toy so easily.
It happened during work detail; Lull was sorting clothes for laundry, and Garrett was working in the workshop. Too far. Three men pushed him in a corner. They didn't bother with gentleness. When they finally left, Lull was barely conscious, his breathing hoarse and painful from the new bruises etched on his chest. He was surprised to find that's he was crying. He couldn't feel anything, numb to the world, but tears ran down his face nonetheless. His body remembered what his mind refused to.
The guards found him like this, and didn't bother with questions. They hauled him up, his legs too weak to hold him. And when they dropped him on the floor of his cell, Garrett was there. Waiting. His arms were crossed and his expression blank, but Lull could see the anger in his eyes. As soon as they were alone, he approached, and let out a sigh.
"How did you survive that long in here ?"
Lull eyed him warily, pushing himself up on shaky hands. His vision was going in and out, as he struggled to keep his eyes open.
"Why did you help me? What do you want from me ?"
"Nothing."
The former villain didn't believe him. But it didn't mattered. What did were the hands pulling him up with surprising gentleness, and taking him to the bunk bed. It was the last thing he felt before passing out cold.
Things changed quietly. None of them was very talkative, and it was often in silence that Lull would fall asleep without fear. Garrett didn't need any warning to catch him before the fall. At night, they'd huddle together. Then, they could speak. Just a few words, whispered.
"I'm innocent. Never killed that guy."
Lull had sleepily hummed, and nodded.
"I know."
It was all they needed. And if the former villain sometimes flinched away from his touch, Garrett never commented on it.
They knew their relationship was fragile, and could shatter at any moment. But for the moment, they were together. And that was the closest thing to happiness Lull had ever experienced. He would never dream again, but maybe he could live.
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Tw: chronic pain (Medical inaccuracies, as I do not know a lot about chronic pain)
Villain's scars always ache, especially on his back.
The scars there littered his skin like raindrops, a reminder of his past. Of the pain.
On good days, they would feel like fingertips ghosting the skin.
On bad days, he would be bedridden for hours as the pounding pain left him gasping for air that never seemed to be there in the first place.
Nothing ever made it better. No matter how many treatments he's tried, everything he's pushed out of desperation, the pain always came back.
Maybe he ended up on Hero's doorstep out of that same desperation.
Him. At his nemesis's door.
Hero was going to laugh in his face.
But desperation was one of the most dangerous things of all.
And Villain was desperate.
He hears the muted cursing of the second knock, footsteps, a pause, and then the familiar click of a gun—muted by the door but most definitely there.
Desperation really is a dangerous thing.
But to Villain's suprise Hero doesn't automatically open the door and put a bullet into his skull, but instead opens the door, one hand holding open the door and the other leaning the gun against the doorframe, out of sight, but ready to fire at moments notice.
But Hero doesn't look alarmed, panicked, or ready to fight. Instead, he studies Villain, slumped over and leaning against the front porch railing. "How did you get this address."
Villain held up his hands in surrender. "I-I-"He could barely see through the pain. Hero seemed to pick up on that pretty quickly.
Villain hopes and prays to any God out there that Hero sees that he is desperate and in pain. And he prays that Hero will either help or shoot him.
Both would take away the pain.
But Hero, the walking saint, is much more merciful than Villain ever will be. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees the gun go into the holster. "Where does it hurt?"
Villain can barely speak now. "Back."
Hero's hands brush against him, and he can see the frown. "You're not bleeding."
"Chronic."
"Oh."
Villain blinks, and the next thing he knows, he's lying on a couch in a dimly lit living room while Hero rustles around the kitchen (or, more likely, the medical cabinet).
The pain is pounding now, sending wave after wave of hurting through every part of him.
Hero comes out of the kitchen holding a foul-smelling rag. "Flip over." There's no malice or anger in his nemesis's voice, but Villain still flinches back. "I can't help you if you don't do what I say. I'm not going to hurt you."
Hero helps him, guiding his shoulders until he's lying on his stomach. There's a sudden pause. "I do need to take off your shirt."
Villain nods absent-mindedly, the pain fogging over every other part of his brain. It goes dark, and then the breeze of the air conditioning sends shivers down his spine.
Hero wipes the warm rag all over his back, something Villain doesn't realize until-
It stops.
All the pain. Just gone.
Villain's convinced he's dead. Dead or about to. But no. His heart is still beating, and his mind is still racing.
He's able to feel everything else now. Not the pain, but the wetness on his cheeks, the blanket covering the lower half of his body, Hero using his fire powers to keep the rag at a warm temperature as it goes up and down his back.
Villain looks up. "How-"
Hero shrugs. "I have chronic pain, too." He said simply. "Took me forever but I managed to find the right amount of herbs to help with the pain. It's a side effect of my powers; my arms cramp up badly. Not many work cause there's literally next to no research on the downsides of powers. Took my years just to understand my own." His voice drops to a whisper. "It never goes away; I just find ways to treat what I can."
Villain pauses, and Hero continues. "You're touch starved, aren't you. You've been leaning into every touch."
There's no reply. Villain can't find it in him. "That's okay," The rag is placed on the center of his back. "You're gonna crash soon, but you already know that don't you. There's always a big crash after every episode."
Yea, he's right. The next morning, Villain wakes up to a bowl of cereal and a bottle of the Hero's herbal serum he uses.
But he still comes back.
Later, when he sees Hero having a similar episode in a dark alleyway, he pays it back.
Somehow, somewhere in the mix, they become close, sharing stories and things that help. Somewhere in the mix, Hero goes from a nemesis to a friend and, a year later, a lover.
It got a lot better after that.
Villain's scars ached, but Hero always seemed to make it better.
As always constructive criticism is always welcome. Requests are open! Have a great day/night :)